The World's Calling

The rumble of the vehicle was unfamiliar to Rhys. Unfamiliar, yet so deliciously tempting. Jealousy filled the eyes of those that passed by as they threw up dust on the common road. Pack animals had nothing on this feat of engineering and the poor farm folk they blew past had to accept this truth as they ate their third meal of dust. As Rhys’s hair blew in the wind, the sensation and the smell of dirt kicked up underneath mixed to make something oddly nostalgic. This was going to be hers one day. Something like it. She had to have it. Even with the energy flowing from her fingertips back to the base of her neck as Vig advised, the wind still felt so unique. Filling her ears with the motion while Shoa and Lucia had their own conversation.

“Oh yeah, it was an absolute pain to get everything set up. Do you know how rare it is to get a connection with a rubber plant going, much less convincing the Mechanoids to make tires? I have to get so many parts custom-made, not to mention keeping the damn thing mine.”

“I do have to say how impressive it is that you could acquire a piece of equipment like this. Though, wouldn’t they regard this as-”

“Grunt work?” Lucia waved her free hand as if to throw away the assumption. “ Not if you know how to negotiate. Besides, the Union pays out pretty consistently and they know it. As long as you do your job and show up where you need to.”

Rhys drew her head in from the window. “How do we get paid anyway?”

“Same stuff Hartland gave you. Union sanction coins. Now that doesn’t mean you can do your trading, just that Union coin is easier than peddling. Also, fix your hair, we’re gonna be with meeting people.”

In the midst of hair being straightened out, Rhys was able to get a question in. “So no more pawning off copper wires?”

If the strawberry lights on the screen of Shoa could burn holes, Rhys’s face would’ve been a melted catastrophe. All Rhys could do was put her hands up, the left side of her hair still hanging from the side. “I’m joking, just joking.”

As the car slowed to a stop, a couple of feet just outside the property line. The shadow of the gate came over them. A line defined by its large metal both polished and reinforced. As each of them stepped out of the car, a whistle came out of Lucia's mouth and the three of them looked up at the sign. “Welcome to Chatillon. Shoa, stay in the car. New girl, you’re coming with me.”

“Wait, how come Robo gets to ditch work,” questioned Rhys.

“You’ll see once you’ve been here awhile. Just trust me when I say that it wouldn’t be good to bring him in here.”

“I certainly won’t argue with the decision of my superior.” There was a mixture of brown-nosing and pointed smugness that filled his words that Rhys could barely stand. “On that note, what should I do if anyone comes?”

“There’s a Radio in the glove compartment. Just call in and stall.”

“And if they’re less than friendly?”

A smile crept onto Lucia’s face. “Open the engine and don’t move.”

The ominous advice was of concern to Shoa but he’d rather be in the armored vehicle rather than face off with a group of bigots.

With a knock on the gate door, a man came out from a guard post a few feet away. Not a word was exchanged as he opened the gate, though his eyes seemed to not move from Rhys. A nod towards him and a shrug from Lucia answered her question about their idea of outsiders.

As they entered the encampment. All Rhys could notice was how neat and tidy it was. Clothes on the line and kids playing on the straight and narrow. Each house was built to perfection and fenced off with not an inch of grass put out of place. As those in their rocking chairs looked with suspicion in their eyes at the duo, they finally made their way to their destination. Smack dab in the middle of the community, a church was built. Its wood was aged but properly kept. A cross carved directly into the wood of the door, with lovingly engraved handles. While it may have been aged, it certainly wasn't worse for wear.

“I wouldn’t think you’d be so unfamiliar with this place. I thought Rhys Madris was a businesswoman. Gotta build connections and whatnot.”

“Eh, my leading roles ended with the fight pit. Sides, I don’t ask people about what they do in the midst of business. And I wouldn't do anything here. Too weird a vibe here. Better places to work with.”

“You mean in the midst of trying not to get shot picking from the landfills.”

“Whatever, boss. What’s the plan?”

