Originally published in the glossy color magazine Science
Fiction Age (regrettably out of print), this is “The Living God Within”, *
January 1994. a SF novella about a woman minister who
is sent as ambassador to a re-contacted colony world, now a theocracy, where
miracles are routine and real. But there is a scientific reason for the
miracles and the government is taking advantage of that -- until she becomes
the instrument of a real one and blackmails the government into cleaning up its
act.
=====================================
©F. Alexander Brejcha Word Count: 13,150
The Living
God Within
"Welcome to Neos,
Ambassador Holcum.
I am your aide, Jhosh Fuderi."
She tried not to stare at the small,
middle-aged man who greeted her with a patently false smile. His deep brown face was an intricate web of
wrinkles under a cloud of wild and wispy white hair, and his nearly naked and
wiry body was loosely draped with exotic swatches of material that were a study
in contrasting textures and color: a
brilliant orange mesh vest-like blouse with shoulder pads hovered over shiny,
electric blue shorts and knee-high scarlet boots, with a yellow cape completing
the garish ensemble.
Looking around at the other Neosians at the capital's airport, she realized that he might
even have been considered conservatively attired. She felt her face burn as she saw just how
minimally some of the Neosians were covered, and she
realized that her simple knee-length grey skirt and peach blouse must have been
considered hopelessly drab and stifling.
And the rest of her packed wardrobe wasn't much different. She also noticed that she was very carefully not
looked at. In fact, as soon as she tried
to meet anyone's eyes, they pointedly turned away. There was an almost palpable feel of hostility
in the air that confused her.
Twisting her mouth with the unfamiliar
accent she had spent most of her trip practicing, she sighed and looked down at
Fuderi.
"Well, Jhosh,
if you're my aide, you might as well call me Christine. Do we have to pick up my luggage, or will it
be sent on to the embassy?"
"It was shipped directly over from
the shuttle landing site." His
forced politeness had an edge as he answered abruptly. "But before we go to the Capitol Complex,
I think you should come straight back to the embassy and change into something
less distinctive. You are, after all,
only the Earth ambassador, not a member of the Clergy."
"But
I am," she corrected him. "I
am an ordained minister. That's why I
was sent out here. Since your world is a
theocracy, and four ambassadors in a row resigned because they couldn't adjust,
a new approach was deemed necessary."
A theocracy? she
asked herself, looking around at the overwhelming display of darkly tanned
flesh under white bushes of carefully disorganized hair. She wondered what sort of church condoned
this form of exhibitionism; although she realized that the surprisingly warm
temperatures inside the otherwise high-tech building did add justification for
light clothing.
Jhosh had
been silent for a long moment, his face a shifting mass of emotions, but
finally he bowed his head respectfully and spoke in heavily accented Standard.
"I beg your pardon, Reverend. I did not know." He looked back up. "Will you be wanting
to visit one of our churches to pray before we go to the embassy?"
She kept her face carefully neutral as
she realized Jhosh was speaking almost dialect-free
Earth Standard. To monitor any of her future communications
from behind a facade of ignorance? she
wondered. Over nearly two centuries of
separation, Neosian Standard had diverged to become almost a
different language, and her language coaches had confidently told her the Neosians were too arrogant to learn the current Earth
dialect.
To try to curry a little favor, she
answered with Neosian dialect: "I don't know enough about your
religion--"
"There is but one God who may be
followed in any number of ways." Jhosh seemed happy to switch back to Neosian,
and his rote interruption held an air of genial conviction that robbed it of
any offense. "What matters is what
is in the mind and heart. Not the
building. It is something we have
learned since emigrating from Earth. It
took years of isolation, but it was a worthwhile lesson. Would you like me to make a stop?"
Christine sensed a test of sorts as he
waited expectantly for an answer. She
nodded.
"Yes. In that case, I'd like that."
"Excellent. Follow me." He smiled broadly, and then spun to head for
the concourse entrance across the crowded room.
Relieved that at least one of the
mystery-areas of Neos' culture was beginning to clear
up, she started to follow him, still a little confused by the exhibitionism
around her. The best she could come up
with in terms of an explanation was that the simplicity and decorum reserved
for the clergy had gradually led to increasing secular flamboyance, in order to
make the clergy as distinct as possible.
Then she stopped as she saw a large
video monitor overhead flash a picture of a teenage boy's face. He looked to be around seventeen or
eighteen. Throughout the cavernous
concourse, hundreds of heads bowed subtly, eyes closing as mouths moved in
silent unison. The room was suddenly
quiet, and she had no trouble hearing the announcer repeat himself.
"...again to
pray for Robe Zembove's return. As reported earlier, he has been missing
since yesterday morning. Peace Officers
are waiving the normal waiting period for missing persons due to the boy's
extremely young mental age. He responds
to the name Obby and..."
The resuming rumble of a myriad of
conversations began to drown the words out again, and she realized Jhosh was already almost to the exit. As she hurried to catch up with him, she
wondered about his sudden good humor.
The previous ambassador had muttered about a planet full of religious
fanatics who hated all Earthlings.
"They should have stayed a lost
colony," Cryerson had complained when she had
interviewed him. "Arrogant
holier-than-thou snobs who think they're better than us. Where in Space do they think they came
from?"
Hardly the impression Jhosh was giving her.
If Cryerson's attitude was typical, no wonder Jhosh had been cool towards her.
Her flamboyant escort had noticed that
she had fallen behind, and he stopped to let her catch up.
"Make way, make way," he
called, his peremptory tone leaving no room for argument. But the general hostility she had perceived
before had evaporated. Instead of
tensely turned backs, smiles and subtly bowed heads greeted her as the crowd
parted almost magically. It was the same
change in attitude as when she had told Jhosh that
she was a Minister. Was his changed
behavior so obvious that everyone else had picked up on it?
She filed the strange phenomenon for
the future, and caught up with him as he stopped at one of the many drinking
fountains scattered throughout the terminal to drink deeply.
"Why does everyone hate
Earth?" she asked on impulse as he straightened to face her. "It's hardly Christian to--"
"We do not hate," Jhosh interrupted defensively.
She raised an eyebrow, and his eyes
dropped uncomfortably.
"I am sorry, Reverend."
"I said, call me
Christine." She smiled to soften
the words. "And you're sorry about
what? Interrupting, or lying?" Gut instinct, but she saw from his reactive
tensing that she had been at least partially right about the latter.
He turned away and headed out the
automatic doors without a word.
She followed him, and as they reached a
large car waiting by the curb, he stopped to open the back door for her.
"For interrupting," he finally
answered as she got in and looked up expectantly. "As for lying, I was not,
exactly." He closed her door and
then climbed in.
While she waited for him to explain,
she settled comfortably in the plush and cool interior, grateful that the
air-conditioning in the car had been running.
The short walk from the terminal doors to the car had taken her breath
away. She had forgotten the briefing
that had warned her about the short and intense summers that were a result of Neos' axial tilt.
Thinking back to the uncomfortable terminal, she thought she understood
why it had been so warm. Compared to the
blistering heat outside, the terminal was a refreshing haven. It was probably kept warm to minimize the
shock of going from one extreme of temperature to the other. Her briefings had explained it all, and the
dark skin tone of the Neosians was another obvious
clue to the higher radiation levels during summer, but until she had stepped
out onto the sidewalk, it had not been 'real' to her.
As for the car: it was probably
no cooler than the terminal, but compared to the furnace-like outdoors, it felt
deliciously chilly. In fact, overall, it
was a delightful anachronism to senses more accustomed to compact and efficient
use of space. The vehicle reminded her
of one of the late 20th century limousines she had seen in historical
files. The simple lines and plain white
color were in marked contrast to the elaborate paint schemes and structural
intricacies of the other cars she saw parked and passing by, but at least that
difference made sense now. And
remembering the tail-pipe she had seen, she assumed the car was powered by an
internal combustion engine. That fit
with another briefing which had explained that after the initial social and
technological collapse that had followed their isolation from Earth during the
Upheaval, the Neosians had rebuilt technologically to
a late-twentieth century level.
