A - Clouds Gather

The door was made from walnut, panelled, and coated with a rich
crimson woodstain. There was no handle. Dr Shimada stepped onto the
footplate, felt it sink slightly under his weight. He straightened his
tie and wiped his palms against the hem of his lab coat. Recessed
camera lenses regarded him silently.

There was a click. The door began to open.

The percussive clack of his polished black shoes against equally
polished floortiles stopped as he entered, replaced by the echoing
report of stone flagging. The room was dark. Above him, the high barrel
vault ceiling rose into shadow. At the far end of the room, behind a
broad, regal desk, a fire rumbled in the great hearth, a silhouetted
figure stoking it with a long poker. Dr Shimada's step faltered. His
breaths were shallow. He debated whether to politely clear his
throat.

Behind him, pneumatic pistons pushed the sturdy door closed.

"Take a seat, Shimada," said the figure, without turning round. The
words were measured, selected carefully, and they thundered off the
granite walls in booming volleys. Dr Shimada quickened his pace to a
steady trot. The figure slid the poker from amongst the blazing coals,
the tip glowing fierce orange, and hung it on a bronze hook fastened to
the wall. Dr Shimada reached the high-backed leather swivel-chair and
reversed into it as decorously as possible. He placed his hands in his
lap, then changed his mind and rested them on the arms of the chair.
They were clammy with sweat.

The desk was magnificent, hewn from a single, immense block of the
finest marble. Intricately carved between two grotesque, Boschean
gargoyles that leered from either corner was a tableau depicting a
great, multi-tiered tower, ripped asunder by a jagged bolt of
lightning. The bolt forked down from a dark morass of swirling clouds
to strike at the building's centre in an eruption of smoke and
brickwork. Bodies were being torn apart by the blast, people were
toppling from windows, and the few witnessing events from the ground
were screaming with horror and clawing at their eyes. It was graphic,
to be sure, and terrible - yet there was a strange, almost unnerving
majesty to the frozen moment, something compelling in its stillness.
Shimada made himself look away.

On the desk's sheer, looking-glass surface were a phone, a
picture-frame screen for video conferencing, a lacquered pearwood cigar
box inlaid with burnished brass studs, and an embossed platinum
nameplate. This final object was for decorative purposes only, the
desk's sole concession to faux-corporate chic, and somewhat incongruous
as a result. It read, in capitalised, calligraphic letters: BISHOP
JUSTICE L. BOONE, MD - and underneath, in a smaller, floridly
ostentatious typeface: Salus extra ecclesiam non est.

The Bishop rubbed his hands together. "I do appreciate a good fire," he
said. "A good, genuine fire. Much more satisfying than the clinical
efficiency of those machines you use to heat your laboratories, don't
you agree?"

"Yes Sir," said Dr Shimada, nodding. The Bishop stooped to retrieve a
pair of crystal glasses warming at the edge of the hearth. He turned to
face the Doctor.

"Drink, Shimada?" he asked, proffering one of the glasses.

"Thank you, Sir." The Bishop placed both on the desk and retrieved a
bottle of cognac, three-quarters full, from next to his chair. The
stopper gave a trademark pop as he removed it and deftly filled the two
vessels.

"You will never have experienced anything&;#8230; comparable to
this, I can assure you," he said, replacing the cork. "It is quite
without equal." Dr Shimada gingerly picked up his glass. Bishop Boone
stood, watching expectantly. The Doctor took a sip. "Well? What do you
think?"

"Exquisite, Sir."

"Exquisite, Sir&;#8230; yes. How apt&;#8230; Exquisite." The
Bishop seemed tickled by this choice of words. He descended into his
chair with a smile on his thin, pinched face. "So," he began, "how is
our latest patient doing? His life signs have stabilised, I
hope."

Dr Shimada hesitated. He adjusted his thin, silver-rimmed glasses, and
took another sip of his drink. It tasted bitter, noxious. He detested
brandy.

"Yes Sir," he said. The Bishop's smile broadened to a grin, his lips
peeling back to reveal a row of crooked, dull grey teeth. They looked
much straighter and whiter on his vidboards, Dr Shimada mused,
momentarily forgetting himself.

