MELCHIZEDEK, BOOK ONE: KINGS AND PRIESTS

A Christian Novel by Michael S. Cordima

Copyright © 2020 by Michael S. Cordima

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Knowing their thoughts, Jesus said to them, "Every kingdom divided against itself is brought to desolation, and every city or house divided against itself will not stand."

-Matthew, 12:25

Prologue

Supreme Court Building

Washington D.C.

Tuesday, March 22nd, 10AM EST

A sober-looking man briskly made his way up the wide concrete slabs that lay beside First Street, his fine, dirty blonde hair swaying side to side with each intentional step. He wore black slacks and boots, and a red wool shirt. Eight large black buttons were stitched into the shirt's heavy fabric, four on either side of his chest. Together, they held in place a trapezoid-shaped bib that covered most of the area from his waist up to the shirt's collar. He was clean-shaven and had pale blue eyes, eyes that he used as he moved through the hustle and bustle that existed on the sidewalk on that bright morning, to monitor each soul that he passed by.

Watching every face and action as he scanned the other visitors, he carefully cataloged any sound or gesture that seemed out of place, just as he had been trained to do. Concealing his surveillance by feigning disinterest, he took into account the tones in their voices and the mannerisms of their movements, making a mental note of each one. Tall and thin, normally he would have easily stood out from those around him in such an environment, but neither his conspicuous stature, nor his confident demeanor had drawn attention up to that point, as the increasingly unruly element he was walking into had bigger fish to fry than he.

Drawing nearer to his goal, he found himself maneuvering through a slew of screaming dissidents, every one of them carrying signs strewn with all manner of slogans and insults across their placards. Meant as messages to those in power, the words were ultimately useless, having lost their meaning over a decade hence, during the propaganda battlefield that inevitably arose at the inception of the digital age known as the Hypnotic War. They were not alone of course, having been surrounded by a group of would-be independent internet reporters that were nearly as numerous. The opportunistic information peddlers, as always, were using their First Amendment rights to flaunt the latest in Snap-Camera technology that was strapped to the ends of their fingertips. They were recording the entire fiasco from behind the safety of their wide contagion stopping masks and slap-goggles that conveniently concealed their identities, while also protecting them from communicable disease. What a mess. The man thought, realizing with some trepidation that it was one in which he was about to willingly become a part of, as he stepped up to the first of two military checkpoints.

Two small foldable tables were there, set up on either side of a short set of wide marble steps that stood between the sidewalk and a large plaza area, but only one of them was occupied. Behind it sat a female soldier. Not far behind her to one side were five more, two male, two female, and another that looked as if they were either in the process of changing their gender or did not claim one at all. Each of them stood completely still, staring straight ahead and through him as he approached, every one holding an automatic rifle in their white knuckled hands.

"Your credentials, please," The soldier behind the table said flatly. Without hesitating, the tall visitor reached out his right hand. The female soldier then picked up a small scanning device from a cradle that had been holding it upright on the table top, and waved it over his right arm while carefully watching a small screen that was protruding from its handle.

She put the device back in its cradle, and reached into a small box that was next to her right foot. From it, she took out a plastic badge with an alligator clip on one end. "Mr. Robert Valley," she said. She looked down at a list that appeared on a tablet which was sitting on the table next to the cradle. When she found his name on the list, she gave him the badge and smiled back. "They are expecting you inside in the north conference room. Could you lean down, please? I have to check your eyes." Robert obliged and leaned toward her. She stood up and looked closely at his irises. "Look up please, now look down. Thank you." She sat back down. "I am required to let you know that there are no recording devices allowed on the premises at this time beyond the second checkpoint. Do you have any electronic devices of any kind on your person?" Robert shook his head. "Good. Private Arnold will now pat you down, and use a metal detector. Then he will lead you to your destination, and stand by the door until you are finished. He will then escort you back here, to return your badge before you leave."

One of the soldiers standing behind her, a pale and tepid looking young man, stepped forward around the table and walked up to him as if he were executing some kind of silent military drill. Robert turned to face the boy, and looked down at him. Standing six-foot-four on a good day, he was easily head and shoulders over his escort. Through a series of well-practiced motions the boy placed his rifle on the table, and began to pat Robert down. Robert extended his arms, and waited as the soldier waved a small device around his torso and appendages before retrieving his weapon.

Robert clipped the badge to his shirt, "Uh, thank you." he said to the woman. He walked up the short set of steps that led to the plaza, an area they would need to cross in order to get to the portico on the other side and the main entrance. Private Arnold marched dutifully to his right as they went, his footfalls sounding off loudly. Robert looked at the young man. "So, you're my private Arnold huh?" The soldier did not respond. "If something happens, are you supposed to make sure ah get to da' choppa?" He spoke with a slight accent. The soldier continued marching, careful to keep his eyes facing forward, and gave no reaction to the levity Robert was trying to bring to the situation. "Yeah, that's what I thought. You've probably never seen that one anyway." He looked around at the soldiers stationed on either side of the plaza, and at the second checkpoint at the top of another, much larger stairway, careful not to turn his head as he did so. "Yup, real professionals around here," he said. He looked down toward his escort again, mentally noting different aspects of the boy's uniform and equipment. "Cream of the crop, I'm tellin' ya."

At least forty representatives of major corporately owned media outlets had camped out around and between two turquoise blue fountains that adorned the southern side of the plaza. As he and the boy walked by, several of them took notice of his shirt, and started taking pictures. As some of the reporters attempted to approach him, their Snap Cameras pointing in his direction ahead of them, several more soldiers standing guard around the areas where they were allowed to congregate quickly sprung into action, preventing any of them from getting closer than a few meters from his position. They stopped and yelled at the troops, their fingers pointing around at everything and everyone but themselves, an irony that did not escape Robert's notice. He smirked at them and leaned in close to his mute escort again, "You know a few years ago when I came here to testify, they laughed and made jokes about these uniforms." He pointed to his shirt. "Now look at 'em. They can't even get inside the building." He smiled and waved at the onlookers.

Two imposingly hooded monolithic statues stood on either side of the bottom of the second stairway. Looking up as he walked, Robert took a moment to admire the grand columns and neoclassical artwork that sat above the portico. Several philosophers were depicted there in a large Parthenon-like motif, eternally frozen in endless debate. Beneath them, just above the entablature and engraved in large letters, were the words: EQUAL JUSTICE UNDER LAW. Rest easy boys, Robert thought to himself. We'll take it from here.

They walked up the hard and unyielding steps, and past the incredibly tall columns of the portico. Robert showed his badge to another soldier, who was sitting at another small table just outside of the opened seventeen foot bronze doors that made the building's main entrance. The soldier waved him by, and he nodded at two more men who were standing on either side of the large entryway as he walked in. Arnold picked up his pace and walked ahead of him. "This way, mister Valley," he said.

The hallway was long, with a marble floor and a ceiling that looked as if it could have been thirty feet high. Several well-dressed lawyers and other political operatives stopped what they were doing and stood, watching him in silence. They stared at him as he walked past, putting an end to the sounds of echoing conversations that had filled the immense space when they'd first entered. Unphased by the sudden change in mood upon his approach, he continued to look up as he walked, as if preferring the echo of his own footsteps to the ramblings of others, who in his mind were no longer relevant. He took in the grand sight, appreciating the different, but equally impressive columns that lined the inside of the great hall of justice, noting the high level of detail that had been put into its intricately decorated coffered ceiling, and did not even acknowledge those they passed by, not even giving them the satisfaction of looking in their general direction.

At the far end of the hall, Robert could see into the main judicial chamber where decisions had been made that had affected the lives of so many. At that moment it was empty, but still impressive. Beyond the audience seats, a small lectern and a wide wooden bench, one that was large enough to accommodate them all, nine tall black chairs stood out from a backdrop of giant red velvet curtains that hung behind them. But long before they could reach the Eastern side of the building where the room was located, Arnold stopped and turned to face a different door on the north side of the hall. He marched to the door, and stood beside it without saying a word.