As Lucia leaned against the wood, a sigh seemed to foretell her hesitation. “An old friend of mine works here. We’ll ask him some questions, and then we’re going to go. I’ll ask the questions, and you're gonna shadow. If you need to talk, don't get out of line. ”

As they opened the door to the building, the window’s light shone through to land on a series of pews, each of them hand-crafted. Rhy’s hand swept over the pews as the smoothness foretold its craftsmanship. At the pulpit sat an old man looking out at each and every one of those seats. His priestly garb in black and wrinkled at the sleeves and dark spots at the knuckles. Aged had taken the tautness of his skin and even a bit of his vision. Yet as Rhys looked into his eyes, they weren’t focused on the present, but they were focused. As Lucia entered his view proper, she could see the light of alertness snap back into his vision.”

“Ah. Dear Lucia. What brings you here?”

“Pastor Malaki. I’m glad to see you."

As the Pastor outstretched his arms, with a moment of pause, she returned the gestured.

“A glass of water for you and your friend?”

“No, we won’t be here long, we simply came to know if you heard the news.”

A sudden frown found its way onto the ancient face. A solemn nod of the head accompanied it. “What happened in Hickshaw? I’m so sorry to all of them.”

“Wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Can’t even think of how those families would go on.”

“Through prayer, and I’ll surely pray for them. God will lead them from this tragedy.”

“Amen, sir. Though with that being said.”

“You didn’t come to seek spiritual guidance. I’m sure. You were prone to sleeping through the sermons when you had the chance.”

“I still learned from you, and I do need to learn from you now.”

A sudden air of seriousness seemed to fill the air around the two. A spattering of wrinkles seemed to find itself near Malaki's eyes. “It always revolves around him. Doesn’t it. Months without a face-to-face visit and you come for him.”

“I understand, and I'm sorry. But I do need to know. I keep your name out of Union mouths and out of theirs. You don’t want to face this. You're a family friend, you were at my mother's christening. I'm here to get you out of the fire.”

“I’ve denounced him as many times as I’ve needed to. Yet, you keep coming here again and again. For something I refuse to get involved in.”

Rhys looked at the old man. His features were soft, his hair more gray than not. Rapidly aging and not gracefully. He looked one bad stress dream away from dying in his sleep. Most of all, however, he hadn’t looked Lucia in the eye since she mentioned the “him” in question. Redirection was needed. “So what makes a pastor want to preach, huh Malakai?”

The pastor looked up from his stupor. “ Oh. Well, My father once said that a pastor’s role was to lead people to a life better than before. To show the good lord that we were given this life for a reason. Just like who gave us this place.”

“God?”

A small chuckle. “In a more physical sense, dearie.”

“Well excuse my ignorance, but who would that be?”

“Chatillion Vegas.” Just the utterance of the man’s name seemed to give the man a renewed power in the soul of his voice. “A man who awoke from underneath the rubble of the old world. A bible in his hand and a fire in his eye. He made sure that all were taken care of in the good name of the lord. Where they saw disaster and chaos, he saw a new purpose.”

“A just man if you’re talking so highly of him. Have all in your flock been so righteous? As to live up to his example?”

“Not everyone. We can only guide people in front of us and around us. If they choose to turn away, then there’s not much we can do.”

“With how Lucia’s been talking. This might be one of those people.”

“Unfortunately,” Malaki said. Each syllable seemed pained to come out.

“Well, Pastor. I’m not sure of your specific side of the church scale, but if I got the gist, bad people can seek forgiveness and refuge here. In religion I mean. But they still have to work for it.” A hand was placed on the pastor’s and Rhys kept her eyes focused on his. “This person is someone that we need to know about. People died in Hickshaw. A whole town's worth. This isn’t as simple as harassment, this was a wholesale slaughter of over 2000 people.”

At the mention of the number, his face went cold. Rhys lightly squeezed his hand and made sure he couldn’t cleanly break eye contact, as much as his wandering eyes begged to.

“We aren’t saying this person is a part of this. I know you don’t want to be this way. But if this person knows someone. If this is one of his men go rogue. I’m sure neither he nor we want him to take the fall for it. Even if God can pardon us all, can you do the same for this man?”

Malaki’s hand had gone cold but his grip on Rhys’s was tightened. As he kept his eye on Rhys, Lucia leaned in.

“We have to ask, Pastor. Where is your son?”