Pascale's Wager: Homelands of Heaven

by Anthony Bartlett

  She wanted to believe this. It gave her comfort and strength. She remembered the prayer she had made for herself and Poll. It seemed to have worked, but only up to a point. They’d gotten answers, but Poll was in just about as bad trouble as he could be. Yet, still, her deeper feeling said the game wasn’t up, that things could still change, that Poll could in fact escape. It was all about belief. Not the kind of cozy belief that her father peddled, the Worship Center feelings that kept everybody happy with their existences. This was something much less visible, and at the same time much stronger and alive. If she could get hold of this, she thought, she could even perhaps set the Homeland free.

  She lay there for a long time, not thinking, not doing anything. She let herself go, piece by piece, nerve by nerve. By now her mother was up and ready to depart with Sam for the Worship Center—her mother who had agreed with Benn's decisions because they seemed to keep her daughter safe. But Cal was a million miles away from the plans and wishes of her parents. She heard the WIA announcer say the data stream for those attending the service of Storm and Fire in their homes was about to begin. Almost directly she heard the patter of rain and the worry of wind fill the TEP. She unzipped her hood and got out of bed. She went into the shower and turned on the jet. As the thin stream poured over her body she continued to surrender. She let the water’s gentle sweet touch continue to lead her, to teach her what she did not know.

  ***

  In Worship Center Five Benn had thrown the switches that filled the seating arena with flying holograms of dark cloud. The sound system gave off a low rattle of wind with intermittent showers of rain and the grumble of distant thunder.

  People were already filing in and a palpable excitement ran through the stadium as the crowd found seats. Benn was accustomed to this feeling and had anticipated it ever since the last festival. But now things were different. He knew today he was going to give the performance of a lifetime. He scrolled through the files looking for something that would do justice to his new sense of holiness and authority. He found a volcano sequence with glowing red streams cascading from the mountain walls, but rejected it. A brush fire racing down a canyon, torching and popping homes like seed pods, he passed over that too. A level five hurricane devastating a delta farming region attracted him. The snapping trees and flying roofs held him for a moment, but he was still not satisfied. Finally, the title “Collapsing Dam” caught him and he clicked onto it. He saw high water rising, lapping the top of a concrete barrier then beginning to pour over it in a continuous stream. Suddenly cracks appeared in the vast monolith and the whole structure gave way violently under the weight of water. The camera panned to the foot of the huge wall and showed a great valley filled with fields and animals, and in the distance villages and church spires. In an instant the five hundred feet and ten miles of water were falling vertically upon it. Finally the camera was hovering over one of the villages, with people running like rats and an immense gray wave racing inexorably toward them.

  “This is it,” Benn said to himself. He selected it into the program, ready to go, and typed in the instructions for Nat, the acolyte.

  “Get me the black gown with silvered breast and back plates,” he ordered. “And the black miter to go with it. Then lay out the special 99th day robes for the great fire of the Holo-cast.”

  He turned once more to his master program to add one final touch. Something that would leave a lasting impression, one that might even establish him as the greatest Worship Leader in all the Homeland.

  The stadium was full. By now the wind was howling so it was impossible to hear someone speak even in the next seat. Lightning flashed and the faces of the congregants were lashed by virtual rain visible at each moment of dazzling illumination. Already people’s breath was taken from them. They were pinned to their seats, simultaneously thrilled and terrified. Suddenly the noise stopped. The images of the storm streaming through the arena were gathered up and disappeared in one movement into a screen at the far end. In their place a peaceful moonlight bathed the arena. A tremulous organ chord sounded, and slowly Benn Anders rose on his crystal pulpit above the heads of the many thousands assembled. The people’s tension ebbed and they emitted a collective sigh.

