The Prometheus Objective

16

The door barged open right as the connection to New York had been terminated.

Marla rushed in, out of breath. “They’re storming the church!”

Victoria shot to her feet. Thoughts of possessed soldiers or an army of zombified ninjas filled her mind “Who?”

“I don’t know, a crowd! Demanding the priest, like they’re a lynch mob.”

Victoria didn’t even think, just ran for the door. Pushed past Marla and headed for the stairs. Wasn’t sure what she was thinking or even what she could possibly do, but felt for a moment like a first responder, rushing headlong into a burning building or a bomb threat zone.

At the upper level she merged immediately with the crowd, pushing and shoving and squeezing through the lobby into the chapel. She wasn’t sure if the others were following her, and really hoped they weren’t. Hoped too, that they had the sense she lacked and were staying downstairs, locking and barricading the door for good measure.

What the hell are you doing?

Other than rushing to Pastor Frank’s defense, what was she possibly hoping to accomplish? Someone elbowed her, another shoved her deeper into the mob. She banged against the door, knocked over a tray of candles — which were fortunately extinguished before fires could start.

Adrenaline surged and mingled with fear and excitement and disbelief as she was basically carried into the church. Pastor Frank was climbing to the podium as others raced up the aisles, turned over pews, knocked over statues. He tried to calm them over the microphone, the most desperate sermon he’d ever attempted. To no avail.

His mind must have been in uproar as well. Victoria was just barely resisting the pull of all this fear and outrage as the streets overflowed with desperate people fighting themselves, others, and the onslaught of change.

They were striking out at the institutions that had promised them the truth. A truth that now was laid bare as anything but reality.

Whether it was on her own accord, as if driven by some new component of her leadership development, the responsibility Phoebe and Caleb had thrust upon her in the Stargate vacuum, or whether it was some kind of destiny, she wasn’t sure. Maybe it was just the momentum of the crowd that happened to push her to the front, right up to the stairs and the podium, but she found her way there.

And she found her strength.

Found her resolve.

After all Pastor Frank had done for her, for their team, she wasn’t about to let him be the target of this mob’s desperate anger.

She turned, and as one of them, they noticed and held back for a moment, expecting something, but not sure what, as she held up her hands. She gently pushed the pastor away, so she could grab the podium, lean forward and speak.

The rumbling settled, like a brief respite in a tumultuous thunderstorm.

Just enough time — not too much for her to actually think about what she was about to say, but just enough to get the first words out.

They were all she needed…

Five minutes later, the words were still pouring out. Flooding out, more appropriately. The crowd — from the young to the old, teens, and men and women from all walks of life — stopped where they were, packing the aisles, standing on the pews and overturned chairs and the backs of broken tables and on the window sills or collection boxes. Anything to see, to hear. It was as if she were giving a sermon, the most important one, she thought fleetingly, maybe since the Sermon on the Mount.

This wasn’t about the meek, but it was about to fate of who would inherit the earth. She spoke, just from the heart, as only she could. At first, the fact that she was one of ‘them’, the psychics, seemed important. They were the ones who some thought started this all, as if the ability was actually a flu-like germ that had spread to the entire world; but she quickly dissuaded the more vociferous protesters out there of that belief.

Her heartfelt talk of her childhood trying to endure this ability, being different, questioning her very nature and wondering if she were damaged goods and only worthy of scorn. She broke down early, and then again, talking of her mother, and her family. Having to restrict her thoughts and her abilities, like binding her feet to fit with a culture’s preferences.

She spoke of coping mechanisms, of trust. Of expectations and the value of the individual, their place in a society that was far, far more open, and yet just as isolated as ever when you thought about it. The need for individuals, for caring. For hope most of all.

She went on, and on. At one point she realized a hand had been on her shoulder the whole time. Pastor Frank, behind her, and not just him. A young girl was also touching her arm. Another boy found a way up, crawling under people until he could hold her hand, as if she were some angelic prophet who could cure the sick and troubled with but a touch.

It didn’t faze her, as she kept talking. Pouring out everything from her heart and soul, assuring the newly-afflicted that what they suffered was not a sign of the devil, a curse or a disease, and not necessarily a gift either; it was just an opportunity. Something to be shared as part of a global experience, bringing the world together as never before.

It was a challenge, and we could either embrace it, or let it consume and destroy us.

Somewhere around the eighth minute, her eyes found some focus, saw out into the massive crowd jamming the church, and saw some young woman, eyes tearing, holding up her phone, recording it all…