"Nice dress," she observed, twirling and admiring the cut of the long, white, high-low, off-the-shoulder Empire-waist gown in which she'd appeared. "Your design talents are getting much better."
"I thought you wished to watch the denouement of your translation to Heaven."
"Oh, yeah. Up she goes. Heh. Well, that thug who seems to be in charge has the best look of astonishment I've seen so far on one of their ugly faces. All that nice, seasoned wood piled up and burning for nothing." She sniffed. "Fuck 'em."
Beam looked at her, askance. "That's hardly the appropriate attitude for my prophet to take," he said, mildly.
"Have you read about the prophets we had on Earth?" Ariela shot back. "Most of them were stone assholes. One of them had two bears tear a bunch of children apart simply because they insulted and laughed at him."
"I know," replied Beam. "Elisha. The bald old coot. I remember him well. Those kids deserved it – as did their parents, for having encouraged the kids to insult him in a bid to rid themselves of him for good."
"Does this world have bears? Can you send them a few? Or maybe just bring some lightning down on them."
"Clearly, this encounter has upset you. Perhaps we should return to the Green Room."
"I'm not upset, I just want some divine punishment meted out. Bears. Blue, eight-limbed bears sound good. Claws. Teeth. All that."
"You must remember," noted Beam, "in their opinion, the blasphemy was yours, not theirs." He sighed. "But even given their behavior today, my calculations suggest they will take this as a sign from their gods and a new sect, if not an entirely new religion, will spring from this miracle they've witnessed."
"So now I'm to be their version of the Christ."
"Perhaps not. Perhaps something completely different." Beam smiled. "I always hope for someone like the Buddha, but it rarely works out that way, not, at least, amongst my special projects."
"Well. If you're not going to send bears, we're getting nowhere standing here watching my execution pyre burn without me in it. Let's go back to the Green Room and give it some time, then try again."
"Very well."
"Bears."
"No."
"Damn it."
The view changed abruptly to something that looked very much like a break room in a human office suite (and which, like most "green rooms", was not actually painted green), and Ariela's beautiful white dress transformed into a regular US Space Force Marines uniform. The woman shook herself a bit, then walked over to the coffee machine, poured herself a cup, brought it back to the table in the middle of the room, and sat down. She ignored the cream and sugar, pulled a flask out of her pocket, and with trembling hands, poured some amber-colored liquid into the coffee. Setting the flask down, she picked up the cup with both hands, held it to her lips, and took a sip.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh . . . ." New Jamaica Azure Mountain, she thought, with an inward smile. With a wee dram of Four Sons Bourbon for a kick.
"You were upset."
"Yeah. It's not every day a mob comes, beats you, chains you to a post, and sets you on fire. But I'll be fine. It's was sort of like watching a holo thriller where you're the guest of horror."
"You mean guest of honor."
"No. I mean, guest of horror."
Beam looked intrigued. "Ah. You are making a play on words. A joke."
"Not really a joke, but . . . "
The door opened, and into the room slithered a blue-green sort of salamander/worm, about eight feet long, with a bunch of legs – four of which served as arms – six eye-stalks, and a mouth full of sharp teeth. Oh. And a beak. The Guardian pointed all of his eye-stalks at her and squeaked something in his multi-variant, glyph-laden language, which Ariela understood perfectly – thanks to Beam.
"The encounter did not go well, I take it."
"No, Bob, it did not, unfortunately," she replied to the Guardian, who understood her English perfectly through Beam as well. "They decided I was a blasphemer and burned me at the stake."
The Guardian – who happened to be the Lead Developer of the Great Simulation's programming project – closed his eyes and shuddered, which with all those legs and that sinuous body was a thing to watch.
Guardians were not violent people, and never had been, not through the 15 million years and forty-two races of them that had served the Great Simulation after the disappearance of its builders, the A'akapiei'ida (or more simply, the Originators). The five Guardians who had been brought into Beam's confidence, and who were aware of his qualities and quirks, found working with the sentient computer's "special project" timelines and peoples quite difficult, but they persevered nevertheless . . . and spent a lot of time in therapy as a result.
Bob stilled, having mastered his fit, and reopened his eyes. "Perhaps you will be able to try again in a little while with more success."
"That was our thought," agreed Ariela. "I think I will drink my coffee and have a snack, and we'll go back when Beam thinks the time is right." She raised her cup again, noting her hands were no longer shaking, and sipped some more of the tasty brew. Bob and Beam exchanged a look, and left the room together.
About half an hour later, Beam came back to find her calmly reading her holotab.
"They have progressed a bit," said Beam. "They are now up to very primitive steam railroads and canals. Paddle-wheel steamers on rivers, but ocean-going ships are still primarily wind-driven. Some towns have electricity, at least for public street lighting and in certain public buildings. The railroads have the telegraph. There is as yet no radio."
Ariela rolled her eyes. "From animal-drawn wagons to steam locomotives in a half an hour? That's not bad. So they're at about 1830 in human terms, give or take."
"There is a large, white cathedral with gold domes and spires in the town where you were martyred," Beam added. "On the very spot, in fact, where you, er, 'ascended to Heaven.'"