  “What is the reason we are here?” Benn began. “You will say to yourselves, I’m sure, ‘Reverend Anders knows well why we are here; it’s Day 99, the day of Storm and Fire!’ Of course, that is true. Today is the day we celebrate the central truth of the Homeland, the creation by grace of a space free from storm where we may work out our eternal salvation. But, still, why are we here? And now I know you are repeating that question deep inside, and you do not know the answer, because you do not know the question, the real question. Why ARE we here?"

  “The question is about you, about me, about where we stand in this life of hard work and relentless cold. The question is about whether we complain, even just a little, or, worse, actively criticize the world we live in and its divine purpose.”

  His voice began to rise in power and conviction, and he brought his fist crashing down on the podium in front of him.

  “No, I say. This day says ‘No’ to all complaint and criticism. The Day of Storm and Fire says we are completely united as a society of Teppers. Our task is to remain alive in the harshest of circumstances and so complete God’s sacred purpose of salvation. This is why we are here, and this is the meaning of the Holo-casts. We are united under God’s fire and against the storm!”

  He threw his hands vertically in the air. The stadium lights were suddenly extinguished and a single brilliant spotlight remained on his black-coped figure with its silvered designs.

  “God of Storm and Fire, save us from ourselves, save us from disunity, save the Homeland! We pray you!”

  At his prayer the spotlight was killed and the arena was filled in an instant with the presence of the immense dam poised above and at an angle to the seating, the waves cresting its edge. Many people screamed involuntarily. The mountainous cathedral visibly bellied at two-thirds of its height and within seconds flew apart, as if mined by a huge bomb. Enormous chunks of concrete jetted into the air and behind them an implacable body of gray water leaped and formed, seemed to hang suspended, then dipped like a giant prehistoric raptor down upon the valley. Now almost everyone was screaming, instinctively ducking in their seats. But even as they cowered from the disaster coming, very quickly they were watching the scene from above. In less than three minutes, as the mass of water hit the ground and boiled and fumed into a wave, the remarkable engineering of the stadium lifted the central seating on jacks and rails and retracted into banked levels revealing a well-space in the middle. The seismic movement had only increased the sense of a world shaking and unhinged, but, in short order, the people were brought to safety while below them the hologram showed the monstrous wave sweeping forward and crashing into the village.

  It demolished houses like matchstick, lifting children and grandparents, dogs and cattle in a fury of disappearing heads and bodies, a thrashing of arms amid a tide of tree branches, debris and floating corpses. The camera lifted to a much longer shot, revealing now the entire valley spreading out into a wider V-shape amid scattered foothills. It had become a single plain of mud and desolation. It was the end of the world.

  The people stared in shock and horror. Even as they gazed the apocalyptic waste began to fade and the initial hologram of the day re-formed around the walls, a cloud-filled sky and whipping rain. This time there was no sound to the storm. Instead there was an orchestral piece playing, a wistful sound but also heroic, with woodwind and strings interlaced with a stirring beat of brass and drums. The people’s spirits were restored by the music and as it continued the stadium seating reverted with a shudder and roll to its original setting. At the same time the ravaged sky around the walls was cut by twelve radiant pillars of golden light. The music continued to build, its rhythm injecting a decisive note of power and life. Then the orchestra muted and Benn’s voice spoke.

  �
�Now we can see the salvation that has been worked for us. We celebrate with a single mind the purpose of the Homeland. It is not for nothing that we were brought here! It was not for nothing the Global Weather Shield was built. It saved us from catastrophe!”

  From the foot of the pillars of light there spread a slow crystalline sea, a glittering transparent form that covered the bodies of the faithful like a bridal veil. The music shifted to mystical organ and strings and the air in the stadium blew cool with a hint of incense. The backdrop of storm began to clear and was replaced by a deep sapphire sky. As great as the fear and horror had been, there was the sense now of wonder and peace. Everyone was bathed in serenity, but the service was not yet over.

  “The Weather Shield has indeed saved us from catastrophe, but it was God who led our forefathers, the pioneers, to do this, God at the heart of the fire which stills the storm! The pioneers sacrificed themselves willingly in order that we might survive. Now, therefore, as we move to the great fire ceremony with which we conclude every Holo-cast we remember those who fulfilled divine destiny by giving their lives.”