"Good," said the Bishop, "good. You know how closely I have been
monitoring his - and your department's - progress over these last few
weeks. I can't emphasise strongly enough how&;#8230; ah, now how can
I put this&;#8230;" He drummed three spindly fingers from his right
hand against his chin. The fourth, the little finger, was missing.
This, again, was a detail Dr Shimada had not noticed in any of the
public images of Bishop Boone. "&;#8230;how significant a
breakthrough would be at this stage. I think I speak for everyone when
I say I am keen for things to progress swiftly&;#8230;"

"Sir," said the Doctor.

"Shimada?" Bishop Boone raised an eyebrow, his smile retracting.

"Sir, the subject's vital signs have stabilised&;#8230; at zero."
The Bishop's expression remained neutral. "Death occurred at
six-hundred hours and thirty-seven minutes this morning, Sir."

"I see," said the Bishop. He rested his elbows on the desk and brought
his wrists together, palms upturned. Each finger began to tap,
rhythmically, against its opposite number, with the exception of the
spare little finger, which instead grasped at the air. In the
intermittent firelight, the Bishop's hands recalled a wounded
tarantula. Dr Shimada tried to divert his attention to the cigar box.
"That is&;#8230; unfortunate. Your department seems to be running
into an inordinate volume of difficulties, Shimada."

"Yes, Sir."

"Whatever is the matter? You are an expert in your field. You graduated
from one of the Ecclesiarchy's finest institutions, as did all your
staff. You have worked your way up the ranks, shown great individual
flair&;#8230; even a certain ?lan for circumventing the more
Byzantine and bureaucratic&;#8230; obstacles that so clog our
beloved system. You have access to state-of-the-art equipment, your
budget is almost unlimited&;#8230; You are, in short, one of the
most&;#8230; privileged doctors in the province, if not the
world!"

"Yes, Sir."

"From whence then stem these problems? Is it me? Do I
somehow&;#8230; offend your professional sensibilities?"

"Oh no, Sir, not in the slightest, Sir."

"Come, come, be honest. I realise, as a doctor, you must hold a certain
amount of, err, resentment towards high and mighty theologians like
myself, locked away in our cavernous, many-vaulted cathedrals,
concocting arrogant, dogmatic proclamations with which we assail the
uneducated masses."

"No, Sir," Dr Shimada said quickly, shaking his head. "No, Sir, not at
all. I have nothing but the utmost respect for you. The setbacks my
team and I have encountered&;#8230;"

"Doctor," Bishop Boone interrupted, "Doctor, please. No need to be
skittish." He allowed the smile to return to his lips. "I realise this
environment is somewhat&;#8230; alien to you. You must feel rather,
hmm&;#8230; intimidated." He let out a dry, throaty laugh.

Dr Shimada smiled weakly. "A little, Sir."

"Believe it or not, I was once just like you," said the Bishop. "I can
sympathise with your&;#8230; apprehension, shall we say? We are
both, after all, men of science." He reached forward and tapped the MD
on his nameplate. "Traditionally, of course, science flounders under a
theocracy. It encourages too many questions, primes the simian
multitudes for tearing down established wisdom in pursuit of Grand
Unified Theories and other such false idols. Your cautious attitude is
the only&;#8230; rational behaviour. Anything less would be
foolhardy, and fools are to be despised above all else."

Dr Shimada nodded attentively, his heart tight in his chest like a
clenched fist.

"God rewards the shrewd," said Bishop Boone. "Not the righteous, not
the humble, not the good, not the bad, not the saint, not the sinner,
not the bishop, not the peasant, not even the Chancellor." The final
word was spoken with particular gravitas, the very impiety of such a
suggestion flashing like lightning in the Bishop's eyes. "God rewards
those who succeed - it's axiomatic. Those who make the right choice at
the right time - they are the ones He rewards with the right to lead,
with the right to live, with the right to take away life. Faith in God
means faith in one's actions. It means faith in Him and His infinite
wisdom to judge them right or wrong by their success or failure. We -
you, I, the Ecclesiarchy - we are all here, today, because God has
willed it. If this were not His will, He would smite us like insects!"
With this Bishop Boone brought his balled fist crashing down against
the desk. Dr Shimada flinched, almost spilling his brandy. "Forgive me,
Doctor," said the Bishop, in a voice barely above a whisper. "Sometimes
I find myself sermonising when my audience is clearly&;#8230;
unprepared. It was not my intention to startle you quite so,
ahem&;#8230; violently."

"Sir," said Dr Shimada, bowing his head.

