The New World

Conversion

The blast tore Clara and the rest of the congregation away from communion.

A shower of thankfully blunt glass shards rained down from the heights of the nave, and it was with howls that everyone regained contact with reality.

Stunned, Clara contemplated her bleeding hands. She gingerly touched her cheeks to check that no sharp splinters were embedded.

She looked up. The iconostasis support had shattered. In the moving smoke of the explosive, she saw embossed Noakhit mingling with Menaces and dancing erratically overhead, disappearing only to reappear in another place. It was one of the most frightening sights she had ever seen.

Then everyone could see the message Transfer is Death in huge letters of fire floating in the air for a few moments, only to dissolve as a chorus of children chanted: Freedom of the mind - freedom of the mind...

Within seconds there was a frenzied stampede. In the choir, the Reverend Bartolomeo was on his knees, shielding his head with his hands and stammering prayers mixed with frightened curses.

The faithful straddled the seats, fighting to get out of this hellhole. Shouting and sobbing at the same time, the occupants of the back bays rushed in and opened the large doors.

Soon, a dazed crowd was streaming out of the Basilica, whose shattered glass roof was billowing foul-smelling fumes and plaintive cries, like a dying man's toothless mouth exhaling a last fetid breath.

Outside, police vehicles arrived in a hurry and a security cordon was set up. The police channeled the hundreds of faithful into shelters. The wounded were treated.

All identities were recorded by agents who passed quickly between people, equipped with a terminal. Clara had to join another agent who asked her to follow him. She was taken to a mobile command post. There, she was interrogated by a psycop, a surly woman clearly unhappy at having been put on a case as poisonous as a bombing.

"Sister Clara", said the psycop, "did your father die in dubious circumstances?"

"I don't understand", said Clara, who could feel the fury rising inside her. "Are you suing me again for a blunder?"

"You mean our colleagues from the Empire have made a blunder?"

"Of course!"

The cop plunged into studying the file that appeared on her terminal, hidden from Clara's view.

"Right, then. Sorry for the mix-up. You know, terrorists can hide anywhere. You're free to go. If we need you, you'll be summoned."

The psycop stood up and held out her hand. "Thank you, Sister Clara", she concluded with a grimacing smile.

Ignoring the outstretched hand, Clara stepped down without a word.

After the rough landing during communion and then the devious questioning by the police, Clara felt deeply hurt and at the same time filled with an impossible-to-quell rage. It's incredible, she said to herself, this Police force that killed my father is still harassing me.

She walked, or rather ran, jumped on a bus. And arrived, panting, at her mother's house. They had lived separately since arriving in Bay a year earlier, but saw each other very often.

Clara rang the doorbell to let her know she'd arrived, then climbed the stairs four at a time to the second floor of Zoe's Victorian house. She entered the apartment, where her mother lived and worked as a psychotherapist, and entered the living room. Her mother came out of the study and, seeing Clara's face, knew something serious had happened.

"What's happened?", she said, taking her daughter in her arms.

Despite her best efforts, Clara couldn't hold back the tears that welled up in her eyes. Her mother hugged her tenderly. Clara told her what had happened at the Basilica, and then about the suspicions of the police.

Her mother's caresses and gentle voice calmed her. The patient, who had been waiting in the office, finally came out.

"Jan?", exclaimed Clara, still sniffling a little.

"I could hear you through the half-open door", replied the man. "Were you at the Basilica during a rebellion action? What happened there? Were you hurt?"

"No, I wasn't hurt at all."

"Jan", interjected Zoe, "do you mind if we cut the session short?"

"Of course not."

He gently took Clara by the shoulders and regarded her attentively.

"Come on, this girl is strong and won't flinch because of the nastiness of the Police, will she?"

"Jan, leave me alone" Clara protested, stepping aside. "I don't understand any of this. Mom", she added, turning to her mother, "you'll have to explain to me what you're doing."

"Jan, will you be staying for lunch?"

Two hours later, Jan Pugachev took his leave after a long discussion between Clara, his mother and himself. Clara had expressed her desire to fight actively against the Power that had caused her father's death.

"Good", Jan concluded to Clara as he left them. "You contact me at this address when you feel ready. I'll release your implant myself."