  Instantaneously the shimmering ice field and its guardian pillars disappeared into total darkness. Benn’s voice rang out in a thunderous prophetic tone: “We now in our own time will do no less than sacrifice ourselves completely for the Homeland of God and the God of the Homeland.”

  In the pitch dark the familiar single fire coalesced at the far end of the arena. It grew in intensity with cascading colors and flares. The infra-bass note sounded, pierced by the solitary piccolo, reverberating through the whole stadium. Streams of fire erupted from every part pouring into the one incandescent core. Then, suddenly, something new happened. Suspended over the heart of the fire appeared an image of a group of men and women, smiling, bathed in light, their arms around each other’s shoulders. Benn’s trilling voice sounded above the music.

  “These are the pioneers, the men who gave us their all!”

  The fire exploded into a giant ball. The faces and bodies of the pioneers warped and split apart in the nuclear flash. Its monstrous shape burnt in lurid colors, leaping to the walls and roof. At long last it condensed and resolved into a single candle-like flame, smoky at the edges, bluish at the core. It hung there, peaceful and enduring. After a long moment of silence while the house lights began gently to glow, first a handful began to shout and clap and then rapidly the whole stadium erupted in a massive collective roar. Benn stood up from his chair next to his crystal pillar, acknowledging the cheers like an opera star.

  The announcements which normally followed a Holo-cast began to scroll on the video screen at the end of the arena. A voice-over spoke the words. No one paid much attention but Benn caught the reference to his son. “Dan Anders and Liz Fleming have been awarded exceptional athlete status. They are granted the privilege of special retirement, transferring to a sector set aside for these fortunate individuals. Their example serves as an inspiration to all Homeland youth. A special broadcast will be offered, including an interview with our two stars, possibly as early as tomorrow.”

  Benn’s heart, already filled to bursting point, filled a little more. His son had been chosen for lifelong privilege. He had become one of the so-called “Immortals,” and this had all happened when he had given the greatest Holo-cast of his life. The resolute fervor and conviction he had shown could not be unconnected to this singular blessing given him and his family. Without a doubt, God approved the rigor of his faith, approved his excommunication of Poll and his disciplining of his daughter. And the approval had been demonstrated for all to see and within the space of a few hours. Benn could not contain his emotions. He shot his hands in the air in exultation and glory.

  ***

  In the family TEP Cal experienced the whole of the sacred performance in solitude. Despite the collective feeling of the crowd at the Center, its sighs and screams and cheers, she was alone. She was alone because the religious sentiments of the occasion left her unmoved, and they left her unmoved because she was already alone. As she watched in solitude, the Holo-cast became a lesson in falsehood, a proof of deception. At each step she saw the way in which people’s reactions were used to bring them to a place they had not chosen but had been chosen for them. Each dramatic picture, each powerful sensation, each repetition of the story, everything conspired to create a world that seemed full and true but was simply a painting made inside their heads. The bursting of the dam was a nightmare imprinted in their souls so the cruel life of the Teppers would seem preferable. Its terrifying power allowed them to experience in their bodies the horror of a world fallen apart, and then immediately to be saved by the narrative of the Holo-cast leading to the cold beauty of the ice world. What could that do except make the people completely devoted to the Homeland? Worse still, Cal realized, the nightmare of the dam had at some point been absolutely real and was in all likelihood produced by the same forces and persons which created the Homeland. Cal did not know or understand fully all the connections, but inside she was sure of it.

  When it came to the fire at the end a shiver of recognition ran through her. The image of the tanned and happy group in a place of bright sunshine had been turned by her father into something different, something truly terrifying. Because her father could not explain them he had destroyed them there in front of the congregation. Their bodies that looked so good had become a blinding nuclear flash. In this way he had turned them from a question into a force that forbade all questioning. Theirs would be the smiles of Immortals prefiguring the heaven they had gone to, rather than actual smiles on this earth, an actual mystery needing an explanation.

