"Good as new?" Mike asked, poking his head through the door as Raymond gathered his things.
"Just about," replied Kristy, carefully moving her arm to test the mobility of her mostly mended shoulder. There were still some twinges of pain to remind her that bacta was pretty damned amazing, but not miraculous. Not the immobility and fire that by all rights she should be feeling, after being blasted with shrapnel and knocked unconscious.
As Raymond murmured a farewell and withdrew, Mike ducked into the room, grinning. He was entirely too cheerful about things. Half of their group had nearly been killed yesterday! Kristy barely kept herself from scowling at him, settling on privately wishing the black-clad Brit his own personal encounter with mortality and the dangers of being in Terra Group. Maybe he'd have more fun with it than she had.
Oblivious to her mental vitriol, he held out a digital camera. "Excellent. Your turn for scouting duty."
"Oooh, gadgets?" GFFA technology could be hidden in all manner of fun ways.
"Not that one." He took it back briefly, demonstrating how to turn it on and review pictures on the small LCD display. "Pretty much your standard Terran digital camera." Handing it back to her with the display facing up, he added, "Of course, I've uploaded mug shots of our hit list--at least, those Nick has been able to identify so far."
Kristy took the camera back and angled it to peruse the contents of its memory.
"Oh, and if you're looking for the guy who tried to blow you up, he's probably not Romanian. He's number 7," added Mike, watching her flip through the pictures and reading her mind.
She glanced back up at him, too surprised to hide a guilty look. Looking back down at the camera and its myriad buttons, she tried to change the subject. "So this is just a normal camera, huh?"
"Takes pictures. Makes you look like a tourist." Mike shrugged. "Then there's a rather impressive optical zoom that our NRI friends enhanced for us."
Now Kristy's glance was accusing.
"Hey, we are spies, after all." He pulled a sleek, compact cell phone out of a back pocket. "Here's your gadget. Use the comm to check in, and we'll call you back when your shift's over . . . unless we forget."
She got to her feet gratefully. "Well, almost anything sounds better than sitting around here staring at a datapad for any longer. I wish you guys had sent me out yesterday, though, so I could have walked the Via Crucis with the Franciscans."
"You're supposed to look like a tourist," he teased. "Not actually be one."
Affecting a fake pout, she flounced to the door. "What am I doing, anyway? Besides pretending to think this is an amazing place."
"Uh, that's a good question. Try not to get yourself blown up?"
"I've got a bad feeling about this."
Bundled against the February chill and armed against possible rain, Kristy made her way toward Jerusalem. She didn't have much trouble sneaking into a group of German tourists, and while she was thankful to be riding in their bus instead of walking, she wasn't sure it was an improvement as it lurched and careened over the Jericho Road. Fortunately the ride to the Mount of Olives overlooking the holy city was short.
A recent windstorm had littered the parking lot with various assorted rubbish, notably some large palm fronds which had stacked up against a low wall. She couldn't entirely suppress her grin as she bent to pick one up and wave it around experimentally, snippets of a well-loved musical playing in her head.
Hosanna heysanna sanna sanna ho
Sanna hey sanna hosanna
Hey JC, JC won't you smile at me?
Sanna hosanna hey Superstar
As she made her way with her palm branch to an overlook of the city, she could almost feel its age and holiness speaking to her. There was nothing left of the Jerusalem Jesus had known, of course; too many wars had seen to that. What was once a Jewish temple was now an almost barren area, open and walled off, punctuated by the glowing golden Dome of the Rock of the Muslim faith. It was possible to imagine that it shone with more than just reflected sunlight, almost as an admonition that holiness came in many guises.
No, the Jerusalem of biblical times had long been overtaken by commerce in pilgrimage (if such a thing could be said to exist); yet, despite the modern high-rise buildings on the skyline behind the low-built stone Old City, one could still feel the antiquity Jerusalem wore like a mantle. She couldn't help taking a minute to enjoy the glorious view, and even take some photos with her camera.
Hosanna heysanna sanna sanna ho
Sanna hey sanna hosanna
Hey J C, J C you're alright by me
Sanna hosanna hey Superstar
"...Constantine initially built three basilicas on the ancient Christian locations pointed out by tradition: Calvary, the Mount of Olives and Bethlehem. For original historical value, one generally looks for sites based on Pre-Constantinian traditions, before about 300, rather than on traditions from the Byzantine or medieval periods," a Canadian tour guide in a fleece-lined parka and sensible walking shoes was saying as Kristy came near the triple-arched facade of the Church of All Nations at Gethsemane after a short hike through gnarled, ancient olive trees.
Kristy listened in as the extremely informative tour guide directed her followers to take notice of the walls when they soon entered the actual city. The zoom on the GFFA-enhanced camera really was amazing; she could see from here the genesis of building, where the most ancient parts of the city walls were built of giant, meter-tall stones like those used in Egypt's pyramids (as tall as her parents in the photos she'd seen of their visit). Newer administrations--Romans, Turks--had used steadily smaller chunks of stone for building.
