Pascale's Wager: Homelands of Heaven

by Anthony Bartlett

  Jamal's telephone call to the fire brigade had worried the dispatch operator, one of a large and fairly random group who found satisfaction in providing this public service. The unintelligible voice at the end of the line was so unusual that it stuck in her head. She knew about the emergency number if there was some kind of social crisis. She'd never had reason to call it and very few people had. The understanding in the general population was that it went to the head of security known as Magus, but the operators knew it to belong in fact to the Anthropology Colony. How things were handled from there they had no idea. The woman finished her duty hours, but told the next shift about the strange call and her concern that perhaps she should have phoned the crisis number. Early the following morning, there was another contact from the public stating there was an unconscious individual right there on the Sacred Way. This time the dispatch did not hesitate but picked up the phone and called Anthropology. It was Blair who answered.

  Once he got the report of an unconscious man outside the Taj Mahal, Blair could only deduce a crime had been committed. It was unheard of, completely outlandish, and he struggled to organize logically what he should do. The Anthropology Colony consisted of a select body of power-brokers from the old world, people like Blair, Marius, Michelle and Benazir. They had stayed together over the years as a largely unofficial body of guardians with ultimate sanction over what went on in Heaven. Fittingly, their colony also included a loyal band of elite secret service who had organized security for the original migration to Heaven.

  Blair wrote a message for his colleagues and then called on two of the most trusted agents, Truman and Szabo. He told them to get the large utility car from the garage and drive with him downtown to the scene of the presumed attack. The colony was not far from the eastern end of Heaven and it did not take long to arrive at the gate to the Way of the Monuments. As they passed through they found a small crowd of horrified onlookers. Jamal lay there motionless, barely breathing. But even more shocking was his appearance. It was as if he was being eaten away from the inside; his skin was shriveled, the normal robust muscles were wasted to thin cords, and his bones stuck out like slats. This was no external attack; it was some terrible illness.

  The victim was still wearing his orange ceremonial robe and Blair concluded whatever this was, it had begun at the Font Eterno: he had obviously come straight from there when he telephoned. He told his assistants to pick him up and put him in the back of the car. They would drive to the stadium and get answers there. As they caught hold of Jamal's arms and legs the skin on his wrists and ankles broke away causing him to slip from their grasp and begin to bleed softly. People screamed and they dropped the body, recoiling in disgust. Blair kept his nerve, ordering them to be more careful, to scoop up the prone figure. Once they got him inside they drove to the Font Eterno, arriving at the service tunnel and continuing with the car to a point just before the ornamental stairway. The three climbed the stairs up to the loggia and followed it round to the imposing hallway with its private rooms. In Sarobindo's quarters they found a scene of inconceivable horror, with several individuals in a state similar to Jamal's, but Sarobindo far the worst, a shriveled husk, like an Egyptian mummy, still breathing in brief anguished bursts. The air was fetid, thick with the vapor of the sick and the scent of death.

  They staggered from the room gagging and coughing and utterly horror-struck. This was a disaster beyond reckoning. What did it mean? Where had it come from? Across the hallway an open doorway beckoned and there they found further catastrophe, but also their first clue in answer to their questions. They discovered Alceste's drowned body in the pool and her note on the table.

  Blair's voice rasped, “My God, it's that anti-social Palmiro, he's behind all this. We should have sent him to the Ranch with his girlfriend. Do either of you know the other one?”

  Both Truman and Szabo were sneezing explosively but they replied they knew Omar, they'd partied with him on several occasions. Blair felt the scratch in his own throat, and then suddenly a warning light went on in his brain, blinking open an ancient response from a past, dangerous world. He ordered them to search the room as the note had said. He himself had to make a telephone call. He made his way to the announcer's booth where he knew there was a connection. He called his Colony, insisting he speak to Marius.

  He was now sneezing and coughing himself but he made himself understood. “This is some kind of deliberate mass infection, the action of a terrorist, probably Palmiro. I am as good as dead, I'm sure, as are the two with me. So far the infection seems confined to the Font Eterno and Avenue of the Monuments. You must quarantine them, and also find Palmiro immediately and a friend called Omar—he's from the Fabric Colony. Interrogate them and you will get to the bottom of this thing.”

  Marius acted at once on his colleague's suggestion, sending out his security men and women to cordon off the Font Eterno and detain Palmiro and Omar. Palmiro could not be found, and inquiries among the few individuals still hanging around the Font Eterno established that he had left the area with Eboni. Further investigation at the Zoo Colony suggested that the two of them, plus possibly also Pascale's brother, Danny, had fled to the canyons. If it was true it represented another first. Nobody had ever gone to the canyons voluntarily. There was also the obvious question, how could anyone hope to survive there more than a couple of days? These thoughts prompted a connection to the Ranch and Pascale's presence there, and the outrageous possibility that she might be the ringleader of the whole thing.

