Apostolic Journey

[Ascendancy]

2:45 pm

The orders had already gone out.

That was the first thing Nikolai reminded himself of as he moved through the Kremlin corridors. The city was not waiting for him to tell every agency what to do. Custody of Defense had begun deploying engineering units and tracked vehicles. Civil defense was working through shelters, hospitals, evacuation priorities, and rescue operations. Infrastructure authorities were isolating damaged systems and protecting what remained of the power and heating networks. Military communications were establishing alternate links as conventional systems began to fail.

The state was moving. Now he needed to move with it. He had no intention of spending the rest of the day underground watching Moscow disappear across a screen.

The Kremlin itself had become strangely crowded. Staff who had been moving quietly through the corridors that morning were now gathered in small groups, speaking urgently into wallets or trying to reach family members. Security personnel were everywhere. Diplomatic delegations remained confined to their assigned areas, and the press corps that had come to cover the summit had been transformed into something closer to a war correspondent pool.

Nikolai passed beneath one of the vaulted passages toward the ground-level portion of the complex where the Dominions were assembling. The six who remained on the Kremlin grounds were already prepared.

Karim al'Shaidis stood at their center, informally directing the others as they checked their equipment and divided responsibilities. There was no formal ceremony to it. No announcement of command. The Rods simply looked to Karim, and Karim looked to Nikolai. That was enough.

They had abandoned the clothing appropriate to the summit. Heavy insulated coats covered them from throat to knee. Their trousers were reinforced against the cold and abrasion. Boots were thick, waterproof and designed for conditions far worse than ordinary Moscow winter weather. Goggles and face coverings hung ready around their necks ready to be donned. Gloves were thick enough to protect their hands while still allowing them to channel.

Nikolai looked toward the six men and relayed the plan.

"We go where the most amount of people are. KSOC will give us in the intelligence and directions. Our job is to create opportunity for rescue.”

Nikolai turned toward one of the surrounding officers holding a tablet.

"Do not send us toward the financial district because it looks important on a map. I don't care how many offices are buried. I want apartment blocks, hospitals, shelters, schools, residential corridors. Find me the largest concentrations of people who cannot get themselves out.” The officer nodded and hurried away.

Nikolai looked through the nearest window. There was nothing left to see on the other side: just a dense sheet of white already drowning the building in snow drift. Beyond the Kremlin walls, Moscow had become an abstraction of white and gray. Buildings that should have dominated the skyline were gone in the whiteout conditions. Streets had disappeared entirely.

Twenty meters.

Perhaps more in places. He thought of what that meant.

Countless people trapped inside buildings whose entrances were likely already buried. Families sealed inside apartments. Elderly residents unable to reach stairwells. Children in schools. Patients in hospitals. People whose only crime had been being in the wrong building when the city vanished. Air shafts blocked. Roofs collapsing. 

They would not clear Moscow, but they could reach some people. He sent a brief message to Nox, informing him of the response and telling him to do whatever he could wherever he was in the city just as the door opened behind him, and Theron entered.

Nikolai turned.

The Luminar had changed as well. Gone were the robes and formal vestments of the morning. He wore heavy winter clothing, gloves and a face covering, his expression composed beneath the hood.

Nikolai stared at him.

"No."

Theron's eyebrows rose.

"I have not said anything."

Nikolai’s expression sharpened. “You were going to."

"I am going with you."

"No." The answer was immediate.

Theron looked past him toward the six Dominions.

"I can channel."

"So can they."

"And so can you."

"Which is why I do not need another person following me who has no place in the operational structure."

Theron's jaw tightened. "I am not asking for command."

"Then what are you asking for?"

"To help." 

Nikolai studied him. He believed that, which was the main problem. He also believed several other things.

Theron wanted to help, but he also wanted to prove himself. He wanted to demonstrate that the Brotherhood was not merely a congregation of people who worshipped from a safe distance. He wanted to be seen beside Nikolai when the world was watching.

All of those things could be true at once. The six men paused their preparations and watched what would happen.

"You want to be seen," Nikolai said.

Theron did not immediately answer. Then he gave a small nod.

"Yes."

At least he was honest.

"There are cameras everywhere," Theron said quietly. "Foreign delegations. Religious representatives. Journalists. Governments watching us. The Brotherhood has spent too long telling people what we believe. Today they can see it."

Nikolai looked at him for several seconds.

This was exactly the sort of thing Theron would have said that morning. It was the sort of calculation he understood. The Luminar told the world Nikolai was a god. He had built an entire religious institution around that belief. But Nikolai had always suspected that Theron's faith was less devotion than architecture. He believed, certainly. He simply had not yet surrendered himself to the belief in the way he demanded of others.

Nikolai was the foundation upon which Theron had built his own authority. Now the foundation was walking into the snow. Of course Theron wanted to follow, but Nikolai also understood the political consequences if he died.