The Canadian group moved into the church, leaving Kristy alone with her thoughts. This was known as the Basilica of the Agony, too, and though she knew her present problems were nothing like what Jesus had feared and asked to be released from, she felt them weighing on her, sitting like a heavy, icy chunk of Hoth in her stomach. She drew away from the church and walked deeper into the garden, stowing the camera in her bag so she could take out her St. Michael medallion.
I only want to say
If there is a way
Take this cup away from me
For I don't want to taste its poison
Feel it burn me
I have changed
I'm not as sure
As when we started
Then I was inspired
Now I'm sad and tired
Sitting under an olive tree with the heavy bronze medal between her clasped hands, Kristy once again petitioned the archangel Prince of Heaven for the strength and courage to fulfill her duty and not fail her teammates. She'd never imagined that being in Terra Group would introduce her to such terror and grief as what she'd experienced watching Josh Nolan run to his death. That Could Not happen again.
Gethsemane was not a large place, and the polyglottal babble of exploring tourists intruded on her thoughts after only a few minutes. It was time to be actually scouting, anyhow; not that there were any leads to follow, but who would hide a planetary shield in a place with this much traffic, really?
Forcibly she changed the song running through her head, trying to regain some measure of equilibrium. It helped, but not nearly enough.
Try not to get worried
Try not to turn on to
Problems that upset you
Don't you know
Everything's all right
Yes everything's fine
Another tourist bus gave her quick access to the Old City, dropping them near the Temple Mount's much-revered Western Wall. She'd lost her palm frond by this time, but was still humming the appropriate song for entering Jerusalem.
Hosanna heysanna sanna sanna ho
Sanna hey sanna hosanna
Hey JC, JC won't you fight for me?
Sanna hosanna hey Superstar
Through the bus' windows, she'd scanned her backwards-sliding surroundings with her camera, not quite sure what she was looking for. Snipers on rooftops? Romanians with grenades? Israeli soldiers praying at the wall? No, that last actually belonged here, now. Her heart sank at the sight of the green-clad soldier who leaned with forehead and one hand against the sole remaining part of the Jewish Temple, his other hand holding his AK-47 close.
Why was it so hard to agree? The Temple Mount, in particular, held vast spiritual significance for three separate religions. It was hard to grasp why it had to be owned by anyone. It should be a free place of worship for all, cared for by all. Ted Neeley wailed in her mind, his voice cracking.
My temple should be a house of prayer;
But you have made it a den of thieves!
Kristy left the Temple, heading through the narrow, haphazard streets of the Old City toward a market square she'd seen from the Mount of Olives. Considering they had lost the trail at an auction, might it be possible to regain it at a similar place of commerce? Yeah, it was a long shot, but Kristy wasn't exactly sure what she was doing out here with no leads, anyway. She scanned the crowds for anyone who looked familiar from her short time in the second-floor apartment on Ben Yehuda Street, but she was one person in a vast city. A long shot.
What had gone wrong? With the auction, or with this whole mission? The smartass voice in her mind reminded her of the general mess they'd been making of things since the beginning. As she took a quick snapshot of a probably innocent passerby who gave her a very suspicious look, she pondered what was becoming general operating procedure for Terra Group. This time, at least, they hadn't blown anything up. Maybe that would placate Sci. She'd probably been hurt the worst; that was probably just as she deserved, anyway.
The ringing of the "phone" in her shoulder bag made Kristy jump about two feet. Shoppers and natives rushing by on both directions gave her irritated looks. She stepped into an unoccupied doorway to get out of the crowd, wondering how good the cellular reception was in the middle of Old Jerusalem. Not like it mattered too much; this phone wasn't using any Terran cellular signals.
"Brad just left," Josh Cochran's voice told her when she answered. Not quite clear as a bell, but much better than the distortion she still irrationally expected after reading so many X-wing novels. "Come on back. And pick up some bread on your way, will ya?"
Middle Eastern bread? Yum! "No problem; I can get some hummus, too."
Walking up to the ravine where the Red Home was hidden, the sun's brilliant rusty glow fading in the hills behind her, she couldn't resist belting out her favorite song from the apt musical that had accompanied her outing. Luckily, the diesel roar of a bus navigating the nearby Jericho road would drown out her singing to anyone likely to overhear and find their hiding place. Their mission hadn't really gone wrong for the first time; it probably wouldn't be their last, either. The song couldn't quite make her forget the heaviness of her heart, but it could try.
I've been living to see you
Dying to see you, but it shouldn't be like this
This was unexpected
What do I do now?
Could we start again please?I've been very hopeful so far
Now for the first time I think we're going wrong
Hurry up and tell me
This is just a dream
Oh, could we start again please?
[Jesus Christ Superstar (c) Andrew Lloyd Webber, Tim Rice. No infringement is intended.]