Robert followed him and gave him an unsure glance before reaching out and opening the door himself. Inside, the curtains of a few windows had been pulled to their sides, allowing for some sunlight to come in from a courtyard outside, which partially illuminated the room. No artificial lights were turned on, forcing his eyes to adjust to the dim environment. When they did, he was able to see a long dark conference room with a large oak table in its center, surrounded by twenty heavy looking chairs. All of them were made of the same dark, grainy wood. Upon entering, a strange musty odor hit his nostrils, the kind one might encounter while riding in an old car that had been well cared for, but rarely left the place where it was kept. Beyond the table on the far side of the room, he could make out three men who were standing and facing in the opposite direction. One of them wore a suit and the other two were in flat green military style outfits, the type used by officers. They were looking at a large portrait that hung on the far wall of the conference room, the man in the suit pointing out something to the others with his left index finger, while saying something that Robert couldn't quite make out. After hearing the heavy door close behind him, they turned around.

"Ah, perfect timing." the man in the suit said, clasping and rubbing his hands together as he looked Robert over. "Robert Valley, I presume?"

"That would be me." Robert said. He walked across the room to meet them. He couldn't help but notice that they were not sitting down as he approached, nor did they invite him to. He shook hands with the man in the suit and the man closest to him, who was in uniform. Three stars were attached to the collars of the second man's shirt, and a manila folder was tucked under his left arm. The third man didn't move or say a word. Robert could see that he was clearly a subordinate or assistant to the general.

The man in the suit introduced himself. "I am Justice Jerald Marrow, and this is General Kent. I take it Simon wasn't able to join us today?"

"Simon is still in Detroit overseeing the final touches of our latest project there. He likes to handle things personally until he is sure everything is running smoothly."

"Of course, we've been told there is no direct way to reach him, and that he prefers it that way. Just to be clear, you are his second in command, correct? I don't want to assume too much from what I hear in the news."

"I am." Robert said.

"Well, please ask mister Raimes to consider having an ID chip installed. He is a national treasure after all. We would hate to lose him. I'm sure he has many enemies in his chosen line of work." the Justice said.

"I'll let him know of your concerns."

"The General told me you've visited the Supreme Court before."

"Yes, a case went through the ninth circuit a few years ago. Some folks down south didn't think we should have been able to search or detain civilians, as we were a private organization. Even when the neighborhoods we were helping were burning to the ground and our people were randomly being attacked. They said it was a breach of fourth amendment rights."

"I do remember that one! That was a big win for you. If I remember, after that your little project really started to take off."

"That's right. We already had a long track record with local authorities on a case by case basis with such incidents in other cities, and made sure that everything was recorded through a drone grid in case anyone was mistreated in any way. After reviewing the videos we took of the incidents, the court sided with us, because we'd only gone in after our assistance had already been accepted by the mayor and because we were there to protect and dispense aid only. It was determined that our people were merely protecting themselves as volunteers in a hostile situation, and as such had a right in the face of senseless, unorganized and unsanctioned violence, to perform individual searches and detainments of violent members of the populace on the spot as responsible, independent members of the citizenry."

Justice Marrow nodded. "I take it mister Raimes has given you full authority here?"

"Simon has given me authority over all affairs pertaining to the Shotgun Relief Army, and has instructed me to provide any requested assistance we can to the government without terms."

The Judge looked at General Kent, who gave him a slight nod. "Very well," Marrow said, "Tell me Robert, how much do you know about what's been going on here in D.C. since last November?" he asked.

"I know that there was a tie in the Electoral College, and that when they went to vote for a new president, some kind of digital paper trail was leaked to the press. It revealed that foreign billionaires, and at least one country that we don't get along with, bribed some some state reps and House members, including the Speaker, so they would select a particular candidate. If I remember right, the guy they wanted in was someone very influential in the Senate. All I saw in the news after that was something about how the Senate had become unable as a body to investigate what had happened, and then everything just went to hell."

"Not bad, but that's not all of it." Justice Marrow said, "In the event that the House is unable to select a replacement, the Constitution states that the Vice President is to become an interim president after the twentieth of January. Because the apparent corruption in both the House and the Senate appears to be widespread, and since the Vice President has suddenly become ill, too ill to serve, we now find ourselves past the March fourth deadline specified in the Twelfth Amendment, by which Congress was to select a new POTUS, without even a temporary one to take the reins."

Marrow walked around the long oak table, opposite to where Robert was standing. He placed his hands on it and leaned forward, "In response to this direst of circumstances, the majority party in Congress have passed emergency legislation and offered this equal branch of the government a unique honor, the responsibility of overseeing the day to day federal operations of the nation through our judicial system until an impartial investigation can be completed and another election date set." It wasn't difficult for Robert to discern by the Justice's tone that he was being a bit sarcastic with the last part of his statement. After a short pause, Justice Marrow's voice returned to normal. "In the meantime, to avoid a complete breakdown of government at the federal level, and to make sure that peace is enforced for the foreseeable future, all federal affairs will be handled by federal judges in each state. They will have full authority over local governorships and mayors under threat of immediate military action."

"Martial law?" Robert asked.

"We're trying to avoid using that term," General Kent broke his silence, his voice was flat and grating, like someone who had spent the entirety of their youth smoking menthols. It wasn't until his Adam's apple started moving up and down, that Robert saw the large scar that ran down the right side of the man's neck. "As far as the public and media are concerned, no such thing is occurring. For now, we're keeping the military out of it. We don't want panic or an uprising to come from this, so we're keeping the Armed Forces on alert, but for now, they are only being used to secure our borders and for continued protection from our foreign enemies."

The Justice waited for the General to finish and continued. "As the most recently appointed member of this court, it is tradition that I take on a number of responsibilities that the other, more senior members would like to avoid. Therefore the other Justices, in their divine wisdom have given to me the responsibility of being a liaison to your organization, which brings us to why we asked for you to come here. I'm sure you know what happens next."

"Some will suspect that you've grabbed power for yourselves, and have no intention of giving it back." Robert said.

"Precisely," Marrow stood upright again, and moved to a small cabinet that was set against the wall beyond his side of the table. He opened it, and took out a small glass and a bottle of what appeared to be Scotch. He motioned to Robert, "Would you like some?" Tempted by the offer, Robert felt his right hand move slightly forward, but he caught himself, remembering his past failings, and realized that the gesture may have been a test. He waved his hand as he pulled it back, and shook his head instead, as if to signal that he wasn't interested. Marrow looked at the others, who also declined in a similar manner. Marrow, looking a little disappointed, poured some for himself. He lifted the half empty glass of hard liquor to his lips, and drank most of it in one gulp before continuing. "Despite the fact that the Hypnotic War has been over for several years now, and accountability measures put in place for members of the press and other free media who omit, slander, or attempt to manipulate the population, a large portion of Americans still receive their information from extremely biased sources on all sides of the political landscape."

He lifted his glass and motioned toward the doorway, "The National Guard troops you saw posted outside are not precaution, they are an unfortunate necessity. Similar arrangements have been made at state capitols and Federal Court buildings across the country until we can sort out this mess. We have temporarily left the Constitution behind in this, and need to make sure that order is maintained. We are on thin ice here." He drank again and swallowed the remaining Scotch in his glass, then proceeded to pour himself another.

"So you want us to represent you, to be an arm of the Court?" Robert asked.

"No!" Marrow began to cough and then started to laugh. He waved a dismissive hand into the air, which traveled through a ray of light coming in through one of the windows behind him, briefly casting a shadow on Robert's face. "Not at all, we asked you here because the people trust Simon. Well, most of them do anyway. They believe he is impartial and not connected to the politics of this town. Without any help, he has become a household name, inspiring stability even among those who despise him, because of what all of you have accomplished over the last several years under his leadership. Transforming some of the worst of our inner cities into safe zones, while working with authorities to remove undesirable elements and providing aid and work programs to help those who live within. Achieving such a thing using only a modicum of violence is no small feat."