"Oh, no," groaned Ariela.
"Be strong," counseled Beam. "It suggests they may be more disposed to listen to you, this time."
"Can we go in off to the side, like we did before, and kind of get the lay of the land inside that cathedral?" asked Ariela. "I want to know if I'm actually an object of veneration, or if something else is going on in there that might not be quite so nice."
"Of course. By the way, the Sardristra possess a Mesh nexus in a similar position to that of your humans, should it come down to giving the blessing. I had not ascertained that yet during the first try, because it all, how do you say it, 'went to shit' too fast."
Ariela smiled. "I'm ready, then."
"We go." The scene shifted; Ariela found herself back in the lovely white dress, and still human of course. She looked around.
"Oh, hell."
The cathedral was beautiful. As outside, it was painted white with gilded trim throughout. The pews, or pew boxes, or whatever, faced in to the geometrical center of the building, which contained . . .
. . . the carefully-preserved remains of the charred faggots of wood and the wooden pole, and the now-rusty chains with which the Sardristra "religious police" (for lack of a better term) had bound her to the pole. As far as she could tell, they had simply built the cathedral in the town square, and left the execution site as it was; she could see some of the original cobblestone pavers at the edge of the bounded area. A fleeting thought went through her head that this reminded her of something, but she couldn't remember what.
All around the boundary of the sacred site, which seemed to be about 20 feet in diameter, were piled bundles of fresh flowers. And while the cathedral was electrically-lighted, there were hundreds of votive candles burning on stands intermingled with the flowers.
What was worse, though, was the wooden sculpture of Ariela as a Sardristra hanging from the ceiling, about thirty feet above the pole she'd been bound to. She rather admired the artistry; the face of the being actually bore some resemblance to her own, within the norms for Sardristra physiognomy. So the effigy must have been constructed soon af
ter the incident, by an artist who had seen her and remembered her. To her human mind, the blue skin was odd, of course, as were the two extra pairs of arms and legs, but she could not fault the artist one bit for his or her representation of the martyred girl, taken up to Heaven in ecstasy before she could be burned to a crisp.
For some reason, Ariela-as-Sardristra was equipped with blonde hair. Given all the Sardristra she'd seen while preparing for her first appearance had dark hair, running a limited gamut only from chestnut brown at the lightest all the way to deep blue-black, the color seemed strange, and she mentioned it to Beam.
"Oh. I didn't tell you. You were blonde. I don't know why – it must have had something to do with your self-image," conjectured Beam.
Ariela sighed. "That may have had something to do with their reception of my message, too."
"I suppose so. I had not considered it before."
"No. Clearly not. But since it seems to have been my decision, however unconscious, I suppose that lets you off the hook."
"Hmm."
"Hmm indeed . . . speaking of being let off the hook . . . "
"Yes?"
"What do you suppose would happen if, in the middle of a worship service, my Sardristra alter-ego came to life, floated down just above the remains of the execution pyre, and began to give the spiel about love and patriotism and all that jazz, which was so rudely interrupted centuries ago?"
Beam harrumphed – something she'd never heard him do before. "I suppose you would want me to 'disappear' the sculpture and switch you into its place, then do the lowering, too?"
"Well, don't disappear the sculpture forever; just long enough for me to do my thing, rise back up, and switch it back in."
"I can do that," nodded Beam.
"Of course you can," said Ariela, sweetly. "It's all a computer program."
"The service begins at dusk," Beam said, ignoring her tone. "Dusk is about an hour from now."
"What do we know about their history?" asked Ariela. "Can I use something like I used for my descendants in my timeline? Or are they not at war with other factions elsewhere on the planet?"
Beam considered. "It appears they are not currently at war, but there are other political divisions – and religious divisions – which are not aligned with those of this country. You are, of course, familiar with the country of Israel of the time in which you were growing up?"
"Yes?"
"This is the Israel of Sardristra. Very nearly the only Sardristrans who venerate you live within its borders. There are others of their countrymen who sojourn elsewhere, of course, but they are looked down upon, both officially and unofficially. This seems to be due to the schism in their religion sparked by your 'martyrdom.' Your name here, by the way, appears to have become corrupted into 'Ardreyelya,' over the years, possibly because their vocal apparatus has trouble with the correct pronunciation of 'Ariela', and the country has taken on your name as well. The sect of the world religion which lives primarily in the nation of Ardreyelya is known as the Ardreyelyan Schism." Beam shrugged. "Luckily this is a coastal region; a landlocked nation likely would have been invaded and destroyed many years ago. As it is, they have quite the military force, and anyone who has ever tried to best them either on land or at sea has been, er, 'handed their ass on a platter,' is the best translation I can muster."
"So my appearance now could do one of two things – solidify support for the Ardryelyans, or start a major war that could end up with this country destroyed."
"Or it could have no effect – though that is a tiny, tiny probability."
"How do the numbers go for making things better for these people?"
"The probability that you will make things better is about 60%."
"Ouch. Three in five? That's not so good."
