Chapter Eleven: Disaster Relief

 ~~/*\~~ Ryder ~~/*\~~

The newsroom was as busy as ever. The Coalition’s March enforcing the FRA was the biggest change that had ever hit the world, and that meant there was plenty of news to report. At the rundown meeting, they had to sift out the best stories to put on the air.

“The Grace Period to sign the Renouncement voluntarily has ended, which means there’s only Enforcement left.” Dion summed up. “Global reactions?”

“Most people had signed voluntarily long before now. The ones that didn’t were racing to sell properties or contraband goods before they signed, and got caught off guard by how long it took.” Gordon read his notes. “I’m hearing that some regional commanders are allowing extensions for people in areas where the forms aren’t being delivered or processed fast enough.”

“What’s really making waves are the financial upheavals.” Gordon reported.

“I thought the Market was frozen until the FRA was over.”

“That’s the stock market, but very few businesses are actually publicly traded.” Gordon nodded. “I have an off-the-record source backed up by two more off-the-record sources. They say the banks are in trouble.”

Everyone reacted.

“In trouble, how?” Ryder asked.

“The Coalition has seized a lot of wealth from the shut down religious holdings, but most of it is being used to finance their enforcement. Another reason they don’t care about local laws: They don’t rely on anyone for funding.”

“I thought they were donating that to debt relief.” Dion countered. “We made some hay out of that story, as I recall.”

“They pledged to, but the thing is, the Churches have been cooking their books one way or another for a long time. They had a lot of class-actions to settle, and they had tax-exempt status, but they owned huge amounts of property. As a result, their exact dollar value is hard to define.”

“And it’s not like anyone can buy religious memorabilia anymore. You seize a solid gold statue, where are you going to sell it? It’s contraband now.” Ryder put in.

“The FRA happened really fast. For all the fast-paced nature of Wall Street, the truth is the ‘old money’ hasn’t changed hands that much in years.” Gordon summed up. “Having one of the most lucrative sectors of the world seized and stripped for parts overnight has shaken a lot of players.”

“So what are the banks doing?”

“My source says they’re doing the same thing they did during the Global Financial Crash. They’re lying about how solid their own positions are, but they’re secretly holding a fire sale before they admit the truth, so the prices won’t crash until they’ve sold.” Gordon said seriously. “But my sources won’t go on the record.”

“Find someone who will, and then talk to me.” Dion said. “I don’t want to see another Financial Crash any more than you do, but if we go on the air say there’s one coming, and we’re wrong, we might just start the dominoes by accident.” He returned to the room. “Next?”

“Another hurricane system is forming near Singapore.” Maggie checked the reports on her clipboard. “After the Yangtze dried up, it’s now the largest shipping port in the world. Hundreds of millions of tonnes get shipped in and out of there, and it’s going to be shut down for the ninth time this year, because of hurricanes.”

“Climate disasters have been gnawing at the world food supply for years.” Otto broke in grimly. “What if the two stories are connected?”

His voice was so sudden and urgent that there was a moment of silence in response.

“Connected how?” Gordon asked finally.

“We never saw the Global Financial Crash coming because nobody ever bothered to check the connections between cost of living increases and the actual viability of the housing market. The bubble popped, and nobody knew it was a bubble in the first place.” Otto gestured around the room at everyone who had spoken. “If weather Disasters and a changing climate have been altering the food supply, and global shipping at the same time, how long before those supply shortages actually ‘collapse’?”

Chilly silence.

“Look into it.” Dion said shortly. “But you need more than a theory before we can put it on the air. Get someone on the record. Someone big time.”

Otto nodded, and headed out of the room without waiting to be dismissed.

Maggie raised her hand. “I found this in my mail last night.” She held up a pamphlet that everyone scoffed at. “It’s the third one I got in four days. I’ve found them under my windshield wiper, in my office mail, my Post Office Box… how can this be so organized if the entire church is shut down?”

“Jehovah’s Witnesses have kept their preaching campaign going under all sorts of bans.” Dion wasn’t concerned. “They’re all volunteer anyway. Once the FRA hits Stage Three, they’ll have to stop.”

“This Pamphlet says it’s too late for us.” Maggie said seriously. “Isn’t that illegal to say now? Isn’t this ‘hate speech’?”