Jhosh settled
behind the wheel and turned to face her to answer her almost-forgotten
question.
"As for how we feel about
Earth: hate is not the right
word." He pursed his lips a moment,
thinking. "Maybe fear is
closer?"
"Fear?" Christine stared. "Why?
Interference is forbidden. All we
want to do is open the lines of communication, and hopefully trade. The sculptures your people make with Ashgiani wood are exquisite! And the ceramic work we've seen is
remarkable. Your native clays and glazes
are different from anything found on Earth.
We just want to help and open contact again--"
"That is what we fear,"
Jhosh stopped her.
"We have developed in different directions. To trade information and material goods is
one thing, because we need some of what Earth has to offer. A major concern is that there are trace
elements missing in the soil that we need to replenish for the sake of our
agriculture. We also need some medical
assistance since there has been a degree of genetic damage from unanticipated
solar radiation. Our sun went through an
active phase we never expected. These
things we need, and Earth has offered help.
But what we do not need are your thoughts and attitudes -- or hordes of
atheistic immigrants trying to find 'wide open spaces'. We would prefer it if all trade could be done
without any actual contact. We do
not see the need for an Earth Ambassador, or for anyone
from Earth to come here."
She could tell that he was holding
something back because the sweat on his forehead wasn't just from the heat
outside. She felt sure that there was
more going on than merely a fear of cultural contamination.
She leaned forward and laid a hand on
his bare arm. The skin felt strangely
rough, and she studied it surreptitiously.
It was different than her own skin; denser,
with a ridging cross-hatched texture, and dotted by occasional fine short hairs
that seemed to flex as her hand covered them.
She forced her attention back to Jhosh. "I know
there were some problems with the previous ambassadors, but I ask you to please
forget them. I'm not here as Earth's
meddling representative, but only as a bridge.
My job is just to learn about you and to make sure that we don't do
anything to offend."
The hard muscles of his forearm had
rippled when she had said 'learn about you', and she wondered what he was
hiding. She squeezed briefly.
"Look, it will take time for you
to get to know and trust me, so let's not rush things. Why don't we start with that church visit you
suggested? After seven months in a
cramped star ship on the way to one end of a Worm-Gate and then six more months
to get here, it will feel good to see the inside of a real church again. I know the best place of worship is, as you
pointed out, in the heart and mind, but sometimes one can't quite focus
properly there." She smiled again.
He relaxed and turned to pull away from
the curb and out into traffic. The
lightly spice-scented breeze wafting out of concealed air-conditioning vents
got colder as he turned up the air-conditioning unbidden. Appreciating his courtesy, she leaned back to
study the sights.
The ride was passed mostly in silence,
punctuated by occasional automatic comments about points of interest. Christine had the impression Jhosh was happy to have his chauffeuring provide an excuse
to isolate himself up front and avoid conversation. She remembered a number of
From the cool shelter of the car, the
stretch of road they were on was an eerie mix of familiar and alien. Focusing on the road, it seemed no different
than any similar road on Earth centuries earlier, but as soon as she looked off
to either side, she was struck by the wildly improbable architecture of the
buildings they passed. Some of the
houses stretched up and seemed to be on the verge of falling over, while others
seemed to cower and try to dig back into the ground. Towers, turrets, tunnels, and twisted
trim: every possible way of
over-decorating was used. And over it
all hung a sullen sun blasting the landscape -- a sun with a bite missing from
it! She stared, until she remembered
that Neos had three moons.
#
As they moved into
city traffic a while later, they soon pulled up to a curb and Jhosh turned off the engine. With a proud grin, he turned to her and
draped an arm across the back of the seat as he pointed out the right window.
"There it is...
Christine." The name sounded
awkward coming from Jhosh.
She thanked him and tried not to stare
as she noticed that Jhosh's dark skin was suddenly as
smooth and unmarked as her own, with the exception of small goose-bumps, and it
was covered with a downy coat of fine, white hairs. Not an hour earlier, the skin had been
roughly ridged and virtually hairless. Another observation to file in her mental things-to-check-on
directory. Convinced that it was
going to be pretty full before she understood everything, she turned her
attention to the intriguing building outside.
She didn't want to alert Jhosh to her interest
in him.
But once she got a good look at the
building resting in the middle of a block-large expanse of immaculate green,
she forgot all about her escort. It was
an amazing structure. Equidistant triple
spires of gleaming pearl-like white thrust towards the sky, supporting a
gleaming golden globe between them. The
supporting tips of the spires fused into the globe's equator. She stared up at the huge sphere that hung
suspended some thirty meters above the ground and almost forgot the scalding
blast of heat as she climbed out of the car to get a closer look. With the globe's approximately fifty meter
diameter, she could hardly believe that the building was a product of local
technology. She turned to Jhosh to see him standing there with a wide, satisfied
smile.
"One of the greatest architectural
masterpieces of Neos," he proclaimed
proudly. "One research area where
we excel is plastics. The Church of the
Rising God was just finished two months ago."
"How do we get in?"
"Follow me." He led the way towards the closest spire, and
the automatic door opened at his approach.
As she followed Jhosh
into the spire, a positive air-flow pushing back the oppressive heat, she
leaned forward slightly to study him from behind as he pressed the elevator
call button. Seeing that the hairs on
his arm were all but gone and that the skin was rough again after the hot walk
from the car, she smiled to herself and started rearranging her little mental
notes.
Noticing that Jhosh
was bent over another water fountain to drink again, Christine looked around
the softly lit elevator lobby appreciatively.
A delicately veined, white marble-like stone floor, hanging low-light
plants that trailed lushly from ceiling to floor, and walls of gleaming Ashgiani wood soothed the eyes and imparted a sense of calm
as they waited for the elevator. She
reached out to stroke the eye-catching wall appreciatively. Ashgiani wood was a
treat to the touch as well as the eyes, because when polished just the right
way, the strongly patterned greenish-blue wood felt almost like fine fur as
inner grain rose up in delicate waves that were nearly impervious to decay.
With a soft chime, the elevator doors
slid aside and they boarded to be whisked up to a breath-taking view as the
doors opened again to reveal the inside of the globe. Above, the upper hemisphere was a soft
shimmering blue that darkened downwards until it merged with a black-carpeted
equatorial walk-way that arced out in both directions as far as the other two
leg elevators. Extending down from the
walkway, two third's of a circle of descending seat
levels faced a golden podium halfway down the far wall. The podium was flanked by railed areas of
seats presumably meant for a choir. The
use of gold, red fabric, and natural Ashgiani wood
provided a pleasingly blended color scheme for the dramatic interior.
As she stood admiring it all, and
appreciating the fact that the air-conditioning was turned up higher in the
church, the elevator in the right leg chimed and opened to release a short,
slightly heavy-set woman in her early forties, and an older, almost bald
man. He was slender and quite tall, at
least thirty centimeters taller than the woman.
They were a contrasting pair, especially with their wildly clashing and
minimal clothing, but both wore expressions of deep sorrow and loss that
Christine was very familiar with. She
felt compelled to approach them as they looked up, surging hope brightening
their faces.
Jhosh moved
to intercept but was too late.
Both kneeled briefly, the man looking
up to greet her respectfully.
"Reverend." He bowed his head again briefly before
rising. He reached down to help the
woman up and they faced her, but their expressions of hope faded as they looked
at her again, obviously confused.
Jhosh
interceded.
"Mr. Zembove. This is the Reverend Holcum. She is the Earth Ambassador, but a woman of
God."
Relief flooded their faces as Christine
extended her hand. "Mr. Zembove." She
recognized the name from the announcement at the terminal and realized why Jhosh knew the couple.
They must have been on the news along with their missing son.
