"There is the sun and it is nuclear and it is nothing more."
Fire.
Fire is the rapid oxidation of a fuel in the exothermic chemical process of combustion, releasing heat, light, and various reaction products. Flames, the most visible portion of the fire, are produced in the combustion reaction when the fuel reaches its ignition point temperature.
She knew this. She understood this.
But holy fire?
To be licked by the flames of the Sepulcher itself. A burning, burning, burning feeling that would not subside. She could feel it torching at her very core, melting away everything she once knew and what was left after that, too. But it would not be done with her yet. The fire had more to burn away.
"There is the sun and it is nuclear and it is nothing more."
She had gazed upon the face of God, and He bore the familiar visage of Carl Sagan. But deep down inside, she knew this was not God. It was a perversion of Him. She was no theologist, far from it, but even she knew this was wrong. The question was — did those who employed this faux God know what they were doing?
"There is the sun and it is nuclear and it is nothing more."
Fire, in its most common form, has the potential to result in conflagration, which can lead to permanent physical damage. This holy fire was not hurting her physically. And yet, it was still painful beyond comparison. It was eating at…something. She could not put her finger on it.
"There is the sun and it is nuclear and it is nothin—"
Samara stirred in her unconscious state. It had been two days since her last nonprognostics dosage. She would be having a vision soon. She twitched, earning herself a gentle pat from Cooper.
"Don't fret, dear. You'll be awake soon," Cooper whispered, leaning close to the medical bed.
The door opened, revealing Dang and Lau entering the base. The warm Xishuangbanna air crept in like the dread of the other shoe about to drop.
"How did it go?" Jay asked from the terminal, where they had just finished submitting a file.
"They accepted my apology, but they are dying to get back. They're saying they left in such a hurry they couldn't move their holy relic," Dang grumbled, taking a seat.
"We can get the transports back there soon, but I don't think it's a good idea to leave them there since SAPPHIRE could attack again…" Lau sighed, putting xer hands at xer hips.
"Longtemps, longtemps, longtemps, après que les poètes ont disparu leurs chansons courent encore dans les rues…"
"What the hell is that?" Rex frowned. "Sounds like French."
"Sounds like French," Cooper turned, leaving a warm, wet towel on Samara's forehead. She grabbed her cane and hobbled over to Monsieur Tout-Le-Monde's cadaver, which lay on the other medical bed a few meters from where she was. "L’âme des poètes, to be exact."
"Is that… his cell phone?" Jay blinked, standing.
"La foule les chante un peu distraite en ignorant le nom de l'auteur sans savoir pour qui battait leur cœur…"
Lau was first to make it to the mangled body — xe searched his pockets and found the culprit; a phone ringing. "The screen says he's getting a call from… Monsieur Vert?"
"Mister Green? Huh?" Cooper eyeballed the phone closer now. There was no contact image.
"What is this, Reservoir Dogs?" Jay's assistant growled. "It's not like we're much better."
"Do I answer it?" Lau queried the group, eyes darting back and forth.
A discordant chorus of "yes" and "no" rang out. With no clear answer, Lau went with xer instinct and left the phone on Monsieur Tout-le-monde's pants. Before anyone could act, the ringing stopped.
Samara stirred again.
Monsieur Vert put his phone away in his suit's breast pocket, clicking his tongue. He was accompanied by another man as they walked down a forested path. The second man was wearing ornate, but modern clothing and bone necklaces — a local, by his looks. He glanced over at Monsieur Vert with a smile.
"Something bothering you, Monsieur Vert?""Quelque chose vous préoccupe, Monsieur Vert ?"
"Nothing of major concern, my friend.""Rien de grave, mon ami."
They continued silently down the forested path, passing by some Buddhist monks on their way back from the nearest town to their monastery. Monsiuer Vert stared daggers at them.
"Fools.""Bande d'imbéciles."
The second man smiled.
"You are an interesting specimen, Mister Vert. I would love to taste your flesh in my ascension, if only to see what makes you who you are. But I can tell this: you are a poor liar. I know you are worried.""Vous êtes un spécimen intéressant, Monsieur Vert. J'adorerais goûter à votre chair au cours de mon ascension, ne serait-ce que pour découvrir ce qui fait de vous ce que vous êtes. Mais je peux vous dire une chose : vous mentez très mal. Je sais que vous êtes inquiet."