“Probably, but who cares?” Dion shook his head. “They’re vocal, but they’re a minority. Our instructions on reporting the FRA are very clear that we don’t give preferential coverage to one illegal group of holdouts over any other. And this particular group is one of the smaller ones anyway. For all that they say, it’s the ones that don’t give warnings that the Coalition is worried about.”

“He’s right, Maggie.” Ryder put in. “I’ve got relatives in that particular sect. The worst thing they do when they decide you’re unforgivable? They stop talking to you. That’s the limit of their threat to the world. Let the authorities handle them. The public doesn’t need to be warned about anyone so… harmless.” He gestured at the pamphlet. “And what’s more, if these handbills are meant to get attention, why should we use our network to give them a megaphone?”

Dion nodded and brought the meeting to a close. “Back in four hours for the final rundown meeting.” Everyone stood. “One more thing, Ryder? Karla always has to end her stories on an upside, looking for the hopeful message? Don’t do that this time. If the supply chain story gets bad enough that we need a reporter on the scene? We’re going to look like idiots if we try to find the ‘sunny’ side of a food riot.”

“Copy that.”

~~/*\~~

“Dion won’t report on the banks being shaky until someone goes on the record.” Ryder told Karla as they headed for the news van. “I gotta ask, have you heard anything from your banker friend, Johan? Anything new in the last few days?”

Karla glared at him, outraged. “You and Dion really do think I have them all on speed dial, don’t you?”

Ryder jumped back, blindsided. “I never suggested-”

“The guy’s been married for most of the time I’ve known him, and even if I was willing to date him now, the kind of information you want me to get is confidential. Citing him by name could cost him his job. What magical powers do you think I have that can-”

Ryder was backpedaling, taken by surprise by the outrage. “I apologize.”

Karla looked ready to cry, then furious again. “I get that it helps to warm up our sources before we try and get them on the record, but how is that-”

“It’s no different than what I do when I trade tickets to baseball games, or buy a whole room full of people a round of drinks before I start asking questions.” Ryder assured her. “I’m sorry if I suggested otherwise.”

There was a chilly silence as they both climbed into the news van. “I’m sorry.” She said finally as they started the engine. “It’s something of a nerve. They don’t put a woman in front of a camera unless you look… well, like me. And like most women with a job, I’ve spent my career walking the fine line between ‘frigid’ and ‘just asking for it’.”

Ryder said nothing. What was there to say? He’d seen it happen before too.

~~/*\~~

Del wasn’t paying attention. Nate asked him about it quietly, as the latest meeting was broadcast to them in Alvin’s home. “I feel like a coward.” He admitted quietly. “I got word from my wife, right before her phone was cut off for Stage Three. The order for my region back home? Go to the nearest Police Station and surrender to arrest.”

“I heard.” Alvin said quietly, clearly listening to both of them, and the broadcast. “She’s probably safer there than you are making food drops, considering what’s going on in the world now.”

“And Jacen? What’s happening to him?” Del fretted. “He’s so young…”

“I know. Remember, none of us are planning to get through this by being brilliant survivors or master strategists.” Alvin reminded him. “We’re all little kids next to God. Less than that. He’s the one that decides how this goes.”

“We’ve confirmed to the best of our ability that the Hailstone Message has been delivered to every territory in the world.” On screen, the Speaker made the announcement. “The Preaching Work, which has defined the purpose and the Mandate of the Jehovah’s Witnesses for more than a century, is now over.”

Del let out a low whistle at the declaration.

“With that in mind, all our resources have only one purpose now: To help our brothers in difficult times. The translation work is over. There is no more literature to translate, beyond these talks. The printing work is over. The final message has been delivered. Construction of Convention facilities and Kingdom Halls? Also shut down. As the capacity for donation has been made illegal, and all liquid assets seized, most of our administrative work is also done. Before those assets were taken, most religions sought to invest in ways to preserve their wealth; such as buying property. The witnesses invested in another area: Relief Supplies.”

Nate let out a laugh. “Of course.”

“Disaster Relief has long been a part of our responsibilities to our brothers and sisters around the world. And even with the FRA in full force, it’s the one aspect that not only remains legal, but strongly encouraged by the world’s authorities. Hence, we have consolidated all our resources into providing food, medicine, drinking water, and necessary supplies to our brothers around the world. Not long after we put these new policies into effect, the world’s supply chains became severely disrupted, and suddenly more of our people were in need of such relief than ever before; even in lands where there had been no war or natural disaster.”