"It's almost as if we're doing the government's work for them already, I know." Robert said.

General Kent cleared his throat, "We are offering your organization limited support," he said. "Assistance with finding and recruiting more volunteers, a large budget with little to no oversight, and few strings attached. In exchange, you would be required to make yourselves and your people available to assist the National Guard and Armed Services as needed. With our help your outfit could finally come into the twenty-first century. Unfortunately, this help won't come quickly, it will take a few months to get it approved, but I think we'll be able to get around Congress and go straight to the Pentagon for a modest hand out. In the meantime, we will need assistance with a particular problem."

"You mean Seattle." Robert said.

General Kent passed the manila folder to Robert, "These last few years, the A.I. riots have been going like clockwork." he said. "They are, as you know the worst in the country, and the most covered by every type of news media. Local authorities tell us they are predictable though. When they aren't trying to stop or divert traffic downtown, they typically try to take the highway near SeaTac airport to disrupt transportation and commerce throughout the Tri-City area, and when they fail there, they usually move to other areas of the city, where they loot until they are dispersed, or their ring leaders are arrested."

"I thought the leaders were arrested last fall when they protested the election results." Robert opened the folder and started flipping through its contents.

"The last ones were, yes. But we have intelligence that shows at least one, a Tammy Shelton and two others who are as of yet still unidentified, are planning on taking charge of the riots in the Pacific Northwest this year. Any information you can get on the other two while you're there would be useful. If you manage to find and detain them, you can hand them over to the Guard after things settle down. We have already instructed Leavenworth Prison to provide transportation vehicles. They will meet you in Kansas City at your headquarters before you leave. You can use them for anyone you take into custody while you're there."

"Custody?" Robert asked, looking up from the folder.

"Well, you were an FBI agent for over ten years, weren't you?" Marrow asked. "Consider yourself and any others you see fit who are partaking in this police action, deputized. As of today, the Shotgun Army will be considered a voluntary civilian police force, operating under government supervision. You now have the authority to arrest and detain anyone you see fit who is in the area we have directed you to from the moment you arrive, whether they are attacking your people or not, under the humanitarian rules set forth by the Geneva Convention, of course. This way, we won't have to worry about any more of those pesky court cases. Just try not to kill anyone after you've arrested them."

"We're familiar with Tammy and the True Bolsheviks. She shouldn't be a problem." Robert said. He closed the folder.

"Good!" Marrow said. "I would say that you have no idea what good this will do for the country, but I know that you do. Having civilian volunteers using nonlethal force to put down the largest of the riots, well, it's what the people out there need to see. They need to know that they are the ones in control, not us, and not the anarchists. Simon has done a great job making his army a very diverse and positive force, not to mention everything he's done to make our young men feel useful again. We just want to help him to do what he does best. Help those in need, and protect the innocent."

General Kent chimed in again, "Most of the National Guard in the area will be moved to the Capitol in Olympia to protect it from anyone who might be coming in from the south. We can give you some support to make sure anything that happens on the highway doesn't spread into the city. The local police will have a small force north of the airport to stop anyone from advancing toward Bellevue or North Seattle."

"Bellevue. Of course, have to protect those who have the most to lose." Robert said. The general gave the judge an uneasy glance. "Sorry. Please continue, General."

"If looting or violence spreads to any other parts of the area, they too may be called away. When you arrive, you will meet with a small Guard group which you will relieve. They will be heading to the federal courthouse north of the city. Putting down the riot will be your job. The Guard won't have the time or manpower to deal with anything else. We will be depending on you. All of you."

Robert nodded and squared his shoulders. "You won't be disappointed. The New Hope for All organization and the Shotgun Relief Army thank you for this opportunity, and will do our best to make sure that the greater Seattle area is safe. I'm sure Simon will want to get out there as soon as I notify him."

"Then you'd better get going. It's supposed to warm up in a few days. As soon as the latest storm front ends, we expect they will be coming out in force. Here is the information package on our operations in the area and how to reach our officers there." The assistant reached around the general and passed Robert a small envelope. "As you already have a high level clearance due to your background, I trust that you will be able to keep it safe and understand the consequences of not doing so."

"I do." Robert said.

"Excellent!" Marrow said. "Thank you for your time, and God speed."

Robert placed the envelope in the folder and shook their hands again. He left the room and walked out of the building. Private Arnold sprang into action as Robert briskly walked by and followed him back to the bottom of the wide marble steps that stood in front of the western entrance, and across the plaza. When they reached the sidewalk, Robert returned his visitor's badge to the woman at the first checkpoint. He gave Arnold a small nod as the young man got back in line with his fellow soldiers, and went back through the crowd to the exact location on the side of the street where he'd first arrived.

When he was in clear view at the edge of the curb, a black low profile Connected Autonomous Vehicle, which had been waiting for him two blocks to the south, pulled up to the curb. The door on its side silently slid forward, and he got in. He sat down on a plush leather seat, and looked to his left. Already seated next to him, another man was looking out of the opposing window. He was wearing a red bib shirt of his own, his eyes covered with a pair of round rimmed sunglasses with gold tinted reflecting lenses. A few of the buttons on his shirt were not fastened, so that the top left side of his bib fell over his upper chest in the shape of a triangle. Without a sound, the door closed by itself, and the CAV began to move again.

Robert passed the folder to the man, tapping it against his right arm. The man looked away from the heavily tinted window, and down at the folder. He took it and opened it up on his lap.

"So?" he said. He stopped reading for a moment and looked at Robert.

Robert looked back at the first checkpoint for a moment. "So, they have their security badges sitting in a box on the curb. That, and if I wanted to, I could have transferred a virus or poison to a Supreme Court Justice and a three star general with a hand shake and no one would have known until it was too late." he said.

The man tilted his head and looked at Robert over the rims of his glasses. "We're not trying to break into the Supreme Court Robert, at least not yet anyway." he said.

"I know. It just bothers me." Robert said. He looked at his right arm. "When are you going to let me remove the stupid ID chip in my arm? I don't belong to the government anymore."

"Soon, for now it's better if they think they can track you. I want them to feel comfortable. They know that I don't have one. If neither of us did, this meeting might not have even happened. So?" he asked again.

"So, they bought it when I said you were still in Detroit."

"That means their surveillance algorithm still isn't sure about what I look like from the ground or in the air. That's good news, at least. Those look-alikes you found were a good idea."

"They aren't just for your safety, they'll also keep you from getting nailed with a 'face crime' infraction and will hold off the scammers for a while, not to mention the fakers who just want to belittle you."

"I thought face crime was just a rumor?"

"Trust me, it's not. We used to pick people up off the street around sensitive areas using random drone footage all the time. The A.I. could even tell what they were thinking by their temperature, facial expressions, and how they walked. We used a lot of stuff like that to catch people when I was in the bureau."

"And I thought they just did that in China." the man said. "What else?"

"You called it boss. They're giving you almost full autonomy in Seattle. We can even arrest and detain without immediately handing people over to the local authorities." He hit the other man on the shoulder. "How did you know all this would happen, Simon?"

"I didn't know that the Supreme Court would be the ones to take control." Simon said. "Once they did, it was only a matter of time before they reached out to us though. We positioned ourselves well, but time is exactly what we won't have much of after Seattle has been dealt with. We'll need to capitalize on this opportunity as much as we can. This is the end game, Robert. We need to be sure that when everything falls apart, everyone will be begging for us to lead. That means reminding them that we are out there and capable of taking control. It's time for the world to see what we can do."

"And if they don't?"

"Don't what?"

"Come begging."

"Then plan 'B' goes into effect."

"Ooooh, plan 'B'." Robert rubbed his hands together impersonating Marrow. "Um, what's plan 'B' again?" He raised an eyebrow at Simon.

Simon took off his sunglasses and gave him an intensely dissatisfied look, "We've discussed this before, you'll know when I tell you, but it shouldn't come to that. You know Robert, sometimes I wonder if you still work for the Bureau."