"I would be a fool, and a myopic one at that, if I were not prepared to
embrace technology as a gift from God and the future of our great
civilisation. For too long the pious rejected science, forever fearful
that some researcher's irreverent&;#8230; prying would unravel the
very tapestry of their beliefs, cheating them of an eternity in
paradise. That fear was&;#8230; debilitating. Now, they see that the
pattern has yet to be woven&;#8230; and we are the threads."

Dr Shimada nodded earnestly, pursing his lips.

"Do not allow any man to tell you that you are wrong, Shimada. They are
lowly, spineless heretics and each of their number shall be judged in
time. You, like myself, are a thinking man, a pragmatist. Trust in your
intellect to guide you. Let the consequences of your actions and the
fruit they bear serve as your judgement. Know that God will suffer no
deed that is not part of His will."

"Yes Sir. Thank you, Sir."

"So&;#8230;" the Bishop said, pausing to wet his lips, "why did he
die?"

"Sir?"

"Your patient, Shimada. Why did he die?"

"Sir," began Dr Shimada, trying to control his breathing, "the
procedure contains a great deal of unknowns. We - the team and I - are
working largely in the dark. If we were given just some elementary
information on how the device actually works, then it would
make&;#8230; installing it that much easier."

The Bishop laughed. "Always the politician, Shimada, always the elusive
politician. I shall try my question again." He narrowed his eyes and
sat back in his chair. "Why did he die?"

Shimada shuffled uncomfortably. "It was a brain haemorrhage, Sir, just
like the last ones. We thought we had his condition under control,
but&;#8230;" He grabbed a lock of greying hair from just above his
temple and started to twist it anxiously. "It's the same story every
time. We implant the device in the prefrontal lobe, the patient remains
stable for three to four hours and then suddenly convulsions, multiple
brain haemorrhages - they're dead within minutes. Sir&;#8230;" Dr
Shimada looked up, timidly. "&;#8230;if I may ask&;#8230;"

"Of course, Shimada, of course," said Bishop Boone, gesturing for him
to continue.

"Is this some kind of weapon?" He bit his lip, concentrated on the
cigar box. "Is it meant to be killing them?"

The Bishop gazed up towards the darkness of the ceiling, appearing to
contemplate this.

"Do you smoke at all, Doctor?" he asked suddenly.

"Sir?"

"Do you smoke?" Bishop Boone flipped a latch on the cigar box and
lifted the lid.

"I&;#8230; I&;#8230;" Dr Shimada stammered. "&;#8230;
sometimes. My&;#8230; my wife doesn't approve."

"Ah, your wife," exclaimed the Bishop. "Well, of course she doesn't.
She cares about your welfare, Shimada. Remind me of her name."

"Her name is Ayame, Sir," said Dr Shimada.

"Ayame, Ayame&;#8230;" Bishop Boone mused. "What an&;#8230;
enchanting name. You must miss her a lot, given the countless hours you
have been putting in to ensure this project does not fall behind
schedule."

"Yes Sir," said Dr Shimada, ignoring the catch in his voice. "I love
her very much."

The Bishop took a cigar from the case and held it gently between thumb
and forefinger.

"These are fine cigars, Doctor. Fine cigars. Strains of tobacco
gathered from right across the western hemisphere, interbred and
cultivated and, how can I put it&;#8230; sculpted by the art of the
scientist, into, well&;#8230; try for yourself." He turned the case
to face Dr Shimada. The Doctor reached forward tentatively and
retrieved a cigar.

"Thank you Sir," he said, sitting back down. He cradled the cigar
awkwardly, as if he were afraid he might break it.

Bishop Boone reached into the lid of the cigar box, and from within a
concealed pocket in the velvet inlay produced a small, black matchbook.
Placing the cigar in his mouth, he tore out a match, struck it, then
placed the book on the table for Dr Shimada to pick up. As the Doctor
lit his cigar, Bishop Boone puffed once, twice, and leant back in his
chair.

"Times have changed," said the Bishop. "People look at the world and
see it is no longer the&;#8230; tumultuous place it once was. They
see order where once there was chaos, plenty where once there was
famine, leisure where once there was nothing but hard toil and the
anguish of war." He exhaled a gauzy cloud of smoke. "They are blind."
Dr Shimada felt his shoulders stiffen. "They cast their nets in the
shallow waters and snare mere platitudes. The calm of the surface
belies the turmoil that burgeons within its depths. Dissent is growing,
Doctor, mark my words. The wise can smell it on the wind. As
reconciliation turns to stagnation turns to ferment, so will our
cherished society split and crumble, unless those in power pay heed to
the caveats and resolve to&;#8230; but I am boring you with speeches
better reserved for the pulpit." He hesitated for a moment, looking the
Doctor in the eyes, scrutinising him. "Back to the matter in hand. What
is your prognosis, Doctor?"