Alvin took the opportunity to turn to his houseguests. “By the way, gents. We’re on that list now too. The Hall has been seized, so the supplies are coming to the Elders, who then disperse it to their individual groups. Can I count on you guys to help me get some of those supplies to our people as needed?”

Del and Nate nodded at once. “You have to ask?”

~~/*\~~ Satau ~~/*\~~

Satau walked slowly back to his room that night. He wanted to go to Goshen, and warn Takarut to run, but he knew he’d never make it past the line of guards. Pharaoh was surely serious about keeping people in Goshen with Archers and Skirmishers.

Takarut made his choice months ago, when the Nile turned red. Satau told himself firmly. Even if Leahe has never gotten to decide anything at all…

He put that thought away, scratching at his side again. The soothing balms had been heavily in use during the plague of gadflies. He’d thought the itchy bites had all faded, but apparently at least one was holding on. He settled into bed, trying not to scratch.

Elsewhere in the Temple, he heard the nightly ritual chants going out, praising Thoth and Ptah. He knew the words of the ritual so well he chanted along in his mind as he closed his eyes for sleep.

Tomorrow, I’ll be woken by the chariots returning… It was his last thought before sleep took him.

~~/*\~~

He woke up the next morning with a groan. The itch from the night before had turned into agonizing fire, and he rolled over automatically, trying to ease the pain. He wasn’t even awake yet, but he recognized that there was something terribly wrong. He could see the light growing in the east, so the sun was rising. But he couldn’t hear the morning rituals. The chants always woke him up.

His hands searched for the itchy spot again automatically, but when his fingers brushed the point, he drew back with a hiss of pain. Wide awake now, he looked, and found hideous boils had broken out sometime during his sleep. One on his side, another on his leg. He grimaced and felt more sores on his neck.

There was no hope of getting comfortable, so he rose and put his clothes on, almost crying out as the cloth met the boils and sores, feeling like someone was jabbing him with a sword.

As he passed his window, he saw the chariots in the courtyard. None of them were on the move. There were a few soldiers tending to their horses, hobbled in pain themselves.

And that was when Satau knew.

~~/*\~~

“The attack cannot happen. My people are crippled.” The General reported. His face was awash with sweat, and his spine was ramrod straight.

“Your people are soldiers!” Pharaoh barked, anger the only thing keeping him sitting still on his throne. They could all see the boils on his hands and feet. Pharaoh seemed to have more of them than anyone else. “They can’t handle a little pain? Isn’t that what you train them for? To get the job done, no matter what they go through?”

“Due respect, my lord, but this is not a question of motivation. They blame the rebels as much as you do. But some of my people cannot walk three feet without passing out from the pain. And it’s not a question of getting reinforcements, or replacing the incapacitated. Everyone is suffering from this. The only soldiers I have left are the ones that drag themselves to attention through sheer stubbornness. And even if they grit it out, nobody can force the horses to do that, nor would a responsible horse trainer try.”

“You are the best trained soldiers in the world!” Pharaoh demanded.

“And none of them can move without agony. We teach our people to push through the fear and pain because it’s the most debilitating thing that a warzone can put upon them. Our men have been struck before they even start. How can I lead the crippled into battle against the healthy?”

Pharaoh froze. “The healthy?”

Aadesh nodded. “Reports from our forward skirmishers say that nobody in Goshen is suffering from this Plague. Outlasting them isn’t going to work as a strategy this time.”

Listening to all this, Satau lurched half a step forward. There is healing of this in Goshen?

The General was weaving on his feet, growing pale now. “Great Pharaoh, with respect, I have to… to…”

“Go.” Pharaoh waved at him, wincing at his own motions. “Tend to your sores.” He winced harder, staring at the skin of his hands, his own body betraying him. “Priest!” He shouted. “Where are Jambres and Jannes?”

Satau limped forward, holding his tunic away from his affected side awkwardly. “My lord, my father begs your indulgence. He has been afflicted also, and is unable to attend Court. He is in no state to walk.”

“I am Pharaoh!” The King raged, impotence making him furious. “When I summon my Court, they come immediately!”

“That is understood, divine one.” Satau grunted, half-expecting to be killed on the spot. “As does everyone in your Court, most of whom have sent envoys of their own today. Great King, it would be inappropriate to come to Court unable to speak or act correctly in your presence. Given that my father’s life is yours to end at will, I would hope you take that as a sign of how serious the… difficulty is.”