Robert rose up his hands as if to show that he had given up, and shrugged. "Just wondering if I need to cancel Christmas!" he said. "Do you think the Justices are behind the Vice President's sudden leave of absence?"

"There's no way to know right now. My sources tell me no one can get near the man, save for his personal physician. If he dies, we might learn more about what happened. Until then, we must assume it could have been any one of a number of factions that had something to gain from the chaos that's transpired in government circles since he stepped down. He could also be faking it, trying to find a way out of a bad situation, or worse, someone powerful could be blackmailing him or threatening his family, perhaps the same people who were caught influencing Congress, not that any of it matters now anyway. There will be plenty of time to look into it after the smoke clears. In the meantime, we need to look at this for the opportunity that it is, and not allow ourselves to get distracted in the minutia of the situation."

"His honor said that it would take some time to get us any requests for new tech, possibly several months. He plans to go straight to the Pentagon."

"He's going to use it as a carrot. We'll just move forward with our original plan then. We don't need any more hardware to accomplish our goals. By this time next year, everything will be different...everything." Simon put his glasses back on and looked out the window again.

"Whatever you say boss, whatever you say." Robert stretched out his legs and lay back in his seat. You got the plane tickets?" he asked.

"They're waiting for us at the airport. I want you to get out of the CAV before I do. I'll wait until the CAV returns to the rental lot and change, then board the plane separately. Buy yourself a seat front and center in coach. I'll find a spot near the back as usual." Simon said.

"You just want to be closer to the bathrooms in case you get airsick again, or maybe the stewardesses?" Robert raised his eyebrows and nudged Simon with his left elbow.

"Ha-ha. Let's just keep our minds on task, shall we?"

"One day, Simon, one day I'm going to rub off on you, and I will be there to see it, oh yes I will." He stretched out his arms and yawned. "I already feel jetlagged. I'm going to take a nap. Wake me up when we get there." Robert closed his eyes and started to doze off.

Simon looked out of his window again. Since they'd arrived, he'd taken the time to admire the monuments and memorials that dotted the capitol. He enjoyed also observing those who went about their business in and around them, most largely ignorant of the sacrifices of the past that had been made so they could live as they did. It entered his mind that they were equally oblivious to the more modern pains that people like him endured every day to keep the world from imploding in on them. Mindlessly, they pursued their dreams without a care for the larger world around them. There were exceptions to the rule of course, but most were easily manipulated, their thoughts force fed to them on a daily basis by those in power to keep them under control. Free to live but not to think. That will change. He thought. I'll be the one to change it, and when I do, people in the future will look up at my monument and remember me, every last one of them.

Then he saw something through his window that startled him, something that shouldn't have been there. A slightly overweight man in a worn black suit, his hair combed over in a vain attempt to cover the top of his partially bald head, was standing on the sidewalk on the other side of the street. He was talking to someone who did not seem particularly interested in what he was saying, another man wearing a white collared shirt, who was facing in the other direction. As he watched, the man in the white shirt looked down at his watch several times, and shifted his footing as if agitated, the man in the old suit purposefully blocking his path while trying to speak to him. The man in the white shirt stopped shifting his stance, and began waving his hands around, no doubt yelling for the other man to get out of his way. After having his say, the man in the suit relented and allowed him to pass by, and he continued on his way into a nearby building.

That's when the CAV they were in passed by the scene. As it did, the overweight man turned and stared in Simon's general direction with a slightly confused look upon his face. This lasted only for a moment though, before he turned around and followed after the person he'd bothered. Simon leaned away from the window, knowing no one should have been able to see through the heavy, one way tint that was infused into the glass, not without using some kind of advanced tech which this man did not appear to possess, at least from what he could tell by looking at him. It couldn't be him, no, it couldn't be. Simon thought.

Robert began to snore, making Simon jump in his seat. After giving his subordinate a disagreeable look, he turned his attention back to the scenery outside. The man had vanished into the same building. He took a deep breath, lay back in his own seat and closed his eyes. No, of course it's not. I just need some rest.

*********

Fourteen hours later and more than twenty-three hundred miles to the west, a tense looking young man in a black wool winter jacket paced back and forth on a sidewalk of his own. He had smooth features and thick black hair, his hands and feet fidgeting as he anxiously waited on the edge of the busy Seattle street corner. He too watched as an expensive car with rounded, sleek lines drove up to the curb in front of him. The car that approached him was not automated though. In fact, he didn't know exactly what kind of vehicle it was, nor did he care. It came to a stop, and the passenger door slid open. Inside, he saw an attractive woman lean over toward the driver giving him a peck on the cheek. As she did this, she placed her left hand over the man's right thigh. Then she grabbed her purse and started to turn when the man behind the wheel cracked a smile and made an awkward attempt to wink at her.

Having already turned to see if someone were waiting for her on the sidewalk, she missed the not so subtle sign of affection, and didn't look at the man behind the wheel again until she had gotten out, turning only briefly to give the driver a polite smile and a small wave goodbye as the door closed, and the car began to move back into traffic. Another satisfied deviant, no doubt. The young man thought to himself, now frozen in place. His fingers curled into fists inside the coat's oversized pockets. She walked up to him, looked directly into his eyes, grabbed onto the lapels of his jacket and smiled, half drunk on herself. She was wearing her special contacts again. She had set them so that they slowly morphed randomly from one bright pastel color to the next. On a face as beautiful as hers, the effect was mesmerizing. He hated her contacts. On at least one occasion, he could have sworn that she'd changed the true color of her eyes beneath them, and used the fact that he'd remembered her real eye color wrong against him. He pulled away from her.

"I can't do this anymore." he said.

"You can't do what?" She looked back in the direction the car was driving, "Him? He's just a friend, Jerry. He gave me a ride here to see you!"

Jerry gave her a knowing look. "You couldn't have ordered a CAV? I'm not stupid, Noel, he winked at you for crying out loud!"

"Did he?" She looked back again, the hint of a smile appearing at the corners of her lips. Then she looked at Jerry, realizing her mistake. Her mouth dropped open but nothing came out.

Jerry pointed at her. "I'm not into this crap. Other guys might be willing to risk getting an incurable disease, but I'm not. Antibiotics don't work anymore, Noel, and there's no telling what people might have-"

"Oh for-" She threw her hands up and reached into her purse, "We've all been vaccinated Jerry!" Seeing through the faux display of frustration, Jerry recognized it for what it really was, yet another in a long line of sad attempts to avoid the issue. Jerry looked on as she rummaged around for something, anything that could be turned into a reason to change the subject. Then, finding herself out of excuses, she dropped her arms to her sides and looked at Jerry again. "You know who I am, Jerry."

"Oh yeah, I know!" he said.

"Not this again!" she yelled at him. "Don't be so salty Jerry. Most of the guys I know go around doing whoever they want. Well it's my turn now, our turn." She pointed at herself as she spoke.

"You know I'm not like those guys." Jerry said.

"Yeah, and you're like, the only one who isn't. That's why I like you Jerry, but I need my time. Do you understand?"

"I understand." Jerry said. "You think you know how things should be, but you don't. You really do-"

"We are who we are Jerry." she said. "Our experiences define us, and we can't change who we are. Our experiences are all we have in this life, and I still want to have more experiences with you, but if you don't want them with me, then...do you." She waved an arm in the air.

"You know I don't go in for that existential B.S. Noel. Saying you believe that nothing has meaning and the truth of reality cannot be known from one side of your mouth, while making up your own meaning from the other side, preaching it to others so that you won't feel bad about all of the different ways you take advantage of people. I can't stand it. Stop pretending that you can reason your way out of your guilt. I can't stand watching you do it to yourself, living a lie like that. It's too much for me to bear."

"You're the one living the lie Jerry! You're the one who won't admit what you are. I know you, I've been with you-"

"Just because I act a certain way while having sex with someone doesn't mean that's who I want to be all of the time!" he yelled back at her. "It certainly doesn't mean that getting into bed with people is the only thing I aspire to do with my life! Seriously, who do you think I am?"