"I'm sorry, Sir?" Dr Shimada said, cigar trembling in his hand. "What
do you mean?"

"What is your prognosis, Doctor," Bishop Boone repeated, "your
prognosis for the project? Are these&;#8230; teething problems going
to be eliminated, or is the ailment likely to persist? Are these the
symptoms of an acute condition or a chronic one? Can you, in the common
parlance, get this job done?"

"Sir, with all due respect&;#8230;"

"Shimada," the Bishop broke in, "that phrase always&;#8230; inflames
my suspicions, so to speak. It invariably prefixes something said
without all due respect and as such carries a rather&;#8230; hollow
ring to it, if you will. It acts as a kind of warning shot, in
conversation, and that, Doctor, is something guaranteed to raise my
hackles."

"I'm terribly sorry, Sir," began Dr Shimada.

"Please, please," said Bishop Boone, waving a peremptory hand, "don't
compound it with additional soulless pleasantries. Just&;#8230;
continue. Please, continue, and make it concise. I have cancelled
several&;#8230; engagements to make this audience possible; I would
hate to think that my sacrifice was in vain."

"Of course, Sir," said the Doctor. "In my professional opinion, the
probability of our implanting one of the devices and successfully
retaining a patient until they become conscious is practically nil,
unless the team and I are permitted access to pertinent information
regarding the device's function and operation. Even rudimentary
schematics would exponentially increase our chances of success."

"But without these you feel the task is impossible," the Bishop
said.

"Close to impossible, Sir," said Dr Shimada. Ash fell from his cigar
and landed in his lap. He hurriedly brushed it away. "We have,
err&;#8230;" He stumbled over his words, flushed. "We have implanted
the device in twelve people, and twelve people have died, Sir. We've
gleaned all the data we can from each attempt - pulse rates, GSRs,
cortical scans, electroencephalograms, plus the results from the
autopsies - but it has been largely inconclusive. Anything that
increases the survival rate&;#8230;"

"The survival rate is irrelevant, Shimada. Your subjects are
Conscripts. Their lives are already over. Your focus ought to be on
producing me a living, conscious recipient. That is what I asked for
and that is what I expect - no more, no less. I thought you were above
all that misguided, philanthropic&;#8230; claptrap."

"Yes Sir. I am sorry if I gave the impression I was not doing
everything in my power to fully obey your orders." Dr Shimada inspired
quietly on his cigar, and reached up to wipe the perspiration from his
brow with the sleeve of his coat. Bishop Boone started to laugh. His
chair rocked as he slapped his good hand against the desk and laughed
harder still.

"Oh dear, Doctor, you must forgive me, but it is hard to keep a
straight face after seeing yours."

"Sir?"

"You look quite pale! Am I really that terrifying to you? You cower in
that chair, quivering as if the Lord Himself might strike you dead at
any minute!"

"Sorry, Sir," said Dr Shimada, unsure whether to raise or lower his
gaze. "You seemed displeased&;#8230;"

"Displeased?" said Bishop Boone. "Displeased? Well of course I'm
displeased! I have entrusted you and your colleagues with by far the
largest research budget in the province, and for my kindness I have
received precisely nothing! What did you expect?" He let out a chuckle,
and placed his cigar in a shallow groove on the edge of the desk. "You
exhibit such fear! Doctor, please&;#8230; under these robes I am but
a man, the same as you. You behave as if I were a&;#8230; a
monster!" The Bishop shook his head. "Is that really how you perceive
me? Am I reduced in your eyes to a&;#8230; caricature? Do I appear
as some insane, despotic&;#8230; zealot? I expect you imagine I have
a big red button on the edge of my desk that will cast you into a pit
of flame if you have the&;#8230; audacity to incur my wrath!" He
grinned. "If that is your&;#8230; sincere belief then I am afraid
you are quite, quite wrong." He picked up his cigar again and took a
brief puff for emphasis. "I would never resort to such a
gaudily&;#8230; theatrical device."

"Sir?" said Dr Shimada.