One of the Throne Room guards passed out at that moment, his weapons and armor clattering loudly as he hit the marble floor. His face was deathly pale and drenched with sweat. He’d been battling his pain the whole time he’d stood at his post.

~~/*\~~

Pharaoh had ordered the guard be taken to the healers. Satau had helped carry him, grateful for the diversion. It had taken three people to carry him downstairs, everyone in agony. They could hear a chorus of moans and groans before they got within fifty feet of the Healer’s Chambers. Every cot was taken, every inch of floorspace, and most of the corridors were lined with writhing bodies.

Satau hadn’t noticed it, too distracted by his own pains, but the corridors of the Temple and Palace were empty. Everyone, apparently, had come here. The guard was still unconscious, but it was clear they weren’t going to find much help, so they laid him along the corridor wall, like dozens of others. Everyone, it seemed, had similar boils and sores; but some had them in more awkward or debilitating spots than others. Those that could force themselves to work were limping back and forth between the truly crippled.

“Satau!” One of the Healers recognized him. “Would you please go and find the Healers in the city? I need more hands here.”

Satau wanted to cry at the thought of making a longer trip, but recognized he was mobile, which was more than a great number of people could say right now.

~~/*\~~

Writhing in his bed, trying to find a comfortable position, Jambres heard a shuffling sound, along with a slow tapping. “Satau? That you?”

“No, I’m afraid not.” A pained voice answered, and the shuffle came closer to reveal Jannes, leaning heavily on his staff. “When I heard you weren’t in court, I figured I’d find you here.”

“Get out, Jannes.” He groaned. “The last thing I want to hear right now is your voice.”

Jannes sat down beside him painfully. “I needed a chance to talk to you without anyone listening. Both of our overpaid informants are writhing in agony right now, just as we are.”

“I already don’t like where this is going.” Jambres fought to sit up.

“You wanted the Priesthood to acknowledge Jehovah because it was… necessary.” Jannes grunted. “We’re fast approaching the point where other things will be necessary.” He turned and waved to the door, where another man came shuffling in.

Jambres nodded to the newcomer. “Neb-en-toneb.” He greeted the High Priest of the Nile. “You agree with this?”

“I agree with the fact that the only reason I didn’t get executed is because Pharaoh happened to be distracted by something else when he was about to pass sentence.” Neb-en-toneb said seriously. “There have been more Plagues since then, and the body count is starting to get serious. I don’t know what to tell people who demand to know why our gods can’t match the God of Slaves.”

“Moses, or Jehovah, or whoever’s doing it doesn’t matter anymore.” Jannes said seriously. “The whole nation is bedridden. If they wanted to rise up against us, they clearly could at any time. And if the Slaves don’t, how many other nations might decide to risk getting Plagued themselves, while our nation still has something to pillage?”

“You are close to treason. Both of you.” Jambres warned.

“And if one of us goes a little further, are you going to report us?” Neb-en-toneb challenged. “Could you even find a guard that can still stand at his post?” He looked over his shoulder anyway. “I went to Moses during the First Plague.”

“The Nile?” Jambres was surprised. “I hadn’t heard this.”

“I offered him up to half my Treasury to make the Nile go back to normal. He turned me down. He said he had no more power over the Nile than I did, and that the water would flow clear when Jehovah said, and not an hour before. Moses didn’t even tell anyone I tried, which is just a little galling. Any other revolutionary would have turned me in, and scored a victory against the Priesthood.”

Jambres had to agree with that. “It took me a few Plagues to realize it myself, but it’s clear that Moses isn’t like us. The reason we can’t win is because he’s playing an entirely different game, by entirely different rules.”

“Pharaoh has tried ignoring him, threatening him, lying to him; and now finally, he’s tried total scorched earth dominance over Goshen, and the result has been… unstoppable.” Jannes summed up. “We barely got the crops replanted after the Nile turned. We’ve had to turn to our stores in the Granaries to keep up. Between the frogs getting into every oven, and messing up fishing in the Nile, the gnats ruining the fruits, and the river of ‘sticky mud’ shutting down all trade for a week… To say nothing of what’s going to happen now. However long this new Plague will last, the whole nation will be on breadlines.”

“We’ll have to crack open the Royal Treasuries to buy replacements for all the lost livestock.” Neb-en-toneb added. “I spoke to Faas last night. He’s scared to death. The Barley and Flax is due to be harvested soon; and none of our farmers are in any state to work. If we get Goshen to supply workers, there are no guards to stop them from helping themselves to half our crop.”

