Free The Soul Consortium by Simon West-Bulford Page A

not recognized to have had any sort of … supernatural talent before the aberrations came.”
    “Not necessarily. Through the ages millions of people have claimed some connection to a spiritual plane, but not one of them has ever had any genuine ability. Some were frauds; some were deluded; all were wrong. Mediums have been investigated by the Soul Consortium before.”
    “But did any of them investigate Dominique Mancini?”
    “Processing … yes, she has been experienced on three hundred and twenty-nine occasions, each time by a different person. No repeats.”
    I feel a tickle of excitement. “Did any of them discuss her talents as a medium or psychic?”
    “No.”
    “I knew it. She’s hardly been viewed at all. Nobody recommended her, and nobody considered her worthy of reexamination. Before the aberrations came she was just an ordinary person—no supernatural ability whatsoever. Somehow these aberrations have given Dominique Mancini the ability to speak to the dead. What if she really could do it? What if we can find out what happens after death through her? She may have the answer I need.”
    “You’re sure about this?”
    “Yes, unless of course there’s something important you’re not telling me.”
    “No, but she lived in the first era of mankind, prein-dustrial, sixteenth-century Lombardy. It was considered a peaceful time but hardly civilized in comparison to our standards.”
    “You’re telling me that after I lived as Orson Roth?
    I doubt the most depraved streets of that place could compare to what I saw in
his
mind. No, I want to be her. Send me in. She could have the answers I need, and I can’t afford to ignore the possibility.”
    Subject 2.11317E+29: Select.
    Subject 2.11317E+29: Aberration detected.
    Subject 2.11317E+29: Override authorized—ID Salem Ben.
    Subject 2.11317E+29: Activate. Immersion commences in three minutes.
    A brief silence precedes the predictable lecture.
    “Very well … Protocol compels me to warn you that once you have been immersed you will not be able to withdraw until the moment of Dominique Mancini’s death. Protocol also compels me to dictate …”
    Silvery fibers slide from the walls to carry me to the WOOM, and as the shackles fix me in place and Qod’s words drift to the back of my attention, a speck of light flits from above to enter the machine—the legacy of Dominique Mancini ready to imprint itself into my mind.
    “Farewell, Salem. See you in thirty-one years.”

DOMINIQUE MANCINI
     
Whither wander, little man.
I wonder whether you began.
In God’s lost gardens; forgotten lands,
Gleaning life from Death’s cold hands.

ONE
     
    M y whole life has been leading up to this moment. Although there are heavy hearts for the sadness of this gathering, my spirit is light with the promises tomorrow will bring.
    With the entire family gathered around Mama, a godly anointing warms her bedchamber, and the very air beams with the golden hue of angels. I would swear on Pope Gregory’s sanctity that the oil lamps flickering at the window have not changed since I set them there last night, yet there is a wonderful glow in this place that cannot be accounted for by natural means.
    My sister, Francesca, sitting closest to Mama, would not agree with me, of that I am quite certain. Her wondrous mind sees things as they most likely are—plain and simple, black-and-white, right or wrong. She would see an ordinary flame, illuminating the withered features of our dying mother, surrounded by her two daughters and two sons, in an antiquated room in need of new furniture and a servant. With her posture rigid in the chair, avoiding contact with its back, I imagine she is afraid (if she were truly capable of fear) that her surroundings may somehow spoil her finely embroidered dress or dull its scarlet pleats.
    Me, I see something different with my sentimental eyes—my kin together for the first time in seven years and the love of Christ present in our childhood home once