Monsieur Vert quirked an eyebrow and turned his neck to look at the second man.
"Why do you say that, Völutaar Zhiming?""Pourquoi dis-tu ça, Völutaar Zhiming?"
The Völutaar kept his coy smile.
"Do you fear me, Monsieur Vert?""Avez-vous peur de moi, Monsieur Vert?"
There was a brief silence.
"No.""Non."
"You should. Us members of the Red Arrow are frightening people, after all. But you knew that, didn't you, Monsieur Vert? Yes, I'm sure you do. After all, it's not every day you wàiguórén/ come seeking my kin and I out.""Vous devriez. Après tout, nous, les membres de la Flèche Rouge, on fait peur aux gens. Mais vous le saviez déjà, n’est-ce pas, Monsieur Vert ? Oui, j’en suis sûr. Après tout, ce n’est pas tous les jours qu’un wàiguórén vient nous chercher, moi et les miens."
Monsieur Vert furrowed his brow. Was he being sized up by the Völutaar? Surely it would be mutually assured destruction to do that, he was, after all, an ETOILE RUBY.
"Völutaar Zhiming, I hope I haven't offended you.""Völutaar Zhiming, j'espère ne pas t'avoir offensé."
They both stopped walking. Their eyes met. Monsieur Vert was a little bit taller than Völutaar Zhiming, but not by much. Monsieur Vert's heartbeat quickened.
"Ah… there it is.""Ah… voilà." The Völutaar gave a wild-eyed wink. "You Westerners and your etiquette. Tsk tsk. Just tell me the truth, please.""Vous, les Occidentaux, et vos règles de savoir-vivre. Tss, tss. Dis-moi simplement la vérité, s'il te plaît."
Monsieur Vert sighed, resuming their stroll.
"Monsiuer Gris is not returning my calls. I am afraid he has been intercepted.""Monsieur Gris ne me rappelle pas. Je crains qu'il ait été intercepté."
The Völutaar's uncanny smile remained. He did, however, nod solemnly.
"Couldn't have been those old Orthodoxists. They've only got muskets leftover from the Boxer days. The Foundation, perhaps?""Ça ne peut pas être ces vieux orthodoxistes. Ils n'ont plus que des mousquets datant de l'époque des Boxers. La Fondation, peut-être?"
"Maybe.""Peut-être."
Suddenly, the roar of engines became audible in the distance. Not many people traveled these roads with vehicles, so it could only really be the RUBIES dispatched alongside Monsieur Gris. Both of the men moved to the side of the road, waiting for the vehicles to appear from the south. They did within minutes, and with them came no sign of Monsieur Gris.
"What happened? Where is Gris?""Que s'est-il passé? Où est Gris?"
One of the RUBIES leaned out from the back of the Jeep, shrugging.
"He stayed behind to cover our escape. We couldn't secure the artifact. Orthodoxists called in the Foundation.""Il est resté sur place pour couvrir notre fuite. Nous n'avons pas pu mettre la main sur l'artefact. Les orthodoxistes ont fait appel à la Fondation," the RUBY yelled over the roar of the engine.
"Shit.""Merde." Monsieur Vert grumbled, folding his arms. The Völutaar clicked his tongue and put a hand on Monsieur Vert's shoulder.
We tried it your way with the Orthodoxists. Let's try it my way now, like we did with the Huǒjù zhi Zi. After all; 'desire is the measure of all things. Be unbound from moral tethers. Do as you will, to whom you will.' And we desire that Orthodoxist artifact, don't we Monsieur Vert?""On a essayé ta méthode avec les orthodoxistes. Essayons maintenant la mienne, comme on l’a fait avec le Huǒjù zhi Zi. Après tout : 'Le désir est la mesure de toutes choses. Libérez-vous des entraves morales. Faites ce que vous voulez, avec qui vous voulez.' Et nous désirons cet artefact orthodoxiste, n’est-ce pas, Monsieur Vert?"
Monsieur Vert eyeballed his RUBIES. They were a little beat up, but not too bad. The Red Arrow reinforcements would be in soon.
He nodded.
"Let's go."
Samira bolted awake, startling everyone in the base.
"They're coming."
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