“Just. Say. It.” Jambres sighed.

“The counter attack against Goshen was stopped before it began, and that will hopefully force Pharaoh’s hand. He can’t ignore it, he can’t overpower it. And if he tried, who knows what would come next?” Jannes summed up. “He’s had to show power and strength at every step. That’s what he’s meant to do, but negotiation is the only option left. If he doesn’t accept that, or worse; if the negotiations go spectacularly bad-”

“Which is likely, given that no Pharaoh before him has ever negotiated anything with his own Slaves.” Jambres conceded. “We kept telling him that he was being judged against all his Dynasty. He won’t accept being the ‘weakest link’.”

“Then when negotiation doesn’t work, what’s left?” Jannes finished. “If this keeps up…”

“I know.” Jambres admitted. “One thing the Plagues have certainly achieved: Pharaoh, the public, other nations… nobody has any respect left for the Temples.”

“I was nearly executed. I didn’t care for it.” Neb-en-toneb nodded. “It’s going to be us or Pharaoh. And not long after, it will be Pharaoh or all of Egypt. We have to make sure the scales tip the right way.”

“Just. Say it.” Jambres demanded again, a sudden spike of pain making him hiss like a snake.

“We have to be ready to replace the King.” Neb-en-toneb said tightly. “Aadesh agrees.”

“You spoke to the General about this?” Jambres was floored.

“He’s a soldier. He knows to change tactics when outnumbered or outmatched. Pharaoh can’t do that.” Jannes nodded. “I’ve been Prince Nem-ur’s tutor for years now. He’ll make the right move.”

“Yes.” Jambres glared at Jannes. “If, hypothetically, the Pharaoh was struck down by the next Plague, and Nem-ur ascended the Throne, as is only correct… Then he would turn to you, as his lifelong teacher, to be his High Priest.” He glared harder. “Or, I could go to Pharaoh right now and share this whole conversation. You’d be killed, and I’d still be High Priest.”

“Over a Priesthood that doesn’t believe its own teachings anymore.” Jannes countered coolly. “Over a nation that has lost all hope of its own gods, and a King who was looking for someone he could punish the next time Moses visits the Throne Room. Are you sure you want to be in charge?”

And Jambres... hesitated. Jannes watched the reaction very closely. It was hard to be sure what Jambres was thinking, his face constantly twitching in pain and discomfort. But he wasn’t saying no.

Jannes nodded, pleased that he was listening. “I know we’ve been rivals for a long time. We’ve got no reason to trust each other. But Egypt is currently at war. It’s a war of the gods. Pharaoh has more than one General for his armies. He can have more than one High Priest for this war.”

Jambres turned to Neb-en-toneb. “That include you?”

Neb-en-toneb scoffed. “I wouldn’t take your job if my life depended on it. In fact, for the time being, I think my life would be longer if I wasn’t in the Throne Room at all.”

Jannes grinned tightly. “So. Are you with us?”

Long silence.

Finally, Jambres spoke. “We’d need the Queen on our side. Probably a few of the attendants, too.”

Jannes nodded, pleased. “Neb-en-toneb? Think you can sound her out?”

~~/*\~~

Riding on a horse was the single most agonizing thing Satau had ever done. Every bump and quiver was a knife shooting up his spine. Hold on, hold on…

The streets were nearly empty, but as he got closer to the Healers, he recognized that what few people were out and about were going there. Like in the Palace, the Healers in the City were completely outnumbered by the endless fields of the sick. The public spaces were already taken over, filling up with patients laying out in rows.

When the sun gets higher, what will become of them? Satau asked himself miserably. Riding a horse, he’d already worked up a sweat. He thought his boils couldn’t be more painful, but the sting of his sweat added another layer of agony.

The streets were lined with the unhealthy. So were the spaces around the Temples. With the damage done from the earlier Plagues; more people than ever were lining up for rations, agony making them lay in the streets close to their only food source, just waiting until mealtimes.

There’s no help for the Palace here. Satau knew. He wanted to go home, crawl into bed, and not move until the boils healed, or he starved to death, and he almost didn’t care which came first. Instead, he pulled at the reins of his horse, and rode towards Goshen.