She rolled her eyes and put her hands up in a defensive manner, "Obviously not who I thought." She turned around and started walking away from him. She raised an arm in the air and waved. "Call me when you come to your senses and get over yourself. Until then, you can have fun playing at home with your rent-a-dolls!"

She left Jerry standing on the sidewalk to contemplate his mistake, shifting her weight from side to side a little more than usual as she headed off, in a clear attempt to show Jerry what he was missing. When she had finished crossing the street from which she'd arrived, she let down her long dark hair and let it flow in the breezy cool night air, and though he waited to see if she would, she didn't look back.

Jerry felt a fit of anger surge up from inside his chest. Why? Why does she have to be this way? He thought. Why am I not good enough for her? He turned toward the bar where they were supposed to have their date. Through a large window, he could see their mutual friends sitting on bar stools, enjoying their drinks and laughing. He and Noel were supposed to join them that night for the first time as a real couple. Obviously, without Jerry on her arm, Noel already had a backup plan with someone else.

"Maybe she just wants sex." A voice said from somewhere nearby. Jerry turned around. Sitting next to a street lamp and a few trash bags, just a few yards away from where he had waited for the last hour, was an old homeless man he hadn't noticed the entire time. He was looking in the direction that Noel had stormed off in, his eyes were opened wide, and he was swaying slowly from side to side. He had a large scruffy beard, and was wearing dark and dirty looking clothes that were full of holes. Jerry guessed it wouldn't be long before he started losing them one article at a time. He thought about helping the guy out, but decided it was best not to get involved. Instead, he looked up across the street at the thousands of lights that illuminated the buildings of the Seattle skyline, giving his mind time to wonder, as it often did, about the stories of those who were behind every window, or responsible for any one of the hundreds of drones that were flying purposefully through the night air to and fro between them, allowing himself a momentary distraction from his own problems. After a few seconds of indecision about what he should do with what was left of his evening, he made up his mind, and started the long walk back to his apartment building.

When he started walking, he heard the man on the sidewalk mumble something. "...you know."

Jerry turned, curious as to what the man had just said. "What was that?" he asked.

The hobo's wide eyes turned slowly in Jerry's direction. He gulped and blinked once before speaking again. Then, with a small sluggish slur, he said, "There's a reason...she left you." He looked down at the sidewalk as he said the last few words. Then he looked up at Jerry again and continued with a high pitched voice, now clearly speaking in the universal language of drunk, "Don't worry, man. Everything will be alright. He's got you man, God's got you." The man nodded a few times and then looked down at the pavement again. What Jerry could only see as a sad shell of a human being, then started pulling at one of the holes in his own worn out jacket. The insulation was coming out of it, and he was trying to keep the hole closed, attempting to hold the fabric together with his fingers.

Jerry looked down at his own wool coat. It was hardly new, and he had three others just like it in storage at his apartment. As it wasn't necessarily freezing, and since his own health was not something that he cared about in that moment, he checked the pockets to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything in them, and took it off. He then knelt down next to the man and handed the heavy coat to him. The man's eyes grew wide as he took it from Jerry's hands. A large smile crossed the homeless man's face. "He does have you. I know you know, I can tell. God bless you man, bless you."

Jerry nodded, and had started walking again when he heard his Omni-Glass beeping in his right pants pocket. "What the, who's-?" he said to himself. Frustrated, he took a small white carrying case out of his pocket and opened it. Then he took a single contact-like lens out of it, and placed it into his right eye. As it came alive, he saw a small message at the bottom right of his vision, indicating that a call was coming through from a scrambled private line. He cleared his mind of distractions. Omni, answer call, audio only. He thought. He started to walk away from the bar's entrance. The call picked up and he heard a man's voice.

"Jerry!" it said. "I have a job for you. Big bonus, some risk might be involved though."

Jerry turned around and looked down the street one last time. Noel was still nowhere to be seen. The drunk on the sidewalk had covered himself in Jerry's old coat and had passed out. He looked into the bar one more time at the people inside. They're really more Noel's friends than mine anyway.

"I'm not busy," he said. "What do you have for me?"

Then Moses set apart three cities beyond the Jordan toward the sunrise, that the man slayer might flee there, who kills his neighbor unintentionally and didn't hate him in time past, and that fleeing to one of these cities he might live.

-Deuteronomy, 4:41-42

Chapter One 

I-5 Corridor north of SEATAC International Airport

Seattle, Washington State

Friday, March 25th, 8:19AM PST

A strong gust of cool wind that originated from Puget Sound blew eastward through the city and over the highway, dissipating the latest round of teargas. As the smoke cleared, the chaos and confusion that was prevailing just north of the Seattle-Tacoma airport came into focus for a third party who was watching astutely from the sidelines. Feeling like he was late for a party he wasn't invited to, Jerry Farron stood atop a rusted out abandoned van that was parked on the side of a road that ran parallel to the Interstate in the south end of Seattle's industrial district. He was shivering slightly, wearing only a pair of jeans and a tee shirt despite the cold morning air, but was too distracted by his quarry to notice.

With some assistance from an augmented reality lens in his right eye, he could see virtually everything that was happening on the highway. The lens was synced to a drone that was hovering some sixty feet above the burgeoning confrontation. With a critical expression on his face, he looked over the progress that the various groups involved had made since his arrival. The purpose of the protest was nothing new. Every year, the unions organized and came out in an attempt to attract media attention to the most recent round of layoffs caused by advancements in Artificial Intelligence and robotic automation. In their latest effort, they had joined up with the most recent iterations of a variety of social rights and other advocacy groups. Each had their own reasons for being there, and together made a formidable force, which was good news for him, as it meant the authorities would be too busy to notice his presence.

Omni, Focus zoom, twenty percent. He thought to himself. A new window appeared in the display that was projected onto the lens. Included within was an even closer look at the action. Able to see the players in more detail, Jerry made out the easily identifiable red and pink arm bands of the True Bolsheviks, who appeared to be taking the lead. They were marching north ahead of the others toward a series of wooden and plastic barricades that had been set up by the local police. The officers stood dutifully behind them in riot gear, their unyielding forms standing ready to stop any advance on their position.

Not far behind the True Bolshevik's main force, four or five union groups that had scattered when the last volley of gas canisters was fired in their direction, started to regroup. Their numbers were smaller than those of their successors when counted all together, but they were better armed, most having come to the occasion wielding chains, wooden planks, and other varied blunt instruments in their hands. They shared their positions with the local chapter of the Democratic Socialist Republican party, otherwise known as the DSR, their members wearing bright blue sashes or bandanas somewhere on their person in a vain effort to separate themselves from the others. Keeping up the façade of being the only group in the conflict that 'cared about the people', the DSR was currently in the process of removing any who had been affected by the teargas while the True Bolsheviks provided medical attention for any that had been injured or burned in the most recent face-off using converted medical vans to the south.

In general, the rioters appeared to be more organized than previous times Jerry had been sent out to report on their activities and were no longer the unruly, chaotic mob he had become accustomed to seeing when they started their yearly round of protests each spring. They were still a ramshackle group to be sure, but also appeared to be much more coordinated than they had been in previous years, and the day was still young. Noticing how aggressive they were as well, Jerry supposed that the protesters who did not appreciate violence had been sent into the city center for the time being, where the majority of activist groups usually congregated with their picket signs and amplifiers so those who lived and worked downtown could see their quippy catchphrases and hear their endless speeches. This riot has been going on since rush hour last night, which means some of the protesters haven't gotten any sleep yet. Jerry thought to himself. Maybe it will burn out by evening like the one that happened last fall. But these thoughts did not comfort him. It was still only 7AM, and things were different. America was under new management, one that the people had not elected.