"Are you here to pray for his safe
return?" she asked as they shook hands.
"May I join you? I have some
knowledge of what you must be going through, because one of the couples in my
congregation in
The woman answered, speaking
softly. "Mentally Obby is about six.
He got out of the house when I was cleaning and Carn
was at work. I didn't hear the front door
because I was suctioning. When I
finished and went to check on him, he was gone.
Several 'prayers' have already gone out, but nobody has found him."
Confused, Christine reached out to take
the woman's hand. She led her down the
steps to the bottom level of seats that looked up at the podium. Her husband followed automatically.
"Here," Christine offered as
they reached the front row. "Sit
next to me." Jhosh
settled on a seat off to the side and one level up. As they all sat down, Christine turned to
face the couple.
"You'll have to forgive me, but I
am new to your world. When you said that
several 'prayers' had gone out, I have the impression that you meant something
different than what I'm used to. What
did you mean?"
Carn
answered: "When an important issue
comes up, the Clergy calls on us all to pray for its resolution. You might have seen the announcements on the
video?"
Christine nodded as she remembered the
brief but immediate silence and concentration of the crowds in the terminal
after the big-screen newscast.
"Well, that's an example," Carn continued.
"Of course, since our son's absence is not an event of national
significance -- even if it feels like it to Tana and
me -- the broadcast was only seen here in Neosia. But all who saw it focused their prayers on
finding our boy. Prayers of this sort
are common. But this time nothing
happened!"
He looked as confused as she felt. She didn't know what to say and just managed
a weak: "Well it's a remarkable
display of support for those in need--"
"No," Tana
stopped her. "You don't
understand. It works. Whenever we all pray, God hears us. Always!"
"Whenever a child is lost, you all
pray, and the child is always found?
Well, sooner or later--"
"Pardon me, but not just lost
children," Carn cut in. "We have frequent prayers of
healing."
"And your prayers always
work?" Feeling a little dizzy,
Christine looked over at Jhosh, who nodded
uncomfortably.
She began to understand their distress
and prompted: "Except for this
time?"
Both of the Zemboves
nodded.
Christine didn't know what to say or
believe, and to cover her confusion, she reached out to take hold of their
hands.
"Let me just add my prayers to
yours." She closed her eyes and
tried to focus her thoughts, but her mind would not cooperate. All she could think of was the absolute
certainty in the Zemboves' statements that God always
answered their prayers.
Always?
She believed in God, naturally, or she
would not have followed the path she had chosen. But one of the hardest tasks she had always
faced was trying to explain the apparent inconsistency of His will and why,
despite the sincerest of prayers and most faithful of followers, various
disasters seemed to conspire to destroy faith when one was most vulnerable.
God operated on a random reinforcement
schedule, the ex-psychology student within her always defended. And He used standards she could not
understand. There was no such thing as a
God who answered every prayer as dependably as the government collected taxes.
At least nowhere on
Earth.
She forced herself to stay calm. No wonder Jhosh had
been disturbed by her questions. He knew
as much about Earth as anyone. After
all, his people were descended from settlers who had left Earth almost two
centuries ago. And since communications
had been re-established five years earlier, full records of Earth history
during and after the Upheaval had been transmitted to Neos. What would be the reaction if it came to be
known on Earth that on Neos, God was apparently more
accessible? Earth was as full of
conflicting and over-zealous worshippers as ever.
Her psychology schooling asserted
itself again as she tried to find an alternate explanation. She could not accept the fact that the Neosians were somehow more worthy than their progenitors on
Earth.
Then she remembered the strange
transformation of the crowd around her back at the terminal after she had
revealed to Jhosh who she was. Memory-scraps from nearly-forgotten
psychology classes teased her. E.S.P.
was a documented, if frustratingly inconsistent, phenomenon. Could Neosians
somehow be psychic? Since none of the Neosians had known she was a minister, any power they
possessed had to be mild, but it was one explanation for the change she had
witnessed.
If those closest to them had picked up
on his rather dramatic reversal of opinion, it could have had a ripple effect
as the feeling spread through the room.
It would explain the respectful reactions from people all across the room
who only saw Jhosh's
peremptory path-clearing.
The logical chain was obvious. Directed, worldwide prayer, electronically
elicited to concentrate the attention of a mass of mildly psychic
people... thousands, maybe hundreds of
thousands of mildly psychic minds all focused on the same thing! Her mind spun with the implications and
possibilities.
It was an answer that seemed to fit
perfectly.
She felt the Zemboves'
hands pull away and looked up to see their angry faces as they rose and turned
to go back up the steps to the elevator.
"Wait!" she called out. "Please.
I'm sorry."
Carn stopped
and held Tana back, though his wife refused to turn.
"I'm sorry," Christine
repeated. "I have spent much of my
ministerial life defending a God who all too often seems to cruelly desert His
followers. To suddenly find a place
where He answers every prayer is a little frightening." Nothing. No, perhaps a slight relaxation of Tana's tensed shoulders?
Christine tried again.
"Please. I was so overwhelmed by what I'm learning
here that I wasn't focusing on your son.
I am sorry." She held
out a hand.
Carn came
hesitantly back down towards her. Tana followed slowly to sit down in the seat she had
vacated. Her husband remained standing
suspiciously, hands on her shoulders.
"Please," Christine implored. "Empty your minds of anger and think of
your son, at home again, happy to be with the parents who love him."
Christine bent her head and closed her
eyes as Carn sat down next to Tana
to take her hand. Robe's absence was the
thing that had brought these people here.
That was what she had to focus on. Whatever was going on here, all she had to
draw on was her own craft, and these people deserved her best efforts. She emptied her mind, searching for that
place within her where she retreated to commune with God when troubled. Whether or not she was heard was
irrelevant. It was a place where she
could focus. She thought about the picture
of Robe she had seen and visualized the handsome boy with his unruly brown
hair, seemingly irrepressible grin, and bright blue eyes. His innocent smile robbed him of a decade.
Please, Christine prayed, bring
him home safe!
A smaller, less worthy part of her mind
whispered, please let the Zemboves sense my
prayers! She fought it, and
gradually her mind cleared and she was back in that dark basement from her
childhood where only a single candle burned below a burnished cross. Soft, warm light danced with her every breath
to stroke the metal shape with soothing touches she could feel in her
mind. Purifying and releasing, the flame
freed her prayers. Does He hear? She was sure of it. Will He answer? She didn't know.
That decision was not hers to make.
She opened her eyes to face the
surprised expressions of the Zemboves and Jhosh. As she met
their eyes, all three bowed their heads briefly. Tana looked up
shyly.
"I beg your pardon, Reverend. I did not understand. It must be confusing, coming to a new
world. But you have clearly found God
here, too. He can't help but hear your
prayer. It was as clear as any I have
ever felt."
All three rose, nodding
respectfully. Carn
reached out to take Christine's hand.
"Thank you."
Then both the Zemboves
climbed up towards the elevators to leave her to sit uncertainly alone. She had been surprised by the startling clarity
of her brief meditation, and the reactions of the others.
She closed her eyes again to recapture
the image, hearing Jhosh settle patiently in his
seat. The scene she normally used to
help her pray was one from her youth that had always stayed with her and had
led her into the ministry. It had been
thirty-five years earlier, a week before her tenth birthday. Since her uncle was sick, her parents had
left her with her grandmother while they went on a private vacation. The visit had been boring from the onset and
had quickly turned into something resembling a prison sentence...
#
Her grandmother was a small-town
minister and about as exciting as Christie had expected. Her old house was a museum of lace, fragile
china, and ancient crystal knick-knacks that Christie was not allowed to touch. Everywhere
she turned, critical and acute eyes followed her every move among them. And to make things worse, the house didn't
even have a Tri-V stage, just a tiny and old 60 entimeter
2-D television. As for playmates, the
nearest neighbor with kids her own age was blocks away, and grandma didn't want
Christie wandering the streets. Not that
it really mattered. The Carlsson's twelve-year-old daughter was a stuck-up snob
Christie didn't really like playing with anyway.