~~/*\~~ Nate ~~/*\~~

“The riots that began as peaceful FRA protests have now entered their fourth week. More protests formed to demand action on the sudden spike in food prices, as well as the huge jump in unemployment, due to supply chain issues. There are reports that live ammo is being used already, though there’s no official declaration as to the use of lethal force. If you have family members in the Red Zones, we are urging you to stay away, rather than risk your own safety in trying to get them out…”

~~/*\~~

“Where are you getting these supplies?” Del asked curiously. “Are they coming from the Organization?”

“Technically, there’s no such organization anymore; but if you mean our brothers? Some. The rest, I get from the same place as I always have. The Supermarket.”

“Really? I was told they’re way too dangerous now; and there’s nothing there anyway.”

“Dangerous, but they still have warehouses and fill orders that come in where they can. A business asks for a delivery, instead of sending someone to a store with a shopping cart? They make that happen, if you pay their rates.” Alvin smirked. “And they like selling to me. Since the Price Hike, we’re the only ones that pay up without questioning or negotiation… or getting angry about it.”

Del snorted. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense. I’m hearing stories that checkout lines are seeing violence every day over the price swings. You take something from a supermarket shelf, and the price has jumped a few dollars by the time you get to checkout.”

“That’s why sending deliveries to each house is… inadvisable. One large order comes here, and our deliveries become all the more important… and risky.” Alvin gave him a sideways look. “Last chance. You sure you want to do this?”

Del shrugged. “My family’s locked up. I gotta do something other than spending my whole day thinking about how I’m not with them.”

Nate nodded in agreement. “I have nowhere to be.”

~~/*\~~

“With the grace period over, the Bounty for the Unsigned is now in effect. Reports are coming into the station that several bounty hunters have begun rounding up the homeless. Without a fixed address or contact point, it was easy for them to be overlooked, and some are cashing in.”

“In related news, the Coalition today announced a bonus reward for turning in family members-”

~~/*\~~

Del and Nate drove around the territory, delivering to their brothers and sisters. They all offered money, and the men took it, giving it to Alvin, who put it towards the next purchase. There wasn’t really enough money to keep it going, because food was getting so expensive, but everyone gave what they had.

While they drove, Nate plugged his phone into the car speakers, giving them readings of the Bible, songs from the meetings, old broadcasts, even new talks coming from the Governing Body. Where they were now was anyone’s guess, with the Headquarters closed, but it hadn’t slowed their flow of teachings and encouragement going out to the global congregation. Word was, they all had bounties on their heads. Some had been arrested.

“In the days of Moses, the Tribes of Israel were all slaves. They owned nothing, and had no agency. They could offer little tribute, they could never hope to offer sacrifices or build a Temple. Certainly, there was no chance at a preaching campaign. Egypt was a land devoted to its gods. In fact, the only thing that Slaves had total control over, was what they felt in their hearts. And Jehovah was pleased with that. He fought for them. Protected them. Fed them. And in return, all Jehovah asked was the only thing that a nation of slaves could offer: Their worship, and thanks.

“As we move into the endgame of the Tribulation, we have likely lost many material things already. Certainly our standard of living can be expected to drop as the world enters its most desperate hour. But we can be thankful that we have the same promise that Israel had, thousands of years ago: Jehovah has selected us, as a People for His Name. In spite of repeated failures and oppositions, Jehovah held true to His promises to Israel, because His Name was involved. Of all the religions in the world, even before this started, we were the only ones to even use His Name. Whether we come through this comfortably, or in trial; His Name is the only thing that will see us through to Paradise.”

“Wonder what Israelites would make of us?” Del murmured, gripping the steering wheel.

“Who knows? This time next week, you might be able to ask them.” Nate returned, eyes constantly scanning. “I wouldn’t take this turn. The guy on the corner with the bandanna? He was there this morning, except now he’s on the other side of the street. I remember, because when we drove past, he was straightening up until we drove past the turn.”

“You think he’s really a lookout? Someone watching this end of the road?”

“Street is narrow here. If someone wanted to set up an ambush, it’d be a good spot. Go a few blocks further.”

Del nodded and drove past. Nate’s phone buzzed, and he checked it.

It was a text message from Ryder. Word is that the food prices have jumped again. You okay?

He texted back. I can afford it.

The answer was swift. How???

Nate smirked as he answered. What exactly am I saving for? Retirement?

Del gave him a sideways look, but didn’t say anything.

Nate answered anyway. “You think I should block his number right now, don’t you?”