  And now Danny and Liz had become part of the same thing. It was so ridiculous and transparent, but its very transparency had made everyone blind. Everyone, that is, except Poll.

  He had done something for her that no one else could have done. He had brought her to a place of truth. She imagined him now, and she knew he was suffering. It was hard to bear, thinking of him in such conditions, but she did not despair. Her mind was now free and strong, and she could not help believe he would also find that strength. In her soul she willed him to do so. She would find a way and Poll would too.

  PART TWO

  1. TOUCH DOWN

  Golden light; brilliant and soft. It was the first thing that hit Danny and Liz as they gazed stupefied from the shuttle’s observation ports. Dante leaned over and unbuckled the seat harnesses, while a lock on the cabin door released and the hatch folded away. The guides gently grasped their charges and helped them to their feet. They took each by the forearm and led them out onto a jet-bridge moved up to the side of the craft. The sensory load for new arrivals could be overwhelming and they might easily fall headlong.

  “Take your time. Breathe deeply. Don’t ask or think all the questions at once, there’s plenty of time... So, here you are, Danny, Liz, our latest additions to Heaven. Welcome!”

  The two Homelanders staggered, blinked and took in hardly anything of their new world. The light dripped like honey. They felt an indescribable warmth, abundant, universal, fragrant. They sensed color, especially a broad river of green. And at the bottom of the stairs a sea of faces, garments and bodies, looking up at them, laughing, applauding, beckoning.

  “Did we die? Are we dead?”

  Milton laughed. “No, no. This is life, lots and lots of it. But come, we all need to get out of these brutal thermals and into something more comfortable. Then we can find you refreshment and we will begin to talk properly.”

  “Careful now. Take it slow.”

  The emissaries led the youth down the stairway while the group at the bottom parted to let them through, laughing and admiring.

  When Dante had first spoken with Liz and Danny he told them they were being taken to one of the special colonies for successful athletes. They had worked hard for a reward like this and deserved the privilege, and by leaving the Sector they would give others a chance too. Apart from this there had been very few details. But the assura
nce with which he spoke had been totally convincing for them. Just the idea of getting away from the routine they’d known all their lives was enough to sell them on the idea. Then, shortly after, when they had been whisked away on a snow tractor and boarded the rocket and experienced its ascent and flight, the sheer pounding excitement had driven almost every connected thought from their minds. Now, faced for the first time with the full physical evidence of another, so-beautiful world, they were quite literally out of their senses. The shock of the new, with its symphony of pleasure, dissolved any critical faculty they possessed.

  “Here, this way. This is Emmanuelle, Liz. She will be your personal assistant and friend, so long as you need her. And, Danny, this is Gaius. He will be the same for you. You can trust them implicitly. They will take care of all your needs.”

  Two individuals detached themselves from the crowd of welcomers and fell in step beside them. The pair smiled radiantly and together the whole group made its way down a path toward a portico of rose and honey colored stone flanked on either side by groves of cypress trees.

  Emmanuelle was tall and silk-skinned, her ash blonde hair piled in a tumbling coif. She wore a white silk sheath. It opened on the left side to display the whole of a delicately tanned leg and extended over the opposite shoulder fully exposing the other breast. Gaius wore a short Greek dress, also white, that reached halfway down his muscular thighs. Abundant curls framed a sensual aristocratic face. Liz and Danny did not know which one to look at, or where to look. They stumbled into each other, instinctively grabbing the other for support. Emmanuelle gently took Liz’s hand. Gaius clapped Danny on the back and then quickly grabbed his arm to stop him falling.

  “Look at me,” the two assistants spoke almost in unison.

  “Just look at our faces,” Emmanuelle continued softly. “You are among friends. This is your home. You will be so happy. Just keep looking at us.”