  A radio call was made to Magus and the worst suspicions were more or less confirmed when there was no answering signal. Marius dispatched six of his personnel to investigate. He provided them with sidearms, from a cache that had been untouched since the founding days of Heaven. As for Omar, he was picked up and brought to the Anthropology Colony, wholly bewildered. Under questioning he told the story of how he had acted as a sponsor for Palmiro's Immersion. Little by little he got a sense that something terrible had happened but he was completely in the dark as to what it was. His interrogators had nothing to go on except his connection to Palmiro and they kept asking him where Palmiro was and what the two of them had planned. Omar said that Palmiro was a friend of Eboni and Danny and that was all he knew. He had agreed to sponsor him purely for the fun of it and after the ceremony was over Palmiro had left without farewells and he had not seen him again. Apart from that he could only add that Palmiro had almost been killed in the Immersion and the whole thing had been pretty wild. One of the interrogators had been Szabo's lover and when he heard she was very likely going to die he was in no mood for kindness. He beat Omar savagely until he screamed for mercy, and still of course he was unable to provide answers. Finally Marius intervened and ordered the interrogation to stop.

  “This man knows nothing. Palmiro drugged himself to carry through the Immersion—Truman managed to phone saying they found evidence—and that suggests to me a real fanatic. Our friend here is not the type. He was just a patsy, although a criminal one. The urgent thing now is to go and check with Adorno to see what his favored student was working on.”

  But it was too late. Almost all the apartments in the colony were now eating their evening meal, including produce brought directly that day from the clearing market, fresh salad, tomatoes and basil, raw baby asparagus, raw snow peas. It was all infected. The agents who were detailed to visit Adorno had grabbed a bite before they left, and within half an hour they, like almost everyone in the colony, were sneezing and coughing. Marius had taken some of the fresh salad and he too was infected. The investigation ground to a halt.

  Omar had been told that he would be held on charges of conspiracy. His case would be decided later. He was brought to a room with a bed and left there with the door locked. He was in too much pain to think about moving anyway, and when food and water were brought he could only take a sip from the glass. He lay there listening to the snatches of conversation from the corridor outside, trying to figure out what exactly had caused this. It
was clear that because of Palmiro something awful had occurred and it involved the Immersion. He remembered both Palmiro and Sarobindo's unsteady reactions afterward and he guessed that Sarobindo had been the target of an attack. The crazy way the interrogator had gone after him suggested the result had been extremely serious, perhaps even fatal. If he ever got out of here he would make that bastard Palmiro paid for how he'd been beaten just now. He heard someone coughing and then snatches of abrupt conversation.

  "...infected...fatalities...quarantine...warn the colonies"

  A dawning awareness came over him. The attack consisted of an infection, and, at least in some cases, a lethal one. Sarobindo was probably dead and his assistants too. It seemed Palmiro had evaded the sickness he had introduced, or at least escaped, but now something else was happening. He heard more coughing and sneezing, and in a flash he realized that the members of the Anthropology Colony were also sick. The symptoms he was hearing were symptoms of the infection which killed Immortals. The attempt to confine the spread of the infection had failed. He jumped from his bed, all his bruises and pains forgotten in a terror-struck pulse of adrenalin. He had to get out of here. He had to find a place where he would be safe.

  There was one window in the room, a single pane set high in the wall close to the ceiling, with a ledge about six inches deep. He pulled the bed across the room and was able to reach the edge of the sill. He cast around desperately for something with which to break the thick glass. The only furniture in the room was the bed itself. It was made of wood. With a strength born of desperation, Omar was able to smash the bottom board free.

  Standing on the other end propped against the wall he propelled the frame at the window and continued thrusting frantically until it cracked across. A few more blows and he was able to dislodge most of the glass, freeing the space. He grabbed the ledge and hauled and jerked himself up through the opening. It was a first-floor room and there were dogwood bushes to break his hands-out fall on the other side. He picked himself up, beaten, cut and bruised, yet feeling very little pain, so thrilled he was to be out of the plague house.

  As he limped away in the darkness he knew what he had to do. It was essential to stay out of contact with infected groups, and at this point he had to assume all colonies were in that condition. Alternatively, they could treat him like a criminal, just like the Anthropologists had. He would travel cross country, avoiding the main roads, and return to his own villa and group of friends, hoping some of them at least had not been infected. He had thirty or forty miles to walk. Setting out along the dusty track he could see the night sky littered with stars. They seemed hard, bitter points of light, no longer the friendly faces that had previously shone on Immortals. He pulled his cotton robe tighter around him and quickened his pace, cursing the man who had brought all this on Heaven.