“Hard to say.” Del admitted. “The Renouncement is turning families against each other. Some of our people have relatives who support the ‘courageous moral stand’, even if they won’t take it themselves. And it doesn’t matter, because if they haven’t committed by now, the only thing left is…”

“I know.” Nate sighed hard. “He’s my brother.” He sniffed a bit. “You know what I can’t stop thinking? We don’t know how long this lasts. It could be over tomorrow. We don’t know how Paradise will work. I could have mom back in a week. How do I tell her the rest of the family isn’t there?”

Del had no answer to that, but he tried anyway. “When I became a Witness, I discovered how many of my friends were just workmates and random acquaintances. I couldn’t even reach my mom. I know at least some of what you’re going through… But when that black bag went over my head… God forgive me for this, for a while I thought I was going to break. I was scared out of my mind, and I thought I wouldn’t make it to Paradise myself.” He glanced over. “Your brother got me out. And neither of us think it was ‘just’ his idea.”

~~/*\~~ Takarut ~~/*\~~

Goshen was like another world, so close to the city, yet so far removed from it. The dust and clay were still all over everything, but the people were so… relaxed. There was no pain here. Nobody was wincing, or limping. Not one person covered in sores or boils. He was immediately obvious to everyone.

So obvious that Takarut found him quickly. “Satau? What are you doing here? I thought this was forbidden ground to Egyptian citizens now.”

“The Guards encircling Goshen can barely stand.” Satau waved that off. “I’m dyin’ here, old friend. Please, tell me what the cure is.”

Takarut sank into himself. “I had hoped you’d have seen the truth by now.” He looked his old friend over. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.”

They walked to Takarut's dwelling, and Satau noticed he was limping too, moving slower than normal.

~~/*\~~

Takarut’s home wasn’t much. Certainly a step down from the palace. He brought cloth and helped Satau find a comfortable pose to recline in, letting him soak his sores. Takarut settled into a chair beside him with a grateful sigh.

Satau winced in sympathy. “You too, huh? When I realized that everyone in Goshen wasn’t in horrible pain, I hoped…”

Takarut shook his head. “No. No boils, no sores. But it’s not because I live here now, it’s because…” He let out a breath. “I have renounced all the gods of Egypt. I am Hebrew now. Jehovah is the only God I recognize as being real.”

It was so startling that Satau forgot his pain for a minute. “What?”

“And just in time, apparently.” Takarut added, gesturing at Satau’s obvious distress. “I thought what you did, that those in Goshen were somehow protected. But it’s not geography at all. I'm proof of that. Jehovah is protecting His own servants from the Plagues.”

“Then why were you limping?” Satau demanded. “The foreman have you in the clay pits already?”

Takarut flushed. “Part of becoming a follower of Jehovah is… to be circumcised.”

Pause. Satau burst out laughing. The pain lanced through him violently, and it cut off with a strangled gasp. Before Takarut could say anything more, Leahe arrived with some flatbreads and oil. She was surprised to see Takarut had a guest, but recognized who he was, and why he was there. Satau couldn’t bring himself to eat, too miserable to risk food. Takarut winced, feeling bad for him. “Takarut, please!” Satau hissed, begging.

“Satau, we’ve been friends since the cradle.” Takarut said with sympathy. “I can’t remember a time when we didn't protect each other. I… hate this. I hate to see my friends miserable. And if I could fix it, I would. But there’s no cure, brother. This isn’t an illness. It’s exactly what Moses said it is.”

“A curse from Jehovah.”

“An action from Jehovah.” Leahe corrected. “A demonstration that all your Court’s wisdom and all your gods combined don’t have any power. Not against Jah. Nor does your medicine, unable to heal you from this.”

“Pharaoh is getting frustrated. He’s ordered people be… punished. He’s looking to make examples.” Satau grunted, shifting a little. “And executing slaves isn’t enough of a show of force.”

“The one advantage to being disposable.” Leahe said with grim irony. “If there was a cure, what would you do with it? Did you want to use it for yourself, or bring it to your King? Sell it to the many for profit? Bring it to your father to honor the gods?”

Satau froze. “I… I don’t know.” He admitted. “I just wanted to stop hurting.”

Leahe’s eyes flashed a little. “Quite a thing to be so afraid and helpless against your misery, that you’d welcome death, isn’t it? That’s what it means to be a slave.”

Chilly silence.

“There’s no cure.” Takarut said finally. “I told you that the ‘trick’ is that there’s no trick at all. But if you want to make sure, why don’t you stay here for a few days? You can eat the food, drink the water, breathe the air. Live like an Israelite for a while. If there’s something magical about the place itself that’s curing us of boils, you’ll know it.”