Then she found the basement.
The door was almost swollen shut with
summer humidity and from years of being unopened. Her grandmother hadn't been down in the
basement for years because hip surgery had left her unable to climb steps
without help, but Christie managed to force the door with the aid of repeated
screw-driver levering. When it finally
creaked open to reveal a musty darkness, she climbed down the steep flight of
stairs to find a wonderland of mysterious sealed boxes and old toys left from
her mother's childhood.
Time passed quickly after that -- until
the day before her parents were supposed to pick her up.
As usual, after breakfast she fled her
grandmother's endless commentaries to take refuge in the basement where she had
found something new a few days earlier:
a box of ancient and yellowing paper books about a girl detective named
Nancy Drew. The inside covers had listed
copyrights from several centuries earlier, and even if the books were not
original edition copies, the ancient dates and archaic writing style lent them
a mystique that captivated her. And she
had fun trying to decipher the twentieth century references. Naturally, the books absolutely had to be
read down in the basement under the single dim light that still worked.
She was halfway through The Secret Under the Staircase when the door slammed shut and she
found herself locked in the basement.
She ran up the steps immediately and tried to open the door to the
kitchen, but it wouldn't budge. On the
other side of the door she heard a growling and heavily accented voice that
chilled her.
"Relax and I will not hurt
you. Or 'ze leetle girl down in 'ze basement."
The voice was suddenly louder.
"If you hear me down there, the
door is blocked, but relax and do not worry.
Your grand-mčre is safe. I just want a few of her things for
myself." The voice changed as the
speaker moved away from the door.
"Now, grand-mčre! Listen
to me. You have some pre-Upheaval
crystal here that is very valuable, and some other crystal that is merely
pretty. If you tell me which is which, I
will just take the good ones and be on my way.
Lie to me, and I will be back," he warned.
Christie heard her grandmother calmly
directing the intruder as they moved away from the door towards the living
room. Her heart was pounding like crazy
as she wondered what Nancy Drew would do in a similar situation. The door didn't lock, but something was
propped against it, and even when she threw herself against the door, it didn't
budge.
The basement was windowless; there was
no other way out, and there was no phone either. Even Nancy Drew would have been stumped. She went back down to where she had cleared a
place to curl up with the books and thought of Grandma upstairs with the
thief. Please, she thought. Don't hurt her. As she sat there, she shivered with fear, and
tried not to think of the deep shadows around her that suddenly seemed so scary
and threatening.
Then her eyes fell on a metal cross
that hung on the far wall. It was made
of plain chrome metal, about twelve inches tall, and hung alone over small
shelf that held a fat, half-burned candle and a worn and dusty leather-bound
bible. A single red linen page marker
hung out limply from the book's pages.
The Bible lessons!
Christie remembered her mom telling her
of how she had sat in the basement with Grandma to study the Bible, away from
the distractions of upstairs. Grandma
had also wanted Christie's mom to be a minister, but Tisha
Holcum had turned to medicine instead. However, Grandma had not been too upset,
since her daughter spent a great deal of time helping the Upheaval-ghetto
poor. And even though her mom had become
a doctor instead of a preacher, some of those Bible lessons had been passed on
to Christie. Now, as she sat there,
feeling terribly alone and almost sick to her stomach with fear, she found
herself drawn to the other end of the basement to pick up the dusty book on the
shelf. It brought her mother to mind,
which helped a lot.
A lighter lay next to the candle, and since
the light bulb was all the way over at the other end of the room, Christie lit
the candle and settled down with the bible to read.
As the Syntha-Silk
pages spread open at random in front of her, her gaze fell on verse four of
Psalm 23, and she gasped.
"Yea, though I walk through the
valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy
rod and thy staff, they comfort me."
The page marker had been in Proverbs,
but the book had opened on the very lines that touched her at the moment. She looked up at the candle and the way the
light reflected off of the burnished metal of the cross. It was a soft, warm light that danced with
her every breath to soothe her. A faint
trail of smoke rose lazily from the flame towards the ceiling, working through
invisible cracks to rise and disappear...
Her fear was gone, and she decided that
it had not been a coincidence that the very words she needed had found her...
#
She drew a deep breath and looked up at
Jhosh sitting there patiently, a tender smile on his
face. She was suddenly reminded of her
late father.
"A special moment," he
observed.
"Very special. I was remembering the time I made the choice
to follow the path that has led me here."
She had settled herself in front of
that cross and made a promise to God.
Her promise had been that if the thief upstairs would leave her and her
grandmother unhurt, she would follow the road her mother had not taken. And the thief had left. He had taken a fortune in rare crystal with
him, but he had been very careful not to hurt her grandmother.
That had decided her. Along with getting a degree in psychology,
Christine had kept her promise and studied for the ministry. She had never regretted the choice. That day in the basement had been a special
one, indeed, and somehow Jhosh had known it. Her earlier suspicions crystallized and she
leaned forward.
"Straight talk, Jhosh. You're
not just an 'aide' as you called yourself.
You're probably pretty high up in the church hierarchy or you wouldn't
be baby-sitting me -- not considering the way you
perceive Earth as a threat to your society." He nodded warily as she went on. "Well, I've been thinking about what the
Zemboves said about miracles always working
here..."
She explained her suspicions about
there being a psychic component to the "miracles" and his smile
faded.
"This is really something you need
to speak to Reverend Mikals at the embassy
about," he responded mechanically.
Christine nodded. "Oh, I will. Rest assured.
I was just curious to see if I was right or not." She thought of the Zembove's
reactions. "But most people don't
know anything about the psychic component, do they?"
Again, his carefully blank face
confirmed her guess.
"Who's above Mikals?"
she asked, changing her mind. "At the top. I
don't want some canned speech from mid-level management." She reached up and laid a hand on Jhosh's arm.
"Please. I'm not here to make trouble. But if I am to be an effective ambassador, I
need to know the truth. The whole truth!"
Jhosh was
silent for a moment, studying her face, and then he rose with a sigh.
"You do," he admitted after a
moment. "And you deserve more than
I can give you. I don't know if it will
do any good, but I will call Supreme Reverend Sandiori. He is the one who sent for you anyway."
'The Supreme
Reverend'. From what she had been
told, the title was similar to World Prime Minister or World President. But whatever one called him, he had more
power than any title would suggest because his 'Cabinet' or 'Congress' was
composed of his own church leaders representing the various districts across
the settled parts of Neos.
She wondered what Sandiori
would be like, and what Jhosh had meant about the
Supreme Reverend having been the one to send for her.
Jhosh had
started to climb up the steps, but stopped and moved around to the pulpit to
pull out a heavy book which he brought down to her.
"Some light reading for you,"
he offered with a respectful smile. He
dropped the book beside her and opened it to a carefully selected page. "You might find this
interesting." Then he turned and
jogged briskly up towards the elevator.
"I'll be back."
She watched him disappear, remembering
the feel of his arm under her hand a moment earlier. It had been almost furry again. And Tana and Carn had also been virtually covered in a fine white coat
of hair -- which had not been there when they had entered the building. And the change had happened after only an
hour of so in an air-conditioned building.
There was definitely more going on than freak psychic powers.
But one thing at a
time.
She looked down at the shimmering Syntha-Silk sheets and the idealized portrait of a
middle-aged man which filled most of the left page. "The Revered Hener
To the early settlers, the beauty and
compatibility of Neos were both fortunate and an
affirmation of faith, respectively. The
seasonal extremes had caused some problems, but genetically tailored crops had
adapted beautifully and agriculture was off to a good start. As for the settlers: they were an uneasy mix of secular and
spiritual. On the one hand, there were
the scientists who only saw the advancement of humanity and knowledge, and on
the other hand, there were thirty thousand HIV-negative settlers, many of whom
were strongly religious and who had wanted to start fresh, away from the
nightmare that had overtaken Earth as racial tensions and religious warring had
combined with environmental, social, and medical disasters to overwhelm
it. Earth had already been on the verge
of the total collapse that would later be euphemistically called the Upheaval.
