Free The Enclave by Karen Hancock Page A

progression of Elders, robed and hooded, descended in parallel lines down the single rail-less stairway that led from the entrance on the top tier to all those below. They filed down in silence to fill up the lower two rows, each one taking his place, only the Father’s central seat left vacant. Father was on the other side of the world visiting Babylon Enclave and could not possibly make it back in time.
    From among them one arose and spoke the History, his amplified voice booming through the chamber as he droned through a narrative all present today knew by heart: the tale of how the enclaves came to be.
    Over a quarter of a century ago, the Earth stood on the threshold of total destruction, all the result of man’s ignorance, greed, and excess. Addressed far too late to stop it, the threat of global warming had disintegrated the ozone, melting the polar ice and triggering a catastrophic rise in sea level. Weather patterns were thrown into turmoil, and the ever-increasing heat evaporated the seas off into space, until all that remained were a few steaming, brackish lakes nestled amidst peaks that had once been covered by miles of seawater. Millions of people had died. Only those with the courage to understand—and accept—what was happening had lived.
    Father had been one such man, the brilliant scientist and visionary leader who had saved them all. With extraordinary insight he had foreseen the disaster and devised a plan for the enclaves, which he’ d begun building long before the disasters had occurred, despite the mockery and ridicule of the world around him.
    But rising waters silenced the laughter, and he and his followers, along with a carefully selected portion of Earth’s plant and animal life, had entered the enclaves. Thus, life had survived and, by the Father’s pronouncement, would rise again. The twelve enclaves scattered about the Earth were now the seedbeds of that vision. Initially protecting and stabilizing a remnant of the human population in the safety of their underground facilities, eventually they would resurface to spread the life they’d preserved across the Earth’s barren, battered face.
    Each Enclaver knew the debt he owed to the One who had saved him, and every morning in every Enclave each member affirmed that debt and gave thanks to the One he owed. To refuse was unthinkable.
    As the first Elder came to the end of the History and fell silent, a second stood to read off the charges against Andros: “Rebellion, defiance, blasphemy. Refusal to say the Affirmation of the Father . . .
    “Do you deny these charges?” the second Elder thundered.
    “No.” Andros’s voice threaded, small and trembling, through the diminishing echoes of the Elder’s.
    “He created you, and this is your thanks?” the Elder sneered. “He has cared for you, protected you, nurtured you, and this is your gratitude?”
    Andros trembled visibly in the hands of the Enforcers, his shoulders shuddering with terror. “I’m sorry!” he wailed, his voice a weak warble after the power of the Elder’s baritone. “I’m sorry! Please, Father—” He gazed wildly about the Justorium, searching for the Father who was not there. “Forgive me. I don’t know what I was thinking. Please, forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me. . . .”
    His voice shattered into desolate sobs, and he fell to his knees. As the Enforcers hauled him upright, Zowan gritted his teeth, wanting nothing so much as to flee this place, wishing he’ d never come at all, despite the penalty for refusing.
    “Will you say it now?” boomed a third Elder, standing now beside the others.
    And to Zowan’s chagrin, Andros did.
    Silence followed his words. Then, “Father has heard you,” intoned Elder Three. “He has forgiven you. Yet your crime demands a punishment.”
    Andros had known it would come to this. He’ d said as much to Zowan last night. Claimed he was ready for it. But who was ever ready for this? Even Neos had wailed and pled and