The Dark Ones had given him longevity, had made him more than other men. He would not fail them. They would not fail.
In the End, there would be a War, fought in the Great Wastes of the New World, and all the powers of the world would be aligned against the Dark Ones.
His hands knotted into fists and his teeth ground.
They would fall. The Dark Ones would prevail. It would be as it had been prophesied.
Elder Seth put the recent irritation out of his mind, and concentrated on his new business. The Duroc, latest of his servitors, was in Europe, preparing a new course cf action.
This time the Dark Ones would be rewarded.
XVII
Now the mission was over Chantal felt curiously flat. As always, she was drained. Mentally, physically, emotionally and spiritually. Once the demon was banished and she had done what could be done for the dead and the dying, she turned off. Sergeant Quincannon had helped her to her room, and tucked her in bed. As if she needed one, she had found another father. Her wounds turned out to be a superficial cuts, so she told the medical orderlies to leave her alone and see to the needier cases.
Three days later, and things had not changed. She sat at her desk, and plumbed the emptiness inside herself. She felt the need to visit Mother Kazuko, and not only to give her teacher whatever comfort she could during her recuperation. Mother Gadzooks O'Hara had been her confessor before she was her martial arts master.
It was like this every time. She reached the accomplishment of her purpose, and found too many important questions still unanswered. It had been a grueling assignment, and she felt she had much to confess. She knew the demon's attempts to assail her faith, in God and in herself, had been base stratagems, but she needed to talk through the feelings that had been stirred. She could never be thoroughly rid of the pictures the fiend had planted in her mind, but Mother Kazuko would help her deal with them, would help her cleanse herself. Perhaps there would be time to stay at the retreat, to pursue her theoretical work. She could do with some cloistered tranquility and contemplation.
Recently, her missions had been getting closer together.
Someone knocked at her door.
"Come in."
It was Nathan Stack. She looked up from her breviary—she hadn't been focusing on the words for over a quarter of an hour—and smiled at him.
Stack was recovering well. He was strong. He would survive. Many hadn't. The US Cavalry had airlifted the mentally and physically wounded out to a facility in the Phoenix PZ, and buried the dead within sight of Fort Apache. There had been enough to fill a new graveyard. They hadn't had individual funerals, just a mass ceremony conducted by the regimental chaplain. Chantal hadn't felt able to speak, but she had vowed to light a candle for Cat Finney in St Peter's. She hoped the woman had gone where the good sufis go.
"We've got Federico back. The Quince has run a systems check, and there doesn't seem to be any damage. The sergeant and your car are getting along famously."
Chantal got up, and went to the door. She accompanied Stack down to the courtyard. Newly-assigned personnel were supervising the repairs and reconstruction. Major General Hollingsworth Calder, the new commandant, had promised General Ernest Haycox, the overall c-i-c of the Cav, that the fort would be on line within the week. Haycox himself had flown in from Fort Comanche to take a look at the site of the disaster. There were rumours of resurgent Maniak chapters out in the desert. And the corps were complaining about the the roads left unpatrolled.
You could tell from their faces which of the Troopers had been just shipped in and which had lived through the demon download. It was in their eyes.
Quincannon saw her, and saluted.
An ops captain walked over. She was new, and didn't look anything like Finney.
"Sister," she said. "We've had a communication from Rome for you."
The woman handed over a sealed print-out, and left.
Chantal broke the papal seal, and read her orders. They were countersigned by Cardinal DeAngelis, and didn't tell her more than the basics.
"I've been recalled," she told Stack.
"I thought you wanted to go to California?"
She sighed. "I do, but it will have to wait. It's marked urgent. I have a mission. Somewhere in Europe."
Stack didn't look happy about it. Quietly, he had come to rely on her. There was something he hadn't told her about, but which he wanted to. Something he found difficult to get straight in his own mind. She could tell. She had found she could catch his moods.
"I have to go," she said.
"I know."
"And you never told me how you escaped from Lauderdale's androids."
He hesited, "I know. It's kind of complicated."
"Save it for when I come by again."
"Sister…"
"Yes?"
"Never mind," he kissed her on the cheek, like a brother. She tried not to be disappointed. "Goodbye, Chantal."
"Goodbye, Nathan."
He walked away, and vanished into the shadows under the eaves of the fort. She turned to Federico, and keyed in her door-open code.
"Good morning, Sister," it said.
She felt comfortable with Federico's leather seat under her, and experienced that slipping-into-a-warm-bath thrill she always had when she was in the car. Federico played The Everly Brothers' "Bye Bye Love," but she didn't want to hear that. She selected Nat King Cole's "Route 66."
The main gates of Fort Apache slid open, and she drove over London Bridge. Ahead of her was the Big Empty, the desert heart of America.
"Ciao," she said, mainly to herself.