The first decade of the colony's life
went well, though the scientists were a bit alarmed at the mutation rate for
some of the imported flora and fauna.
The sun had entered an unexpected period of activity during the time
between discovery and settlement. And
then the Upheaval hit Earth, and all ties to the mother world were cut to leave
Neos isolated.
Without technical support and materials
from Earth, Neos had its own temporary collapse. But, as the colony had been designed for
eventual self-sufficiency, they managed to partially rebuild after three
decades of hard work. However, the
rebuilding was only a material one. The
spirit of the colony had died as the religious felt abandoned by their God and
the scientists by fate. Socially and
culturally, Neos was a truly depressed world.
Until the Revered
Thirty years to the day after the link
to Earth had been lost, a widower farmer by the name of Hener
Anderson came across a geologist who had been severely mauled by a Traalot, a wild semi-reptilian, cat-like predator similar
to an Earth leopard in size and temperament.
In front of dozens of people,
As word had spread of the miracle, life
began to return to the colony.
Before his peaceful death years later,
the Revered Anderson was instrumental in a seemingly endless list of healings,
and the Church of Neos was born from his inspiration,
and the guidance of religious leaders organizing and rallying together at this
sign of God's favor.
#
Christine closed the book thoughtfully
as she saw Jhosh returning. She cocked her head as he sat down in front
of her.
"Let me guess," she
began. "The scientists didn't see
God at work, and so they looked for another explanation." As he nodded, she followed the logical chain
mentally for a moment, and then added:
"The mutations noted for flora and fauna extended to human genetic
material -- you already admitted that... leading to the development of mild
psychic abilities," she finished the logical sequence. She considered what must have happened. "The power was obviously more than mild
in the case of
"Of course. Relax, I'm on your
side."
Mollified, Christine went on with her
speculation, and Jhosh's face confirmed her
deductions.
"He was probably a freak in terms
of the strength of his abilities, but the scientists figured out what was going
on, probably devised a way to test for it and... the church grew out of the
scientists' planning," she realized with surprise. "Not the religious leaders!"
An approving nod greeted her last
guess, and she leaned back, curious.
"Why?"
"The religious leaders were
terribly disorganized by that point, while the scientists had banded together
to try to keep the colony running."
That made a certain sad sense, but it
made her wonder: "How come you're
telling me this much?"
He smiled. "Actually, you're doing most of the
telling, but I'm not arguing for two reasons:
first, because I knew you were close to figuring everything out
anyway. But I also want you to
understand how delicate a situation this is, and why we fear too much
investigation by Earth." He looked
a bit uneasy. "In fact, I would
appreciate it if you didn't mention this little conversation to the Supreme
Reverend. He might not approve."
She studied him carefully, remembering
the softness of his arm. Another
question had come to mind, but she didn't want to push him until she had had a
chance to think about it a bit more.
So she just nodded and reassured
him: "It will stay between the two
of us." He relaxed and she thought
about what she had just learned.
After a moment's reflection, she
whistled softly. "Wait a
minute: if your scientists were
responsible for the birth of the church and your religion... and the controlled
use of your psychic abilities," she realized, "and no one else knows
that, your whole society could collapse all over again if it's revealed that
there is a more scientific explanation for Neos'
miracles."
Jhosh nodded
sadly. "Exactly. The 'Church' is firmly in charge again,
though some of us believe in a more interdisciplinary approach. But as much as you and I see the hand of God
in all of this -- in so many ways -- there is a very real danger that the
improper revelation of the truth could seriously threaten our culture. We're too fresh, too new. In time, we should bring everything out in
the open." He looked imploringly at
her. "But just not right now."
She nodded with a smile as he stood up
and held out a hand.
"But come,” he invited
. “The Supreme Reverend is
anxious to meet with you." For a
moment, Jhosh looked uneasy again.
#
Back in the car, Christine's mind was
so absorbed by what Jhosh had shared with her that
she only half-listened to his continuing travelogue as they entered downtown Neosia.
Absentmindedly, she noted that some of the buildings he pointed out were
very impressive. The bizarre
architecture she had noted with suburban homes took on a whole new level of
flamboyance downtown and she craned her neck, staring out in amazement. Jhosh also showed
her where the Zemboves lived as they passed a
building that reminded her of an over-decorated mosque. But as she continued looking around, she felt
an uneasy stirring in the pit of her stomach just like that night in the
basement. They were just passing a
fenced-in construction site when she yelled out: "Stop!"
Jhosh slammed
on the brakes automatically, and almost in a daze, Christine apologized.
"I'm sorry, but that building,
there..." She pointed. "What is it?" Opening the window, she leaned out. Welling excitement distracted her from the
blast of heat. She had been meant to see
this!
Jhosh looked
confused. "That?" He had to think a moment. "Oh yes, it was going to be a new concert
hall. Construction stopped because the
owner ran out of money. Why?"
She opened the car door and climbed
out, going over to the high fence. She
peered in at the construction site, and then turned towards the car.
"Jhosh. How
far back was it that the Zemboves live?"
Jhosh was
leaning against the car with a puzzled look, and just shrugged.
"About eight blocks. At 402 Psalms."
She didn't answer, but just
murmured: "Interesting." She ran her hands slowly along the fence,
pulling and testing the links as she studied the half-finished building. "Doesn't that look neat?" she
called over her shoulder. "If you
were a little kid, I mean. I imagine
he's passed this way a lot of times and looked out a car window at this
building. I mean, look at all those fun
places to play and explore!" She
stopped as resistance disappeared. A
section of the fence had swung loose as she tugged on it.
"Look here!" She pulled harder, and a large section came
clear to leave an opening big enough to squeeze through.
"Wait a minute!" Jhosh called out anxiously.
"Don't go in there! It could
be danger..." He froze briefly,
confusion flooding his face as he rushed towards her to hold the fence
open. "Is he in there?"
"We won't know till we look, will
we?" She grinned and squeezed
through the opening. But the sleeve of
her blouse caught on a jagged piece of the wire from the fence, and she cursed
mildly as the material ripped. She
worked it loose, feeling her face flush.
Jhosh reached
through the fence to grab her arm.
"Wait, let me call this in before we go
any further."
She waited reluctantly while he ran
back to the car, feeling herself drawn towards the building. Robe was in there. She could feel it. No psychic link. Just a gut feeling. To a kid, the lure of the abandoned
construction site would have been irresistible.
Jhosh
returned, and this time Christine held the fence for him as he squeezed
through.
"The police and an ambulance are
on the way," he assured her.
"Why don't we wait here for them?" He held her back as she started towards the
building again. "It won't take them
long. I'm not without influence
here."
She shook her head. "No.
If Robe is here, he's been here a long time! Why hasn't anyone checked this place
out?"
"No one knew the fence was loose,
and besides, if he's in there, he would have been 'sensed'."
"Maybe your mental bloodhounds
aren't as good as you think." She
pulled free. "I'm going in
there. He may be badly hurt..." She headed for the main entrance.
The front of the building was gaping
openly; a skeleton of girders and concrete slabs. At its base, and deeper inside, a warren of
half-finished walls and doorways beckoned, leading into shadowed regions under
the beginnings of floors for upper levels.
As she moved in, she was surrounded by bare concrete with patterned
marks from forming boards. She skirted
the grid-work meant to eventually support a future entrance stairway to the
building, following instead a tempting path deeper into what would have become
a floor of offices below the actual concert hall.
Within the bowels of the building, she
had to pause to let her eyes adjust to the deepening gloom. She looked around, wondering where Robe might
have gone. There were so many inviting
openings that cried out to be explored.