Leahe gave Takarut a look.

“And if you’re here, maybe I can convince my old friend… before it’s too late for him.” Takarut added, mostly to her.

Leahe almost smirked. “I wonder how many Egyptians are going to be hiding out in Goshen before this is over?” She took her food basket and left.

Takarut went after her, getting out of earshot. “I know that you're experienced in what he’s feeling right now, as have most of your people; and no Egyptian had ever offered you relief. I know you hate my people, and I don’t blame you. But that man in there saved your life.”

Leahe rubbed her severed arm absently. “He did.” She acknowledged, looking down. “And I know he’s your friend.” She was silent for a moment. “There’s a Hebrew man I know, who has been a domestic slave most of his life. His name is Deror.” She said, quiet and severe. “His master keeps him around because beating someone helpless makes him feel better. I’m told that whenever a Plague comes, his master finds new things to beat him with. His way of punishing our people ‘for all we’re putting them through’.”

Takarut sighed hard. “Yes.” He said simply.

“Father says that friendship with God means being an enemy of kings. I suppose it’s true in many nations; but I’ve only ever lived in this one. If we ever do get our freedom, we’ll have to figure out how to be around people of other lands, as one free nation to another. And in my head I know that Deror’s master and your friend are nothing alike, and that even as an Acolyte, he came here begging for relief because he knew all his gods could do nothing. But in my heart, I still see an Egyptian who doesn’t like having to live like we have.” She gave him a hard look. “And we aren’t free yet.”

~~/*\~~

Neb-en-toneb approached Queen Ramla discreetly when she’d finally coaxed the Prince to sleep. Doctors had been turning away patients in their hundreds, all over Egypt. Most of them knew as soon as they’d seen the boils on their Doctors, that there would be no easy relief. There were reports that some doctors had been attacked by people who were fed up completely with the hard times, anger and frustration boiling over as they found someone to blame for their continuing suffering.

The Queen didn’t have to leave the Palace to find a Healer. The King’s physician was available to the Royal Family.

She was limping carefully, every step sending pain through her, as it did through everyone else. “He’s not a child anymore, but he’s suffering so much right now…”

“A mother’s affection is good medicine, my Queen; even to a Prince.” Neb-en-toneb said graciously. “It’s such a misery, what’s happening to our people.”

“Yes.” Ramla agreed, hobbled by the pain. “Afflicted with pain is one thing. Boils and open sores are more than painful, they’re… Humiliating.”

“I daresay nobody in Egypt will be able to laugh at another about this.” Neb-en-toneb admitted. “Jannes mentioned that the young Prince wouldn’t be available for his lessons on the Nile today. I thought I’d check in on him…” He took a breath, edging into it. “I find myself wondering how he would react to all this, if he was Pharaoh. One day, he will be, after all.”

The Queen’s eyes flashed. Deep down, she’d been expecting this. “Mm.” She said neutrally. “I’m sure he’d follow his father’s example.”

“I’m sure he would.” Neb-en-toneb agreed. “He would make a fine King, wouldn’t he? That day will be one of rejoicing in Egypt, I’m sure. Certainly, a time when these terrible Plagues would be over. Sad as it is to say, his father’s legacy may be defined by his war with Moses. Your son would have to make a fresh start for us all.”

“That could almost be considered treasonous, Priest.” The Queen said with a perfect, composed smile. “Though, after three days having to limp around my own home in such pain, I’m ready to kill someone myself.”

“You're not the first one to express such frustrations, my Queen. I’ve heard from some scouts in neighboring Kingdoms. They know what’s going on, and they’re laughing.” Neb-en-toneb reported. “Aadesh was worried about an invasion, but our rivals to the East and West are just waiting to see what Moses inflicts on Egypt next. They don’t dare invade, or it might hit them too. If Moses really wanted his people free, he could go to them and offer to soften up our Armies for them.”

The Queen paused, considering that. “Well. I’m sure Pharaoh has all that in hand.” She said finally. “But Nem-ur would make a fine King, wouldn’t he?” She lowered her voice. “To be honest, he’d have sent the Hebrews away weeks ago.”

Neb-en-toneb nodded, pleased with that. “I should pay my respects to the Prince.”

“I’m sure he’d appreciate that.”

~/*\~~/*\~~/*\~

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