He let out a sigh, and looked on in disbelief as his breath hung in the air for a moment in the morning cold. "Well, at least it's not raining." he said to himself out loud. He'd been watching the situation unfold since daybreak, not only using the Omni-Glass lens to scout out the event and record it's progress, but to tap into some of the hundreds of publicly streamed real time news reports available to him as well which allowed him to see every part of the engagement as it was happening from multiple points of view. He wasn't there to gawk at it like some spectator though, or to report on the riot even if that was his usual role. When the teargas had blown away completely, he saw his opening. It was time to head for the highway. There was money to be made.

"Do you see that?" A small female voice reverberated through his cranium.

"Yeah, yeah I see it." he responded. "I'm heading in. Have you spotted me yet?"

"Wait a sec, yeah, I see you. Blue jeans and...are you wearing a white shirt? Are you trying to draw attention to yourself?" The voice sounded irritated.

Jerry looked down at himself. She was right. "Hold on." He reached down to the bottom right side of his un-tucked tee shirt and felt along its bottom edge until his fingers found a concealed button that was sewn into the seam. He pressed it three times changing his shirt from white to blue, then red and finally black.

"Flat black?" she said, "You can't do better than flat black?"

Not knowing which of the multitude of drones that were flying around the area she was watching him from, he simply looked up in the general direction of the highway and raised an eyebrow. "Ok, fashion Gestapo, fine." he said and pushed a second button that was next to the first, each press causing an image or slogan of some kind to appear on the front of or around his torso. He cycled through several of the available options which ranged from reasonably playful to outright insulting before finally stopping on one that resonated with him. It appeared in large red block letters over the dark fabric spelling the words, 'DO YOU!'

"Better?" he said, lifting up his arms.

"Much. You'll fit right in."

Jerry took off a lightweight backpack he'd brought with him and set it down next to his right foot. Out from it, he took a dark blue towel and a water bottle. He poured some water onto the towel and wrapped it around his head, covering his mouth and nose and tied it tightly behind his neck. Hope this holds. He thought. Didn't have time to get a cheap mask and can't blend in with my expensive one, so this will have to do. He reached into the backpack again, took out an expensive looking pair of sunglasses, and put them on. He focused his thoughts into another command. Omni, sync to ProtoMark Glasses, and bring up structural outlines. The interface in his lens vanished and reappeared in both lenses of the glasses giving the interface a deeper and larger space to work with.

Through the glasses, he could see the orange outlines of several burning vehicles that had been moved onto the highway by the protesters earlier that morning and people marching toward them through the smoke. Behind the burning cars more outlines revealed information about the surrounding buildings along with their entrances and exits, handy information to have should he need to make a quick getaway or find somewhere to hide or lay low for a few minutes. The augmented data being fed through his lens and into the glasses also revealed the structure of the highway itself. At the moment, it looked as if the union members were finished regrouping and were about to make another charge. Jerry planned to be with them when they did.

"Are you sure you can't get IDs from the drone feed?" he asked. Several seconds passed before he received a response.

"No, the smoke from the cars they set on fire in the northbound lanes is blocking my view. We knew this would happen, the same thing happened last year and we missed our opportunity, that's why Tom asked you to go out there. We need to know who the leaders are this time around before they get arrested. They can't be the same organizers of the last riot because all of them are either in jail or out of the country. They have to be on the highway because no leaders have shown up to speak downtown. They aren't gathering peacefully this time either. Some of the protesters have started looting and setting fires to street level businesses there. No one knows who put this together yet, and we could really make out well by selling anything you can record that has their faces in it, but we need it now."

"And how am I supposed to know who they are?"

"You know the answer to that Jerry, don't joke around. Just take the time to look at anyone barking orders, organizing anything or taking shelter behind the others while still trying to look important."

Jerry looked northeast, no longer using the feed from the drone. He focused his thoughts again. Omni, outline people who are wearing helmets with visors in blue. Multiple figures that were standing on the northbound side of the highway changed from orange to blue. Their outlines indicated that most of them were carrying riot shields, obviously the local police force. There must have been two or three hundred of them. The protesters, estimated to have been about the same in number earlier that morning, were growing in their ranks. They could just turn south and head toward the ramps that led to the airport terminals, essentially stopping all transportation in and out of SeaTac, but they seemed content for the time being drumming up attention in the news by lighting the Interstate on fire, perhaps with the hope that by doing so more people might show up and join their cause.

The cold wind began to pick up again, pushing its way through the nearby buildings. He raised an arm up to block the harsh breeze, turning his face away from it just long enough to notice how the rays of the sun seemed to sparkle off of the tall skyscrapers to the north. It was still rising, and for a few seconds, the reflection the eastern skyline made against their nearly flawless surfaces made it appear as if there were two great balls of flame in opposition to one another, destined to eventually meet somewhere far above the rest of the world. But of course, one of them was an illusion and would soon vanish long before the real McCoy would reach its zenith.

He was glad he'd put on the glasses as he might have been blinded by the bright visage, but also noticed that in the light of day the newer structures that were erected after the calamity looked nothing like they did at night. Seeing the Cascade Mountains in the reflection of the giant mirror that was downtown Seattle he also realized that he hadn't been this far out from the city center for a while. He found himself staring at the sheer beauty of the sight, the stark contrast of the tall pristine pillars standing behind the rundown section of the city where he stood as if Seattle were some mystical place full of justice and beauty. But of course, he knew the truth.

"What are you doing? Go now!" the voice yelled at him.

"Sorry, on my way." he said.

He climbed down from the van and crossed the street to the parking lot where he'd had a CAV taxi drop him off. It had taken some work to find the right wording so that the Connected Automated Vehicle would leave him where there was no formal address, but he'd managed. Apparently saying "Let me out now or I'll sue." a few times in a row was a back door to getting a CAV to let someone out anywhere. He was not unfamiliar with the place he'd made the CAV stop, having trespassed through that particular parking lot before. He'd used the same route several times to reach the highway whenever he needed to report on a situation developing near SeaTac be it hostage or terrorist related or one of the many protests like the one he was about to go into, usually designed to get attention for one cause or another or to force a local politician's hand on some issue in exchange for getting traffic to the airport going again.

The van he was standing on was located across the street from a fenced in storage lot on Airport Way that was owned by a small shipping company called Aloha Freight Services LLC. The lot was full of shipping containers, old machinery and any number of types of transportable materials typically used for a wide variety of construction projects, many of which had been there for years waiting for an industrious buyer to come along and utilize them for some grand project but no one had come. A few years earlier, he'd found a route behind and through the long rows of forklifts and piles of scrap metal that allowed him to avoid the one, solitary security camera which overlooked the entire lot while doing a report on thefts in the area.

During an interview, he was allowed to see videos recorded by the security cameras that monitored the property. Remembering at the time that he wasn't far from the place where the Interstate protests most frequently occurred, he'd noticed that the top corner of a large steel cargo container, which was well worn by the elements and surrounded by high grass, had been placed close to the highway and concealed a portion of the fence which he could climb over without being seen. After navigating his way through the lot, he climbed the fence and began to make his way up the grassy shoulder of the highway to the southbound CAV dedicated lane that ran along the outside of the others, which were still reserved for gas powered vehicles.

When he reached the top of the shoulder, Jerry could see that the CAV lane was still operating. A short line of CAVs, possibly a dozen in number, were heading toward him from the north, likely on their way to the airport. Jerry didn't understand why the lane was still open as he doubted that heading to the airport in a private CAV while a riot was in progress nearby would have been a smart move for anyone especially since only the wealthiest of the wealthy had their own automated vehicles, the rest being owned by taxi services that protected their investments by programming them to avoid operating in any conditions that might cause them damage. He watched as several of the private CAVs drove past as he moved to the guardrail next to the emergency lane. A few of them slowed down, giving their passengers more time to gawk at what was happening in the other lanes. Yeah Timmy, Jerry thought to himself. On the way to the Bahamas we saw all these poor people fighting on the highway for some strange reason. It turned out to be the most exciting part of the trip!