She closed her eyes for a moment and brought back the feeling of
discovery she had felt on spotting the building.
Where are you? she wondered. Then
she opened her eyes and saw a line of fresh footprints cross a small path of
sand where some carried bag had leaked.
She had missed them before and she smiled. He had come this way! She moved to follow, hearing a sudden sound
from further inside as she climbed over blocking boards and bricks to enter a
cross-corridor on the right. Only a little
light remained, filtering through cracks in partly finished ceilings and walls.
"Hello?" she called. "Obby? Are you in here?"
She leaned forward to listen carefully,
but heard only the rhythmic sound of dripping water, and then a soft squealing
sound accompanied by the clicking of clawed feet.
"Please, Reverend! Wait," Jhosh's
pleading voice called out from behind.
She heard him muttering as he climbed after her, almost tripped by a
board that slipped aside as he stepped on it.
Christine ignored him. If Robe didn't answer, he had to be
hurt. He was here. Those footprints had to be his.
"OBBY," she called
again, louder. "Can you hear
me? You've got to help me, honey. Where are you?"
A louder squeak was the only
answer. As a flashlight beam speared
past her, brilliant twin gleams of yellow glared back from thirty or so
centimeters off the ground. Jhosh had brought a light, and she
fought a rush of fear as the owner of the baleful eyes moved closer and into
the light with a grating screech. A
nasty double row of bared fangs glittered malignantly.
She heard a nervous laugh beside her.
"It's just a Kaalot,"
Jhosh explained.
"A semi-domesticated mini-Traalot. I think we disturbed his hunting. Must be a lot of good pests
running around in here."
Having expressed its annoyance, the Kaalot slunk away from the revealing light of the
flashlight. Christine was glad Jhosh had been there.
The animal might only have been the size of an average dog, but the
resemblance ended there. It had virtually
no fur, just a short, shiny coat of stiff, blue, spine-like hairs and an almost
reptilian head that seemed to be all teeth.
"He's just angry," Jhosh chuckled.
"They spike their fur that way as a warning. Nothing to worry about,
though. Tame Kaalots
are very affectionate. And a lot softer than they look. Kids love them."
That reminded her. Was there a particular child in there? She moved into the room, waving Jhosh to follow.
Reluctantly he did, and swept the light
around -- to stop.
In the far corner of the room lay
Robe. He was unconscious, and dried
blood crusted his face as he lay under a pile of bricks and boards that had
been stacked on a rolling cart of some sort.
One leg of the cart had collapsed, and the edge of the flat top trapped
the boy's legs. In his one hand, he held
a shimmering crystal cross on a chain, and a dead flashlight lay on the floor
next to him.
"Oh God be merciful," Jhosh exclaimed automatically as the light revealed the
battered body. "No wonder the
prayers didn't work, and the Searchers couldn't find him. He's dead."
Christine was already across the room
at Robe's side and she glared back at the Neosian.
"Don't be so quick to write him
off! Give me the light and go back to
the car to tell that ambulance to hurry!
And if you have a first aid kit, get it!
And bring water... lots of it!"
As she felt for Robe's pulse and found
it, a little uneven, but strong, as her hands probed desiccated and deeply
ridged skin even rougher than Jhosh's. She turned back to Jhosh.
"Move it! He's alive!"
Jhosh stared
at her in disbelief and moved closer automatically.
"But he can't be,
he sputtered. "The prayers, the...
he would have been found--"
"Well, he wasn't," she cut
him off. "Now give me the light and
go!"
He obeyed, and as he disappeared,
Christine opened Robe's eyes to check his pupils -- thrilled to hear a weak
moan of protest as Robe roused. Some of
her mother's craft had naturally been absorbed, and she was grateful that
medicine had been the chosen field of study.
She breathed a sigh of relief as she saw that Robe's pupils were equally
reactive to the light. And since none of
the lacerations to his face and scalp were serious -- better not to disturb the
clotting and start more bleeding -- she turned her attention to his legs.
Propping the light between two bricks,
she moved carefully to clear away as much of the trapping debris as possible,
trying to get a good look. She reached
down and felt around, relieved as she realized that
apparently some of the boards from the cart had actually shielded Robe's legs a
bit. She palpated carefully, watching
his face, but he didn't react beyond complaining that she was tickling
him. She moved her inspection up, and as
she reached his upper body, he cringed and she heard a sharp hiss of in-drawn
breath.
"That hurts, Reverend," he
managed to get out past cracked lips.
"Please make it stop."
"I'm sorry. I know, sweetheart, but I had to see how
badly you're hurt. And it's not bad at
all." She smiled reassuringly. "Just breathe carefully and don't move
too much." She took his leathery
hand and squeezed it gently, picking up the cross and wrapping his fingers
around it. "There's an ambulance on
the way, and your parents will be with you soon." She finished her inspection with a softly
whispered prayer to God that calmed Robe; and her.
Then she heard the murmur of voices
from the hall and saw spiraling beams of brilliant light spearing the darkness,
moving closer and closer.
"They were already here," Jhosh's voice called out to her. "How is he?"
"Severely dehydrated, but
otherwise okay!" she yelled back.
"Probably a cracked rib or two, but no concussion, and I don't
think there are any broken bones, just some cuts and abrasions. He'll be just fine. He's a real trooper!" She smiled down at him. "He just needs fluids, some good food, a
little cleaning up, and some loving care."
Robe looked suddenly embarrassed and he
grabbed her hand urgently.
"I messed my pants like a baby...
please don't tell my parents!"
She bent down to kiss him lightly. "It's our secret. Don't you worry. You'll be just fine, honey."
"Thank you."
His face lit up happily and they turned
to see a pair of white-clad medics and a police officer enter the room behind Jhosh.
She moved back to give them room and
closed her eyes to give a prayer of thanks for being led here. And not just for being led to this building,
but for being drafted as ambassador to Neos, and for
having met the Zemboves. For all the prayers and hopes, Robe had been
given up for dead because he had not been sensed. That had been obvious with Jhosh, whose shocked reaction to discovering that the boy
was alive had further confirmed her suspicions.
Though the masses of Neos believed, the
members of the church apparently knew better -- and were not willing to
consider more than the explainable. Even Jhosh. It made her sad. The miracles of Neos
might not be the work of an over-gracious God, directly, but why
couldn't they look beyond the obvious?
She felt a surge of pity for their
blindness.
She opened her eyes, wiping them as
tears blurred her vision. Robe was
looking up at her and when she met his gaze, his face lit up in a beaming smile
that warmed her as she moved aside.
The medics moved in and eased the cart off
Robe with Jhosh's help, and after lifting the boy
onto the stretcher, they started an I.V. to re-hydrate him while checking him
out. Then one medic held a bottle for
Robe to drink from while the others sponged him down with sterile water. As they worked, awed glances brushed her
regularly and softly whispered comments were exchanged that she just knew were
about her. They, at least, believed,
though it made her uncomfortable to be the focus of their attention.
Robe held out his hand anxiously as the
medics carried him towards the doorway, and she moved up next to him to take
it.
"Don't leave, Reverend," Robe
begged.
She squeezed his hand. "Okay, I'll stay with you."
He relaxed, and the medics shifted the
stretcher so she could stay next to them as they headed for the street.
#
# #
At the hospital a little while later,
Robe was finally distracted by the ecstatically beaming Carn
and Tana who fell over each other trying to hug him
and thank Christine all at the same time.
She urged them to concentrate on their son, amazed at how he was
suddenly the picture of health; all signs of the earlier dehydration gone even
though only an hour had passed. Blowing
him a kiss, she backed out of his room, only to run into Jhosh.
"He is here, Reverend!" Jhosh had a funny
smile on his face for a moment, but then bowed respectfully to her.
"Who?" she
asked.
"The Supreme Reverend Sandiori," Jhosh
explained. "He heard about your
Miracle and he is waiting for you in the Hospital administrator's office."