The Luminar of the Brotherhood killed while accompanying the Ascendancy into an unprecedented disaster would make him a martyr. His death could strengthen the Brotherhood more than his life ever had. But there was another possibility. Theron might actually be useful. And there was no time to indulge certainty.

"Stay close to me," Nikolai said.

Theron's expression sharpened.

"I can do that."

"You do exactly what Karim tells you."

Theron glanced toward Karim.

Karim's expression remained unreadable.

"Understood."

Theron exhaled.

For the first time, something resembling satisfaction crossed his face. Nikolai noticed, and so did Karim, but neither commented. They began moving through the Kremlin.

The atmosphere changed as they approached the Kremlin's main public-facing areas. The press had been held back behind security cordons, but cameras were still visible. Journalists were calling questions toward the passing officials. Some were trying to understand what happened to the summit. Others were reporting directly into cameras, their voices strained by the realization that whatever story they had arrived to cover had been replaced by something unprecedented.

A large monitor mounted in one of the Kremlin's public corridors carried a emergency statement issued to Moscow.

Citizens of Moscow: remain indoors. Conserve heat and power. Emergency services are being mobilized. The Ascendancy has assumed direct command of the response. Do not attempt to travel. Help those around you. The Custody has not abandoned you.

Nikolai stopped long enough to hear the end of it.

A reporter nearby spoke into a live-feed camera as they passed, then turned back toward the group. "He's going out.”

Another journalist looked at her.

"The Ascendancy?"

"Yes."

The woman looked toward the security cordon.

"Why?"

The first reporter's answer came quietly. It hadn’t been announced, but it could be inferred.

"Because people are trapped."

Nikolai continued walking, and another camera followed him. Through the stream, there were millions of eyes on him now. He could feel it. Fear had changed the atmosphere inside the Kremlin, but so had something else. People were looking at him with the desperate expectation that he would know what to do.

Some looked at him as a sovereign. Some as a commander. Some as something much closer to what the Brotherhood called him. A god. The irony was not lost on him. That morning, he had sat across from the Pope and the Luminar while they discussed faith, divinity and the nature of channelers. Now Moscow was buried beneath an impossible storm, and everyone was watching to see what he would do. There was something satisfying in the irony.

At the gate's interior, he looked toward the officer with the tablet.

"Where?"

The officer brought up the latest population overlay.

"East and northeast. Dense residential concentrations beyond the immediate central district. Several complexes reporting structural distress. Hospitals in three zones are requesting assistance. Communications from two residential districts have gone dark."

Nikolai pointed toward the eastern sector.

"We start there."

“The Red Square is directly ahead of the Spasskaya Gate."

"I know."

The officer hesitated.

“Ascendancy, the commercial and government districts around the center are also reporting—"

"Later." Nikolai's voice was flat. “Businesses can wait." And gestured at his men, and together they continued toward the Kremlin's famous landmark.

The Spasskaya Tower rose above them, its massive red-brick form disappearing into the storm above. For generations, its chimes had marked the hours for Moscow, their sound familiar to virtually everyone in Russia. Beneath the tower were the Kremlin's main Holy Gates, the Spasskaya Gate, through which tsars had once been met and warriors sent off to war. Holy processions had passed beneath the same archway, making the gate a waypoint between the sacred heart of the Kremlin and the city beyond. Nikolai looked up at the tower. The clock couldn’t be seen through the snow. There was something fitting about that.

The enormous doors stood ahead.

Beyond them was Red Square, but Nikolai was not interested in the square itself. They would cross through it only long enough to reach the eastern side of the central district and begin cutting toward the residential concentrations beyond.

The wind could already be heard through the heavy doors. It was not the ordinary sound of winter. It was a continuous roar.

Snow slammed against the walls beyond the gate and spun upward in enormous clouds. The courtyard and square outside had almost vanished beneath the accumulation. Whatever had once been a clear route through the center of Moscow was now a white expanse broken only by shapes that might have been buildings, walls, vehicles or nothing at all.

The six Rods tightened their gear. Karim went down the line, checking each of them without a word again. He tugged once at a glove cuff, adjusted the seal around one face covering, then checked the fastening on a coat where it had come loose. He inspected their goggles and boots with the same practical attention before giving each of them a brief nod.

Karim looked at Nikolai. “We’re ready.”

Nikolai looked once at Theron.

The Luminar stood beside them, bundled against the cold. He had pulled his hood tightly around his face and was fastening the last of his protective gear. For just a moment, Nikolai wondered whether he had made a mistake. Then he thought of the people beyond the walls. There would be time to question the decision later.

Nikolai pulled his face shield into place. He flexed his gloved hands once, feeling the material settle around his fingers. The security personnel moved to the doors.

“Open it.”