"You keep extensive notes, Doctor," said the Bishop. "Your&;#8230;
fastidiousness is admirable. I'm sure your esteemed colleague, Dr
Tomosaka, will find them most useful when he assumes your post."

"Sir?" Dr Shimada repeated, feeling his chest tighten. "Are you
relieving me of duty?"

"Why would I want to do that? You have one of the finest minds I have
ever encountered! It is a commodity I wish to&;#8230; exploit. It
has become obvious from your string of&;#8230; disappointments that
you are, err&;#8230; miscast somewhat in your current r?le. If you
will permit me one, faintly pedagogical clich?, I feel you are not
fulfilling your true potential."

"So&;#8230; am I to be demoted?" His head was swimming. The Bishop's
countenance melted in and out of sharp focus.

"Demoted? Not at all! Quite the contrary, Doctor. You are to be
elevated. I wish to reward you for your tireless dedication to the
project by granting you the most important position of all&;#8230;
that of test subject." He let the denouement hang for a moment. "You
seem lost for words. Clearly this turn of events has caught
the&;#8230; astute Dr Nobumasa Shimada off-guard. There is no need
to&;#8230; fret. Your work shall continue with Dr Tomosaka at the
helm. His competency is beyond question&;#8230; I am confident he
will be able to&;#8230; satisfy my rather&;#8230; ambitious
demands, without poking his grubby proboscis into affairs that the
prudent choose to&;#8230; overlook. He has been&;#8230; coveting
your job for some time now. That you will be his first&;#8230;
participant will doubtless add to his enjoyment of this&;#8230;
novel situation."

Dr Shimada was white with fear. He tried to form words but the only
sound he could produce was an arid rasping from the back of his
throat.

"If you are concerned about, now, what was her name&;#8230; Ayame,
ah yes. If you are concerned about Ayame's welfare, allow me
to&;#8230; allay your concerns. She will be well cared for. It seems
it is not only your job Tomosaka lusts after." Dr Shimada's eyes
bulged. He tried to stand up but his lower body refused to function
properly. He threw a hand out to support himself, knocking the empty
brandy glass to the floor. It struck the stone flagging with a
resounding chime, shattering into so much crystalline dust. Bishop
Boone frowned, tutting to himself. "I shouldn't bother struggling,
Doctor. You only have a minute or so of consciousness left. It seems
rather&;#8230; rash to squander it by simply making a mess." Through
failing vision, Dr Shimada saw the Bishop's brandy glass was still
full. He slumped back in his chair, spectacles slipping from the bridge
of his nose and landing in his lap.

"I so love marble," Bishop Boone said, running an index finger along
the surface of the desk. "By firelight it becomes almost&;#8230;
mesmerising. Do you know how the effect is created, Doctor? Does your
scientific knowledge encompass geology?" He leant forward to admire his
reflection. "Photons&;#8230; penetrate a short distance into the
rock and&;#8230; refract off the crystals inside.
Fascinating&;#8230; the complexity of God's creations. The rock
compound that forms this desk was synthesised in just three
days&;#8230; finer than the finest Pentelic marble the long-departed
Attican quarries could ever muster. Deus proponit, sed Homo disponit."
He smiled quietly at himself. Meanwhile, Dr Shimada clawed impotently
at the arms of his chair, vigour decreasing as he sunk lower and
lower.

"Please!" he cried, at last marshalling his thoughts into a coherent
but slurred outburst. "Please, Sir! I'm sorry&;#8230; Please - I
know I&;#8230; I know&;#8230; I know I can get it right next
time, if you'll just give me one more chance! Sir&;#8230; Please, oh
God please I beg of you&;#8230; don't do this!"

"You call on God?" Bishop Boone laughed. "Why, have you not listened to
a word I've said? This is the will of God! Recall the counsel of
Gamaliel! You must have more faith! If He&;#8230; wishes to save
you, then rest assured, He will save you any second now. Let's
see&;#8230; Five&;#8230; four&;#8230; three&;#8230;
two&;#8230; one&;#8230; time's up. Goodbye for now, Doctor. I
hope you are successful in&;#8230; bucking the trend." Dr Shimada
opened his mouth to say something, but the words never came. With a
last, lazy blink, his head lolled backwards and he fell still. Bishop
Boone watched him for a while, puffing contentedly on the cigar in his
left hand, until he was sure the drugs had taken effect, then with his
right hand, the one with the missing finger, he silently crossed
himself, looking heavenward in gratitude.