"Where do I go?"
"Follow me." He led the way down the hall while she tried
to keep a straight face.
She felt just as she had when she had
been called to the principal's office when she was fifteen. Together with two of her girlfriends, they
had planted a tape-recorder in the boys' locker room and then wired it in to
play the recorded locker-room talk back over the school's public address system
-- carefully selected segments of it, and with readily identifiable
speakers. It had been a little revenge
for an earlier invasion of the girls' showers during a false fire alarm.
Her summons to meet Sandiori
made her feel just like she had that morning.
Everyone she passed in the hallways was giving her carefully hidden,
wide-eyed looks of awe that were making her a nervous wreck. She couldn't believe how fast the news was
spreading. On the way to the hospital,
she had heard a local news broadcast announcing Robe's rescue in reverent
tones, and later, as the doctors had been examining him while she waited in a
lounge, she had seen the story picked up by global networks!
Jhosh stayed
in the background as Christine was ushered in to find Sandiori
sitting at a desk, reading some papers.
The administrator's secretary nervously led Christine towards a chair in
front of Sandiori and then bowed to both of them as
she backed out.
The Supreme Reverend was a
distinguished looking, if somber, man in his sixties. He was clean-shaven, with a polished bald
pate that reflected the sun from the window.
He wore simple grey shorts, sandals, a white short-sleeved shirt, and a
loose maroon string tie. She envied him
as she squirmed uncomfortably. This room
was not as comfortable as the church.
"Sit down please." Hard, grey eyes looked up briefly, and then
avoided her. "I'll be right with
you."
She looked around the office and liked
what she saw. Plain and simple, the
office was tastefully decorated with polished Ashgiani
wood that was varnished to keep the grain down.
Two of the walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, filled
with an impressive array of books that were disorganized just enough to show
that they were not there just for decoration.
The other two walls held picture windows looking out over an
immaculately kept garden, and under the windows was a
continuous low shelf displaying a long row of beautiful Neosian
ceramics.
It was a very comfortable office, and
one that was probably bordering on sacrilegious from what she had learned. But with a bold stroke, Sandiori
finally finished his work and signed one of the papers he had been hunched
over, and then looked up as he showed the papers into a briefcase.
"My apologies, Reverend, but an
administrator's job is never done. I'm
sure even the normal occupant of this office would agree." He stood up and moved towards Christine to
shake hands briefly, ignoring Jhosh.
"You certainly know how to make an
entrance, Reverend." Reluctant
respect battled annoyance on his face.
"When I asked for a country preacher as the next ambassador, I
certainly did not expect such a dramatic presence."
Or such competition, Christine
wondered suddenly, bothered by something in his attitude. She had the impression he was someone who
thoroughly enjoyed being the center of attention. ‘Kind of forgot that vanity is a sin’, did
we?
He was oblivious to her reaction as he
went on.
"Jhosh
mentioned that you had some questions to ask me. Go ahead."
Chastising herself for being petty, she
asked: "Well, to begin with, why
did you ask for a 'country preacher'?"
Sandiori
returned behind the desk to sit rigidly erect in the plush chair. "From what I've read of Earth, faith
often seems strongest in rural communities.
I wanted someone out here who truly believed in God. There are a number of forces at work
here," his eyes flashed briefly towards Jhosh,
"and my hopes were that by bringing in someone like yourself,
I could strengthen the church's position by showing everyone the power and
value of faith in a culture where miracles are not a staple of life."
Christine looked back at where Jhosh had settled on a straight-backed chair in the
corner. He didn't look at all cowed by Sandiori's evident hostility. Considering his worried attitude earlier, she
filed the striking change of attitude mentally and turned back to Sandiori.
Ever since she had first been recruited
as ambassador, the various briefings she had received had painted an incomplete
picture of Neos, full of contradictions. The book Jhosh had
showed her had resolved some of those and, bit by bit, she was starting to
understand more, but some of it was still blurry.
"Okay," she went on
bluntly. "Next question: what percentage of the population is psychic,
and to what degree?"
Sandiori
immediately glared at Jhosh. "What did you say to her?"
"I didn't 'say' anything to
her," Jhosh answered truthfully with a satisfied
smile. "She figured it all out
herself."
"I did read about Hener
Sandiori's
face was turning some interesting shades of red as he struggled to maintain
control, but finally he answered.
"The mutation responsible for many
Neosians' mild psychic ability is a genetically
dominant one and has spread to over eighty percent of our population. But less benign, though recessive, mutations
are on the rise, including an alarming rise in certain cancers, which are
resistant to elicited healing."
Christine leaned forward. "Interesting choice of words: 'elicited healing'. Do you believe in God?" She was afraid she knew the answer from what Jhosh had admitted, but she wanted to be sure.
Sandiori just
looked indignant. "I am the Supreme
Reverend. What kind of question is
that?"
"One you didn't answer." She pretended not to notice Jhosh's stifled grin.
"The Church is the life-blood of
our world," Sandiori tried again. "Our faith sustains our lives--"
"And power," Christine noted,
prompting Sandiori to flinch. "But you still didn't answer," she
pressed. "I think I'm starting to
suspect that while the church is firmly in charge, believers aren't." She felt ill.
"A church-run world, without faith among the leadership?" Her eyes started to burn and she couldn't
stop the first of the tears that betrayed her.
Jhosh had
moved up behind her, and he laid a warm hand on her shoulder.
"Some of us are believers,"
he reassured her. "We don't see a
contradiction between faith and science."
His words filled in the missing pieces,
and she wiped her eyes surreptitiously as she walked over to the window to
think for a moment. The heat of the
angry-looking sun that was assaulting the hardy blue-green grass outside was kept
at bay by the triple-paned windows, but outside, even the flowers had curled up
tightly, waiting for the cooler afternoon.
She could almost feel the force of the sun's rays, and she wondered idly
what they were doing to her.
Well, there was nothing she could do
about it. But at least she could get
herself properly oriented.
Ignoring Sandiori,
she looked at Jhosh.
"So, aside from the general
populace who are all basically believers, we have one group in the church
leadership that is comfortably positioned in its cynical leadership, happy to
take advantage of a dangerous secret in order to keep power. And you're part of another group in the
church who are believers, and who are aware of the truth, but you have been
afraid to reveal what you know. Any
other players I should know about?"
Jhosh looked
a little sad as he answered. "A
small group of hard-core scientists who dismiss any thought of God, and who
just want to treat the Esper mutation like any other
scientific discovery and do a completely rational analysis and exploitation of
it. They also want to see what else can
be done with mass focus like we achieve with prayers--"
"To be fair: both would be logical," Christine cut
in, "and should be done... eventually." She saw Jhosh
nod. "But if you do it now and
admit prematurely where the regular 'miracles' come from, it would mean the
downfall of the entire church!"
"Just as I said
before." He nodded,
apparently no longer worried about Sandiori's
reaction. "It would destroy the
faith of many, and the very foundation of our society. The so-called Progressives insist that it
would only mean a brief trauma, and then everyone would adjust, but I
disagree. And so do most in the church,
believers or not. Our whole system of
values and morals is so inextricably linked with our faith that we are special
in the eyes of God. Take that away, and
I'm afraid of another social collapse."
Sandiori
looked smugly satisfied.
"But you don't like the status
quo, either?" Christine asked.
Jhosh
frowned. "No. We're living and perpetuating a massive
lie. It goes against all that I
believe."
Christine's head was swimming with the
implications of what Jhosh was telling her. Now it made more sense.
She turned to Sandiori. "The way I see it, you sent for someone
like me so that you could have an ambassador who would be a little more pliable
and who wouldn't look beyond spiritual forces, and one who would be receptive
to the dangers of letting word get back to Earth about your 'miracles'. Is that about it?"