"I will of course recalculate once you make your appearance. There are too many variables involved in trying to make this projection on-the-fly, even in a simulation. It would be better, of course, if they had television; but they haven't gotten that far yet, and we will have to rely on reports by telegraph and in newspapers. They do have something similar to a daguerreotype camera, but it is doubtful anyone in the congregation will have one; they are quite large and are not made for snapshotting."
Ariela looked grim. "I don't suppose there is anything like a United States analogue in this timeline."
"Unfortunately, no," replied Beam. "Most of this world is made up of theocracies. Even the ones that are nominally republics of some sort are dictated to by their religious authorities. Ardreyelya is the single exception to that rule; it is a true republic on most days of the year, until the date of popular elections, in which it turns into a democracy for a day's time, then reverts back."
Ariela laughed. "Sounds kind of like what my Dad used to say about his Grand Lodge. Except he said it was an absolute monarchy until the annual Grand Lodge Communication, when it turned into a democracy for two days."
"Indeed. But these people have a legislature, courts, and presidency much like that of your United States. They threw off the priests – those who would not support the Miracle and the Schism, at any rate – not long after your 'death'." Beam sighed. "It was quite bloody, actually. I pulled out all the stops for this line when I set it up, which is one of the reasons I chose it for your first visit."
"Seems like you could have gone a bit easier on me for my first attempt."
"No." Beam was positive. "If it doesn't work here, it won't work anywhere. We have to know before we move on to the other trunk lines."
Something occurred to Ariela, just then. "Ah! Beam, I know why this cathedral looks familiar to me."
"Yes?"
"It's not a perfect match, of course, but it's reminiscent of the legendary reason for the Temple at Jerusalem having been built on Mount Moriah, where Abraham was ordered by God to sacrifice his son Isaac. He didn't actually complete that sacrifice, it was a test, and an angel came down to stay his hand as the knife was descending. Abraham then saw a ram caught in a thicket, and sacrificed the ram instead of Isaac."
"So you are saying they built this cathedral here because it is literally the birthplace of their belief system."
"Yes. The ultimate sacrifice, that of their holy prophet who was taken bodily up to heaven from within their midst." Ariela sighed. "How they must have fought to keep this place intact. It's amazing they could have done it at all."
Beam considered for a moment. "I can read the timeline while present in this area much more easily than I can from Homeworld," he said, at last. "Almost before the cinders had cooled, they had erected a wooden shelter over the site. The very man who ordered your execution had an epiphany when you rose to Heaven, and was crying and rubbing ashes onto his body as he ordered the pyre preserved. He was a priest of the old religion, and he became the first high priest of the schism."
"Saul on the road to Damascus," muttered Ariela. "They have made a Christ figure of me."
"A sturdier structure was built a few years later, when the schism had taken hold in that town and the surrounding area. The sculptor was a woman who was standing next to you as you preached." Beam smiled. "She had been a simple woodcarver making small toys and other mundane items, but that very day she started working on your sculpture. When they eventually hung it in the new building, she was offered great wealth to execute commissions for other, similar, large sculptures, but she declined all of the offers and went back to her simple life, there in the town; making toys and gewgaws, and never anything larger than an item similar to a cricket bat, nor any representation of a person – including you."
"And she preached the Word of Ardreyelya to the people who came to her shop, no doubt, and after her death became a saint in her own right."
"Yes," said Beam, seriously. "You are exactly correct. Her home and shop remains standing, several blocks from here, and it is also preserved as a holy site." He paused, then went on, "When the schism spread to the rest of the natural boundaries of the country, a subscription raised su
fficient funds to built this cathedral. The architect was a famous designer, who wrought in white stone and gilt this eight-sided monument to your martyrdom. The original sculpture naturally was preserved, and rehung in the new cathedral with great pomp and ceremony during the building's dedication and consecration."
Ariela sighed. "Are there copies of this sculpture in other places where they venerate me?"
"Yes, but not at this scale, though some are exquisitely done in sandstone and even in marble. And some are greatly acclaimed, but not at the level of this original. I should add that no other church or cathedral of the schism has ever had the temerity to duplicate your pyre. Only here, where the miracle happened, is it featured in this way. This is not to say that the other sacred buildings are not similarly laid out; they simply represent the area of the pyre stylistically in their flooring choices, or possibly by a slightly-raised area in the middle, both of which would be off-limits to foot traffic. And their copy of the sculpture would be raised above that. They do not all hang from the ceiling," he added, "but rather, some, primarily the stone ones, are mounted atop slender columns due to their weight."
"Beam," she said, "do you realize how difficult it will be, now, for me to come to them as myself, even in the form of Ardreyelya, and tell them about the Darkness? And the job that lies ahead?"
"To the contrary," said Beam. "I think it will make your task simpler. You come to them as their established prophet, bearing a warning for the future. I do not think they will burn you again. And remember, this is not an age in which someone could 'deep fake' a hologram of you descending from Heaven. And even in such an age, how would they disappear the sculpture?"
"Dad could disappear that sculpture easily. All he'd have to do is get the Bandersnatch close to it and rotate it out of phase, then rotate it back after the holo played."
"You have a point. But such technology does not exist at this epoch in this timeline."
"So it is to be another miracle."
The Lion in Paradise Page 35