Without his Omni-Glass, he wouldn't have been able to make out the majority of the protesters. With it, he was able to see multiple layers of them, it's weak Artificial Intelligence instantly connecting to the Omni web database where it was capable of comparing and identifying each and every object that was in his field of view, right down to every bolt in a car or each visible stone on the side of the road depending on the amount of detail he wanted it to see. For the time being, he'd changed the settings to identify only those objects he needed to be aware of in a riot. As such, the Omni-Glass was able to identify a variety of weapons and other things commonly used in violent situations, as well as a few more common objects like beer bottles and large rocks. These were outlined in yellow when they were identified as being in a person's hands or flying through the air. The aspect of the A.I. that he would need most on that day though, was the custom made search engine that quickly allowed him to identify and catalog human faces without governmental interference or permission.

He climbed over the guardrail. As another CAV traveled within a few feet from his position down the highway at full speed, his Omni-Glass attempted to make out the shapes of the people within through its tinted windows. Just as he thought, most people in the CAVs were looking at the fires while others simply appeared to be doing mundane activities like reviewing documents, talking to others, or sleeping.

He waited for the next small break in traffic, enough for him to step out into the lane. As soon as he did, the very next vehicle quickly and smoothly slowed to a complete stop finishing the maneuver within inches of him. The darkened windows concealed the people inside, but his glasses showed the outline of at least two surprised passengers who moved suddenly, reacting to the CAVs sudden decrease in speed. The CAV he'd stopped was definitely owned by a private party. It was black and sleek and had an elaborate silver grill on the front, reminding him of old Cadillac SUVs. Other CAVs immediately began to slow down and stop behind it, fast creating a line of twenty or so vehicles before he could reach the other side. He raised his hand to block his face so that it would not be seen or recorded by any onboard cameras. A calm, robotic male voice originating from the vehicle began to speak. "Jay walking in a CAV lane can result in a five hundred dollar fine and even jail time. Please remove yourself from the roadway." He changed his flat hand into another well known shape as he passed, without looking at the CAV as he did so. As soon as he was out of the way, the autonomous cars quietly started moving again, continuing along their predetermined route.

Without looking back, he crossed the grassy median and vaulted over a low line of concrete barriers that ran along the side of the regular southbound lanes of the highway. Picking up his pace, he kept his eyes on the northbound lanes, occasionally looking south to see if the protesters he was planning to conceal himself within, had started to advance. It appeared as if some of them had already begun to press through the smoke that was still billowing out of several of the burning vehicles they themselves had set fire to before sunrise. Most of these were old steel or fiberglass jalopies that still used fossil fuels to run before new government regulations essentially made them useless.

He crossed the smaller median between the south and northbound lanes and saw an opportunity to enter the fray at a spot where there was a lot of smoke that could shield him from detection. Deciding to take it, he took a deep breath and ran headlong into the smoldering fumes, quickly blending into the crowd of protesters. Once among their ranks, he took off his backpack again and from it took out a folded tire iron. He pressed a button on its side, unfolding it and locked it into its extended position. That's when he caught the attention of two DSR members standing nearby. They, after looking down at the two words bluntly displayed on his shirt, lifted their thumbs, and nodded in approval. They were wearing plain, white surgical masks and what looked like old hockey pads on their knees and elbows over their clothes, sections of much larger pieces of defensive gear that had been torn off and reassembled into something more practical. He walked through the smoke toward them.

As he approached, Jerry noticed that one of them had a feminine shape and that they were holding hands with one another. When he was within five feet of their position, the A.I. in his Omni-Glass began comparing what it could see of their facial oddities and nonsymmetrical attributes with known identities that were listed on a variety of social networking sites and several lesser known government databases even though they were partially covered by handkerchiefs. Doing this wasn't legal of course, in fact, it was quite dangerous, requiring a series of illegal hacks he'd collected or bought over the last two years specifically designed to locate and mess with highly protected servers in such a way that they were tricked into operating as if the hack infiltrating their systems was either just another update or a check disk routine. If he were arrested while using the software in a public area, it could land him in jail for several years, but since the hacks were made only to collect photographs and videos, he figured it was unlikely that anything too bad would happen to him even if he were caught. At least he hoped that was the case.

"Where do you want me?" He walked over to the couple, acting as if he had met them before.

"Looks like you could break some shields with that thing!" the woman said. By her voice, Jerry could tell that she was both young and nervous. Almost as soon as she spoke the A.I. in his Omni-Glass lens found a match from a list it had already compiled by her body type, estimated size and shape of her upper facial features, their general location just south of Seattle and an estimation of how far someone with her appearance and behavior would be willing travel to go to a riot. Another small pop-up window appeared in his vision, this one showing him what she looked like when she wasn't hiding behind a mask. It notified him that her name was Ellen Margaret Stapleton, a twenty two year old university student from the Seattle area. The guy was probably her boyfriend, and they were both most likely there to prove to themselves that they cared for the little people or so that they could brag to their friends about how they had "participated".

"Is the big guy up there in the front or organizing everything from the back?" he asked them. He'd been down this road before. These kids weren't experienced but as they were clearly associated with an influential group being college students, there was a good chance that they had been close to one of the ring leaders earlier that day and might know where he or she was.

"Tammy is in the back with the support group." the boy said. "I think Aaron and Chavez are somewhere near the front of the crowd throwing Molotov's." The A.I. gave Jerry two possible identities for the young man in its final analysis of his voice just as he'd suspected. Both were university students, only one of which was listed as being single. But Jerry's mind wasn't on the information being presented to him about these two. It had already moved onto bigger and more important things.

"Tammy Shelton?" he said. He had heard of her before. She ran for Mayor of Seattle in the last election for the Communist Party.

"Yeah. Wait, who are you?"

"James Ardent," Jerry said without missing a beat. "I'm with the anarchists. I worked with Tammy a couple of months ago."

"Oh." the boy said, sounding unsure of himself. Even through the handkerchief on the kid's face, Jerry could tell he wasn't buying it.

"Time to break some shields!" Jerry said and ran north in the direction of the amassing crowd.

"Did you get that?" he said.

"I got it." the voice in his head responded. "It would be better to have actual live video confirmation that Tammy Shelton is there herself, but I'm not sure you'll have the time. We need to get you out of there before you get arrested for threatening police with a weapon. Seriously, why did you bring that?"

"It's served its purpose." He folded the tire iron and threw it under one of the burning cars.

"Now I just have to find Aaron and this guy Chavez. Any idea who they might be?"

"Aaron may be Aaron Fornier, the homeless advocate from LA. You know, that guy who started the riots there after the quake, the one that forced the state to provide shelter and food for the homeless survivors, long term."

"I know him." he said.

"Nothing for any Chavez, it could be an alias. Wait, don't turn around. Someone is talking to that couple. They might have seen you get rid of your tire iron."

"Damn, thought the smoke was too thick."

"Sending you a visual, you see him?" Yet another window appeared in his glasses. It showed a bird's eye view of the area. He saw himself from above, through a break in the smoke in front of the others. Not far behind him, someone was running in his direction, waving what looked like a heavy chain above their head.

"Oh, you guys are paying me extra for this!" Jerry said. He waited until the aggressor was close enough to hit, ducked as the assailant swung the heavy chain over his head, turned around, and kicked the man in his left knee, making him fall to the ground in agony. He then clenched his fists as tightly as he could and punched the aggressor with a hard left hook. The sad excuse for an insurgent's head hit the pavement, and he was down for the count.

"Gee, that was easier than I thought it would be, must have been another overzealous teenager." Jerry kicked the body of his attacker over and took a red surgical mask off of his face so that he could take a better look at him. Beneath the bandana was the soft face of a kid who couldn't have been more than sixteen or seventeen years old. He had long dark hair and smooth features and was wearing a black tee shirt that briefly caught Jerry's attention. Printed on the front in white was the artistically interpreted outline and features of some mid-twentieth century celebrity that Jerry couldn't quite pin down in his memory. The man in the picture had a troubled look with squinting eyes and was wearing a leather jacket. He held a cigarette between two of his fingers in the closed fist of one hand and a bright blue pixilated sword in the other. Underneath the odd portrait, and over a splash of red, large white letters were printed in a strange font that read 'Griefer'. Great, a minor. Jerry thought. I'd better get out of here ASAP.