"There is a lot more to it,
Reverend," Sandiori defended. "There is--"
"Yes or no?" she cut him off,
getting mad as she thought about the way he was deceiving a whole world for his
own gain.
Sandiori
glared briefly at Jhosh, but under Christine's scrutiny
nodded reluctantly. "Yes."
"Thank you. And Jhosh,"
she turned. "You're sick of the
deception, but you are also afraid of what might happen if the truth gets out
that there aren't any 'real' miracles--"
"Ah... but you're wrong," Jhosh interrupted with a grin. "That was true until today. When you found Robe, you were the vessel for
a true miracle. The whole world is
already talking about it. Robe can not
be sensed by even the strongest Esper among us --
there has been a steady stream of them through the hospital since he was
admitted -- yet you found him. It has
all the qualities of divine inspiration--"
"And deductive reasoning,"
she pointed out, feeling uncomfortable about being so practical since part of
her agreed with him.
"True, but this is for public
consumption. And consider your very
presence, and all the little factors that led you to find him. And then, add to that the fact that the Zemboves have already spoken to the press about the
strength of your prayers at the church:
it all adds up to enough drama to sway anyone."
Christine felt almost giddy as she
realized what he meant. "I get the
impression that you feel this would be the perfect time to finally be honest
and gradually reveal the truth about how Neos'
prayers and 'miracles' work."
Jhosh nodded
happily. "Precisely. Now that our people are talking about a true
miracle, we won't have to worry about them losing faith. We can simply accept, as I do, that the Esper mutation was merely a gift from God to help ease our
way to building a new life."
He moved close and took her arm to lead
her back to her chair.
She smiled up at him gratefully. Her knees had gone weak as it dawned on her
how her simple discovery was going to turn this world upside down. She fought a queasy moment as she wondered
how the United Earth Council was going to react to the coming changes, and her
role in them.
Sandiori had
risen as she finished and his face was flushed and angry as he started to
sputter indignantly. "I will not
sanction this... this scheme!"
"I'm afraid you're not going to
have any choice," Jhosh pointed out as he moved
closer to Sandiori.
"Reverend Holcum has just become a star
of screen and pulpit. Any attempt to
shut her up would bring on a world-wide protest."
Christine reached up a steadying hand
as Jhosh and Sandiori
started to square off like a pair of old-fashioned boxers.
"The only sensible thing to do is
to work together." She tried to
calm them down, suddenly remembering coming between Billy Peterman and Kenny Daws on the playground when she was eleven. The expressions and postures of the two men
were identical to those of the boys.
"The present leadership must be a leading force in revealing the
truth. It has to be seen as a voluntary
admission, now that there is no reason to keep the truth from anyone."
Jhosh backed
off immediately and bowed momentarily to her before turning back to Sandiori.
"You're right. My apologies, Supreme
Reverend."
Sandiori was
not mollified and remained standing stiffly.
"You can't seriously believe that
you're going to be able to force your ideas on the church administration just
like that?"
Jhosh stood
behind Christine and put a hand on the back of her chair. "Reverend Holcum
is right about the proper way to handle this.
What do you think happen if some of us went behind your back and started
releasing scientific data? With the
reality of her miracle as a buffer, the truth will come out, but instead of
being part of the revelation and respected for your concern and integrity, you will be perceived as a power-hungry
dictator. Think about it! How do you want to be remembered?" He leaned forward. "At least this way, you'll probably get
to keep your job. The administrative
tasks of running the world remain, and you're very good at that sort of
thing." He shrugged. "I'll admit it. And I sure don't want the job!"
Christine coughed delicately. "I hate to be heavy-handed, but let me
add a little pressure." She felt
like cringing. If the Council ever found
out that she was interfering like this, she would be lucky to get away with a
termination. But she couldn't help
herself; she felt compelled to follow the path she was on.
Sandiori just
eyed her suspiciously. "Now what?"
"The adaptive mutation, climate adaptive, that is. How
prevalent is that?" She had just
realized the significance of it, and swallowed as she realized how she was
blackmailing Sandiori.
The Supreme Reverend's face could have
been carved out of granite as he stood there, and looking over her shoulder,
she saw that even Jhosh looked shocked.
"What are you talking about?"
Sandiori asked stiffly after a moment.
"Oh come on. I would have found out in a few months
anyway. Why the big secret? Or were you perhaps hoping that by then, I
might have been more easily persuaded to keep silent?"
Sandiori's
face was unreadable, but the brief smile that touched Jhosh's
still surprised face confirmed her guess.
She was really starting to appreciate him as she looked up at Sandiori.
"How do you think Earth would react
to learning about it? The public, and the scientists?"
She let him mull over that and turned
back to Jhosh, wondering about what she had
seen. "How far does it go in
winter?"
"We get pretty furry," he
admitted with a smile, ignoring Sandiori's look of
outrage. "How did you guess?"
She explained the changes she had
noticed as he went from the outdoors to an air-conditioned environment. "That's another reason for the skimpy
clothing!" she realized. "And
why you drink so much water: cooling by
evaporation."
Jhosh was
chuckling as he turned to Sandiori. "Apparently science and theology aren't
quite as mutually exclusive on Earth as you had hoped."
"Was the adaptation planned?"
Christine wondered, suspecting natural evolution alone
probably couldn't account for such a rapid physiological change.
Sandiori had
been standing motionless, a range of expressions flashing across his face, but
at her last question he seemed to crumple and he dropped back into his seat
heavily.
"How much of this do you intend to
tell your superiors?"
Christine thought about it, looking
back and forth from Sandiori's bleak face to the
suddenly uneasy Jhosh. After a moment she answered slowly: "Perhaps it might be best not to make
any mention of this just yet. You're
going to have enough problems trying to educate your people. No need to make Earth nervous."
Sandiori let
loose an explosive sigh of relief.
"Thank you, Reverend!"
He leaned forward. "The
truth," he offered, "is that the climate adaptation began as an accidental
combination of evolution and subconscious use of mass psychic pressure. When the scientists began noticing that
consistent and benign mutations were occurring, all leading to greater
tolerance of environmental extremes, it was decided to try to accelerate the
process. Subliminal guidance was
inserted into all media..." He held
up a hand. "Don't ask for
specifics. I am not a scientist. But it worked. Thanks to these changes, we are now able to
be comfortable the entire year. In
winter, our skin toughens, fat deposits increase, and hair follicles extrude to
trap more body heat. And in summer, the
skin relaxes and roughens to expose more skin area for evaporation, and we have
to drink large amounts of fluid to keep cool.
There are other changes, too, in terms of circulation and such, but I'm
not a doctor."
"No need for that. I get the picture. Thank you for being honest about it."
Sandiori
reached across the desk to lay a hand on hers.
"I want you to understand why we have to keep this from Earth. Between the way 'miracles' work here and the
fact that our concentrated psychic focus can have such a profound effect, we
can't trust Earth not to come in and try to take advantage of us. Or not to be frightened and
hostile."
For the first time since she had met
him, she felt his honest and sincere concern, and she patted his hand. "I agree. The decision about how much you want me to
tell my superiors, and when, will be yours.
I am only here to facilitate communications between our worlds, and I
have already interfered too much." Was
that ever an understatement! she thought to
herself. She couldn't believe what she
had been doing.
Sandiori
freed his hand, looking a little embarrassed as he straightened formally. "Well, Reverend. It seems as if we have our work cut out for
us, thanks to you. Would you please
accompany us to the Capitol Complex?
Perhaps you will be able to help us in working out the details of how to
enlighten our people? Your participation
will be crucial."
Jhosh grinned. "Look on it as job security." He held out a hand as she rose. "Allow me to escort you."
Christine laughed, feeling suddenly
released. "Thank
you gentlemen. It would be an
honor."
As she headed for the door, a little
part of her mused that 'feeling released' was an interesting way of looking at
things -- as if she had not entirely been the moving force behind what she had
been doing...
-end -