The Office of Revelations

 

.                                                         The Office of Revelations

“You inoculated the boys with the serum! What the hell were you thinking?” Brother Pizarro was so upset he was physically shaking with the effort to remain calm; an unusual occurrence, as few had ever even heard the typically stoic Pizarro raise his voice in anger let alone shake with it. “All I can imagine is that whatever tenuous hold on sanity you may have possessed in the past has slipped irretrievably through your fingers.”

 “Juris, please,” said Joseph. The two men had made their way to the supply office down the hall from the second floor ward. “Of course I inoculated the boys with the serum. They likely would have died without it. Besides, I gave them a gift; they will become the pillars of our society. Upon their shoulders will rest the very existence of our Republic. Yours, mine and Ezra’s. I’ve planted the seeds and from them will spring forth greatness. New Babbage will become—”

 “These are my students! They have families!” Brother Pizzaro bore a look of such intense focus it seemed to rarefy the very air around him.  “That serum—“

 “Our serum—“

 “Your serum has never worked. The human condition is not suited to such extreme manipulations. Experimentation has shown that time and again.”

 “Never worked? How then do you explain—“

“Stop!” Brother Pizarro was on the verge of flying into an uncharacteristic and explosive rage. “You are twisting things again. That is entirely different— Joseph! I trusted you. How could you have done this?”

“And yet it is his blood that forms the very foundation of our—“

“Speak no more of it,” Pizarro hissed and despite being in a private office looked around to ensure no one else was within earshot. “He must never know what we have done. If you breathe a word of this again…”

“If I breathe a word of it—what?” Joseph shook his head. “What are you going to do? You have no power over me.”

“I have the boys,” replied Pizarro cooly. “I will walk out of here with them within the half hour.”

“You might want to do that,” Joseph sneered. “But you will not do that because you are a prudent man and what if I am wrong? What if the boys do develop the adverse effect to the serum? What if that happens while you are with the boys in the relief camps? What if they harm, maim or kill children coming to the church for aid? It won’t matter who gave the boys the serum; it will matter who let those monsters loose in a crowd of innocents.”

“You may be a psychopath, but you are smart,” Pizzaro conceded. “What makes you believe it will work this time? You have altered the dosing protocols again?”

“Yes, I’ve tempered the effects though a dual process. By layering diluted doses across a series of days the body will have the time it needs to adjust to the changes incrementally. I almost had it with the Faulkner girl—she may yet pull through; she hasn’t yet shown any serious indications of the disfiguring physical enhancements—though I admit she appears to be succumbing. With Thomas Chandler, however, it has been a success. His doses have been diluted by an eighth from what I gave the girl; he has recovered from his injuries and is thriving. I’ve administered the same doses in the same concentration to the boys in the ward. This evening I will administer the final allotment. Juris, it will work.”

“There will be no this evening, Joseph. There will be no more this evenings for you ever. Are you so far gone as to have lost touch with reality? You do not understand, do you? You are insane to a dangerous degree. What you are doing is of a criminal nature so heinous it is unlikely we can afford a judge who will let you live out your natural days. You are responsible for—”

“Responsible for what? If I am guilty of anything it is only by degree. I have done nothing you have not already done.” Joseph’s neck purpled.  “Do you forget who designed the serum? Do you forget the  trials administered at the workhouse? What were their names? I don’t recall, do you? Tell me, Juris, what misshapen, twisted corpses would be discovered in those three graves should the bodies ever be exhumed?”

“That was different. We were students working together for the betterment of the human condition. We had no way to know of the serum’s devastating effects—it had to be tested. The benefits, had it worked, were too great to ignore. Regarding those three men from the workhouse, not a day passes without at least some passing remembrance. But do you really believe I would forget such a detail as  those graves? Do you really think I can forget anything?” Juris slammed the face of his seal ring down onto the desk, giving little doubt he took the question to be an insult. “I removed and disposed of the bodies in those graves years ago.”

“Of course you did,” said Joseph; he should have realized. “You were always thinking ten steps ahead.” Joseph ran his fingers through his hair; he was becoming desperate to find a way out, to find some angle to disrupt Pizarro.  “How about all the children the church sent here?” Joseph continued. “Have you forgotten the children you sent me over the years? I have all their names recorded; every detail written in my journal.”

Pizarro shrugged. “Sick children sent to a hospital. That hardly condemns the Church.”

“Don’t deconstruct your involvement so simply. We are in this together, Juris. You, me and Ezra. He may not have been involved in the science, but he was the author of our philosophy. We have come too far in the last decade to abandon it all now. Our dream is so close at hand. Yes, I admit, there have been casualties. I regret them—each and every one. They were martyrs; lost along the way; martyrs to the New World Order; their lives were a necessary sacrifice so that humanity may enjoy a better and more secure future.”

A soft knock at the door, barely heard, interrupted further debate. Joseph and Juris continued to stare in silence at one another for several seconds before Joseph turned in response to the knock.

Nurse Rosamond stood outside looking mortified that she had to impose upon such an obviously intense moment.

“I’m sorry, doctor,” she said without making eye-contact. “Captain Digby has arrived demanding the release of Grace’s boy; and Mr. Crumb has come as well. Says he wants to speak to your wife, Mrs. Foehammer.”