"You're a badass, Jerry!" The woman's voice returned. "You ever do anything like that before?"

"Uh, nope!" Jerry said. He kicked the chain under another burning vehicle and noticed that the unfortunate anarchist that had tried to take him down had a trash can lid strapped to his back that was rigged with two leather straps for handles. Jerry took the makeshift shield and ran through the heat and smoke toward the mounting sounds of chaos that lay ahead.

A moment later, and he was close enough to the tumult of the colliding forces to see that it mainly consisted of a decent sized contingent of the True Bolsheviks and an unyielding line of police officers, most of them holding riot shields. A few dozen police on horseback moved through the line and started pushing south, a strategy they reserved for intimidating the opposition, but it only emboldened them. Before the riders, over a thousand protesters that were scattered about the entire width of the interstate reciprocated by attacking like the tide, pushing back at their "oppressors" in small alternating groups of five to ten at an almost rhythmic pace, each small wave retreating like clock-work in order to allow for the next attack. They would then double back to get more Molotov cocktails or to bandage their wounds before heading into danger again.

Meanwhile, through small breaks in the smoke above the commotion, Jerry witnessed a large cloud of drones of all shapes and sizes, was gathering. There were more there than he had ever seen at a riot or at any event in recent memory. The robotic cloud moved into the air space above their heads, each one carrying a camera, streaming all they could capture on video to the leaders of both sides, and to the rest of the world. Great, it'll be a miracle if I get out of here unseen now. He thought.

Normally the local protesters he had come to know, would have been more cautious in a conflict of that kind, throwing the flaming cocktails and whatever else they could get their hands on, from a safe distance. On that day however, they seemed to be more desperate than usual. As he'd suspected before he arrived on the highway, the gravity of the situation was escalating. Then, over the shouts and reverberating sounds of clashing metal and shattering glass Jerry heard someone ahead close to the police line yelling something though a megaphone. He couldn't make out what was being said, but whatever it was it had an immediate effect on the protesters ahead of him. Quickly changing their tactics, all of the protesters rushed the police line at the same time in an attempted blitz. They tried to force their way through the riot troops, successfully pushing the line back a few yards. They also began throwing their cocktails and other objects over the heads of the police, setting small fires behind their position and causing some of them standing at the rear of their formation to catch fire as they gave ground.

Knowing that the cops could see outlines through the smoke just as he could using their visors and that their A.I. was doing its own series of investigations so that they could pick up the worst offenders at a later time, Jerry stopped observing the spectacle and started looking at every face he could. He was short on time. The protest turned riot was turning into a war, something that he hadn't anticipated, and he didn't want to get caught on the wrong side of things when the big guns were brought in.

He was also protecting an investment. An entire year's bonus had gone into getting the lens and glasses. Not only that, but both would have been useless if he hadn't also sought out and bought hacks for them and had them installed and tested by someone who knew how to do both without getting caught. This meant that the hacks weren't cheap either, but without them, the Omni-Glass A.I. wouldn't be able to do more than search through public records and easily accessible accounts on a few popular community sites. Without the hacks, his Omni-Glass and ProtoMark glasses were just expensive toys, but the software he had added to them made them priceless. It would be hard for him to recover from losing them should they happen to break or be lost as he had become dependent on the edge they gave him in the field.

Jerry used the shield to cover his face as much as he could while pressing through the thick waves of smoke that swirled around him, detected a hint of teargas in the air, and began to cough. The coughing fit that ensued, forced him to turn his eyes so that he noticed a small group of men throwing Molotov Cocktails from behind a burned out vehicle not far from the police line to his right. As he got closer, he could see that there four men were in the group. Three of them were throwing lit bottles over the car as the fourth, which was kneeling next to a large duffle bag filled with bottles, used a cheap lighter to set more of them aflame, passing them forward in quick succession. Then, while steadying himself so that the A.I. could focus, he saw it, an unclaimed bullhorn was there lying on the ground between them. Two of the men had lost any face coverings they may have brought with them when they'd arrived, and like Jerry, the thick smoke and lingering vapors from the last round of teargas were causing all of them to cough violently and often.

He began moving closer to the car that the men were behind and saw a middle aged woman who was kneeling not far from his position. She was alone in the center of one of the lanes with her face down and was in the middle of having her own coughing fit except that hers wasn't stopping. Seeing an opportunity to get closer without revealing himself, Jerry ran to her side and put his arm around her while still covering most of his face with the shield. He was much closer after doing this, within ten yards of the group when what sounded like gun fire broke out, and a volley of rubber bullets rained down on all of them. Some ricocheted off of the car the four men were behind, while a few of them hit the trash can lid. One bounced off of the pavement and hit Jerry squarely in the right thigh, causing him to cry out in pain. Fighting through it, he looked under the shield long enough for the A.I. to confirm that the man lighting the cocktails was in fact, one Aaron Fornier. There were still three others left to identify though, one of which the A.I. couldn't make heads or tails of despite having nothing on his face that could have complicated the search.

"I got nothing on these guys, and the cops are getting closer." Jerry said. In response to the police firing baton rounds into the crowds, the protesters that hadn't yet run for cover or off of the highway completely began to rush the shield line again, this time every one of them screaming a slogan over and over that sounded something like "You can't stop us copper top!" in muddled unison. That's when the already nearly unbearable sound of the confrontation became deafening. At one point, Jerry felt like he was in the middle of the grand finale of a firework display.

"Nothing here either. Can you get closer?" the voice responded.

"No, too risky. Damn, no time. Wait, can you see us here on the ground from the drone?" Jerry hunched down even more than he already had been, moved the shield up to his face, and pretended to adjust his bandana so that no one could see that he was speaking to someone who wasn't present.

"Uh, barely. What did you have in mind?" the voice asked.

"Try to get a fix on the protesters. Go infrared if you need to."

"Ok, got heat signatures, good thing that car is nearly burned out already."

"Alright," Jerry continued, "Now, watch their heads."

"What?"

His face still covered, Jerry turned away from the blaring noise ahead of his position and screamed, "CHAVEZ!" at the top of his lungs. Unable to see for himself what effect his trick had on the group of men, he asked the voice, "Well?"

"The third man from you, he's the one. He was the only one that looked in your direction. He still is. You need to get closer if we're going to get a good rendering of his face though. All I can see from here is a blur."

Jerry peeked under the shield again when a group of reinforcements from the south ran past him on both sides. Two young women that were among them sporting blue bandanas on their arms grabbed the middle aged woman he had been kneeling next to and took her away on a stretcher. One of them gave Jerry a congratulatory thumb up. Jerry gave her one in return. His excuse for hiding from his target no longer present, he took a moment to gather his courage and stood up again, looking in the direction of the men as he rose to his feet, the right corner of his mouth curling upward, his goal now within reach. In that instant, a great booming sound came from the center of the police line, and without thinking, he turned to face it.

He saw something that looked like a small blurry object coming at him out of the smoke faster than the A.I. could identify, and suddenly the world around him became hazy. He thought for a second that his glasses had malfunctioned, leaving him blind, and he reached for them, but they were no longer on his face for his hand to grasp. His vision began to narrow and fade, and for a fleeting moment, he could hear something that overtook the unruly shouts and chanting of the protesters that surrounded him on the interstate that day, full of angst, anger, and the occasional lewd insult. No, the noise that filled his mind was far more intense. It was the shrill and piercing cries of thousands of people in utter despair. The kind of hopeless and fearful wailing that only comes when death is near and all is lost, and as the darkness from which they poured came to claim him, so was he.

For the rest of the story, check out Melchizedeknovel.com or look for Melchizedek, Book One: Kings and Priests on Amazon.com