The Pieces of My Self

23 - The Cathedral of Light and Darkness

HENRI J. KNIGHTLY'S JOURNAL

8 January 2141

Entry #93:

Success! The rally was flawless. I needed Debra's help to pull it off. I can see why Mangalotte keeps her as his administrative assistant—she's been around the president long enough to know what strings to pull. Very efficient. She told me her father was in the restaurant business and knew Mangalotte's father. Both died in the Flood. I guess their mutual loss is the tie that binds them.

Debra is a real beauty—blond hair, cut short in the fashionable style; flawless white skin; unusual almond-shaped blue eyes set wide against a petite nose; and lips that promise passion.

I rushed to her house after the event, even though it was very late. She invited me in, wearing only a housecoat. I kissed her and spent the night.

In the morning at breakfast, I gave her the vivid details of Saturday's rally.

"Tell me everything," she said.

Entry #95:

The aircraft cabin had plush leather seats around two side-by-side conference tables. There were ten forward-facing staff seats in the cabin's rear, half of them filled by people in suits. A flight attendant sat in one of two spartan jump seats near a galley in the front.

Artois Mangalotte was on the left side of the AVTOL behind a table, facing forward. A green satchel occupied the seat to his left. He wore the black uniform and stars of a major general. Two men sat across the table from him. One was an Air Force colonel in a blue ceremonial uniform dripping with medals; the other was a Navy captain in a more subdued white service dress.

The two underlings fidgeted as I struggled to bring equipment aboard with help from two of the ground crew. Mangalotte just stared. I couldn't read his emotions.

We stowed the box under the table on the right side of the cabin, across from the president. After the ground crew left and sealed the hatch, I gave a half-apology: "Sorry if I've caused a delay. The gear is heavy and delicate."

I sat, buckled up, and looked out the window at a darkening sky, pressing my legs against the equipment box as we lifted off.

When we got to cruise altitude, I put the system on the table and began configuring it.

Mangalotte moved across the aisle and inspected the gear—a display panel connected by an optical cable to a cluster of seven hexagonal processors. I knew he was a trained engineer, and someone not easily bamboozled by tech jargon. The two aids watched from their seats.

"Thank you for giving me a chance to organize this rally," I said to the president, "and for the generous budget to make it happen. It means a lot to me. I hated Fleming. He abandoned my kin after the flood. A lot of people died in the village where I was born."

"Houma?" he said.

I nodded. "And others who lived on the water—Cajuns, mostly."

"Well, things have changed now." He ran a finger across the array of hexagons. "What have we here?"

"Bio-processors. There's a power pod in the middle, and a scheduling and control system that ties into it. We integrate these with the lasers and other effects in what I'm calling the Cathedral of Light—your venue for the rally. It'll be fantastic. You'll see."

"It sounds impressive, but I'm a skeptical man, Dr. Knightly. You've had two months to organize this. You get one shot at it. I'll be unforgiving if you make me into a fool."

I probably sounded uncertain—a mistake in dealing with Mangalotte. "It's only a prototype for event management. The future version will work even better. I wish we had more time to rehearse this."