“Hypnosis?” Wawa asked.
“We did what we had to do,” the Archon said.
Mort(e) pictured another preposterous ceremony, a séance, in which a hypnotized Michael spoke in tongues while the humans clutched their prayer necklaces and howled and shook and danced.
“There will be three phases,” Pius said. “We begin tomorrow morning. First, you will take out the Queen. Second, the Archon will fly her section of the ship to lead the attack. Third, we will mount an amphibious assault at the northern end of the island.”
“What do you mean her section?” Mort(e) asked.
They explained that the top part of the Vesuvius—the balloon that rested above the other two — could detach and fly on its own. They named it the Golgotha.
“Sort of like the saucer section of the Enterprise from Star Trek,” Gregory said. This prompted bewildered expressions from Mort(e) and Wawa. Gregory’s follow-up—“You know, The Next Generation?”—did not clarify anything.
“Okay, let’s stick with part one,” Mort(e) said. “How do I get in?”
Pius fumbled through the maps again until he came across a schematic for some kind of missile, showing a side view of the projectile and a diagram of its working parts. Once Pius flattened out the paper, Mort(e) realized that it was not a missile. It was a torpedo.
“Do you mean to tell me—”
“We’ve modified it,” Pius said. “We can deploy it from the Vesuvius. There’s a chamber inside that’s big enough to fit a human. Or a really big cat.”
The torpedo, Pius explained, had a parachute to ensure a soft landing so that it would not “break every damn bone” in Mort(e)’s body. The front, meanwhile, was equipped with a cannon that would inject molten metal upon impact, allowing it to drill through the rock. The hatch would automatically burst open once the infiltration was complete. While Pius bragged about the ingenuity that went into the “catpedo,” Mort(e) and Wawa tried to communicate with facial expressions. This is crazy, Mort(e) signaled. What did you expect? she asked with a tip of her head. Mort(e) imagined himself in the torpedo, a metal sperm swimming through the water on its way to fertilize an egg.
“Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts,” the Archon said. “You were so eager you threatened to kill me, remember?”
“You’ll be armed,” Pius said. “Don’t worry about that. And we have a few weapons that the ants haven’t seen yet.”
They tried to give Mort(e) an idea of what he would see on the inside. Chances were that the chamber would have some light in it if Sheba was held prisoner there. They could not confirm Sheba’s condition. Mort(e) would have to carry her out if she was incapacitated. No one had the nerve to suggest that Sheba would not wish to go along with him.
They moved on to the attack itself: the Archon’s ship would bombard the Colonial army, and then paratroopers would join with a D-day force comprised of loyal animals using old human boats. The Archon said that these animals had “converted” and were awaiting orders from the Vesuvius. When Mort(e) asked how many there were, the Archon said there would be more today than yesterday, and more tomorrow than today.
The Archon concluded the meeting by asking that they pray. Gregory and Pius faced her and bowed their heads. Wawa joined them. Her mouth moved while they talked about God watching over them, delivering them from evil. Mort(e) nudged her. He wanted her to see him roll his eyes at this ritual. But she kept her head bowed and continued praying.
THE HUMANS HELD another church service that night. Wawa told him he should attend, if only as a diplomatic courtesy. Mort(e) agreed, but insisted on sitting in the last pew. There he cringed at the many things that he found disturbing: a choir of children singing songs about drinking someone’s blood; Elder Gregory announcing that they were slaves for God while casually flipping his ponytail off his shoulder; grown men and women weeping and shouting in incomprehensible dialects. Mercifully, Michael and his nurse did not attend. A child in his condition could not be trotted out for every religious service. Mort(e) tried to think of the boy as he had first met him, lying on a towel on Daniel’s bed. Instead, Mort(e) kept picturing the translator fastened to Michael’s head, poisoning his brain.
Later, the Archon blessed the soldiers who would be leading the assault. They were barely adults, and each wore the flag of the defunct country from which they came. Most had American flags, but there were others that Mort(e) recognized: Mexico, Canada, the United Kingdom, some Caribbean nations. They did not strike him as soldiers so much as wide-eyed converts only a few years removed from performing plays in Miss Teter’s class. The Archon assured them that they would either be victorious in the morning, or they would go to heaven. One by one, she went before the soldiers, placing her hands on each pair of shoulders and whispering a prayer.
The children sang again. Mort(e) realized that Wawa had left her pew.
It did not take long to find her walking up the center aisle. The congregants, who had been warned about gawking at the two mutated visitors, turned their heads as she passed by each row. One pew at a time, the singing came to a stop. With her back to the crowd, the Archon noticed the song dying out. She turned to see Wawa stepping forward. This great warrior, second-in-command of the Red Sphinx, wept like a human child.
“Yes, my friend?” the Archon said.
“I wish to join with you in the battle tomorrow,” Wawa said.
“You wish to join this church?” the Archon asked.
“I want to be a part of your pack,” Wawa said, her voice breaking.
The Archon ran to Wawa and embraced her. People applauded, wiped their eyes, laughed, raised their arms in the air, and shouted that their god was great. A new soul had joined them. Miss Teter had the children sing the song from the day before:
Have you been to Jesus for the cleansing pow’r?
Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?
Are you fully trusting in His grace this hour?
Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?
Are you washed in the blood,
In the soul-cleansing blood of the Lamb?
Are your garments spotless? Are they white as snow?
Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?
The soldiers formed a circle around Wawa, each giving her a hug. They cried and laughed at the same time. Soon all the humans left their seats to get closer to their newest member, all while singing the atrocious song. At one point, a little girl from Miss Teter’s class left her place in the choir and wormed her way through the legs of the adults. She pulled on Wawa’s tail and giggled. An adult scolded her, but the lieutenant gave the girl a hug. They spoke for a moment. Then the girl pointed at Mort(e) and said something that he could not hear.
He got up and left. When he returned to his quarters, he sat by the great window again. He could still hear the singing from downstairs, a low grumble through the floor.
MORT(E) BARELY SLEPT. It made little sense to do so, now that his life could be measured in hours rather than years. He drank some water and ate a bag of dried beetles that had been left in his quarters. A soldier came for him in the morning, a boy of seventeen or eighteen. He handed Mort(e) a backpack containing all the supplies he would need. Inside, Mort(e) found a submachine gun, a grenade, a small canister of oleic acid, a digital watch, a canteen of water, and some food. The young soldier led him to the promenade area, where once again the civilians onboard were gathered. This time, they prayed in whispers, their eyes on the ground. Some even covered their faces with their hands, their voices indistinguishable from the babbling fountain.