  2. WEDDING DAY

  After Jonas descended the cliff with Pascale, she gave him the tour of the Ranch. The residents were amazed to find a fully certified Immortal, one who was not a relative of Pascale's, coming voluntarily to stay with them. He smiled vaguely at their curious, semi-hostile glances, saying that Pascale was very important to him and he wanted to stay as close to her as he could. When Katoucha asked them if they had been sweethearts, Jonas colored slightly. After that the word went round that Pascale and Jonas were in love. This turned the residents in his favor and became yet another motive for the general euphoria.

  Pascale showed him the tent, telling the story of how and why it had been built, and of its more recent role as a care center. He was deeply shocked hearing the account of Magus' secret prisoners and learning the age-long torture they'd suffered. Yet it was hard to remain with that sense of horror given that the victims now appeared at the center of the community and seemed to transmit a kind of joy to everyone.

  Then Pascale brought him to the gutted remains of Magus' cabin and he saw at once the huge upheaval that had taken place in Heaven. He had a memory of Magus, from the few times he'd met him as an Immortal. He also recalled him from before Heaven, when he had been a ruthless security contractor, providing services for governments and companies alike. To be confronted now with his continued atrocities and then his sudden end, it was as if the whole of the past had been brought to account. He'd thought of it all as done with, that the only important thing was the endless repetition of the Heavenly present. But history had been kicked into life again, totally new things were happening, and it was both unnerving and incredibly thrilling. He gave Pascale a hug.

  “Something really astonishing is happening. And you're at the center of it. I feel so lucky to be a Historian with you around. I have something actually new to write about.”

  She laughed. “I can't believe it's you saying that. You never wanted to think anything new or different. Remember how horrified you were at the abbey on the island, when I started talking about bits of dead people dancing like the stars?”

  “Well, certainly, you now have the best of the argument. You seem to have wakened the dead, here in this canyon. So I suppose I should keep an open mind about the dust particles!”

  The couple continued their stroll around the canyons, arm in arm, chatting and laughing. She showed him the women's cabin and described her first night and how the stars had come to her aid. She thanked him for pointing out the Zodiac back at the philosopher's banquet. It had started her looking for star shapes up there between the canyon rims, and she had found one, of a man, and it was really wonderful. It had felt like she could reach out and touch him and that somebody bigger than her was with her, looking out for her.

  “It must have been Orion, the constellation. It was known to many ancient cultures: it can be seen from just about anywhere on earth. But you did well to spot it here in this narrow canyon.”

  “There you go again, professor, talking down, taking all the fun out of things.”

  “Oh, I'm sorry, Pascale, I definitely don't want to do that. It's a rotten habit. But if I hadn't lectured you about the Zodiac, you wouldn't have discovered Orion, would you?”

  Magada saw them returning toward the kitchen and came out to meet them. “You two seem so happy together. So happy but with no place to hide!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do you think I mean? Our little paradise is not going to last forever, is it? Don't you think the rest of the gods up there on the plateau are going to get suspicious, sooner or later? And then they'll come to take back their kingdom?”

  Pascale and Jonas were brought back to reality. The situation was likely worse than Magada might imagine. They had no idea of the results of Palmiro's action. It could come to nothing, but it could also prove devastating for the gods up there, as Magada termed them. Right now they had no information and they hesitated. Magada mistook their hesitation as a desire to maintain their happy mood. She changed her tone abruptly.

  “But of course you're right, let's not worry about that just yet. Our big feast is being prepared and we must embrace the moment. You two love birds will be guests of honor. We could even make it as a kind of betrothal for you. Yes, why don't we do just that? We'll celebrate it as our first and only betrothal banquet in the canyon!”

  Before they could say anything, she had turned back up toward the tent to make arrangements. Katoucha would manage the seating and other people would make table decorations. She went off to find Danny and persuade him to prepare a speech.

  Jonas was laughing. Pascale’s mouth was open, half astounded, half laughing. “This is so stupid. We’re not getting married. Anyway, nobody gets betrothed and married in Heaven.”

  “Well, that seems to have changed for Magada. And I think it’s because everything’s different, like I said, because of you.”

  “That still doesn’t mean we’re getting married!”

  “No, of course not. But you belong to everyone here. So it’s a betrothal to everyone, for everyone, including me! I think that’s what she means. And as Historian I think we should definitely go along with that. It�
��s a great story, and you’re up for a story, aren’t you?”

  “You’re crazy, Jonas. I would never have imagined you talking this way.” She was silent for a while, then she added. “But I suppose I can see your point. It would be a way of showing love to everyone. Things could get very bad round here very quickly, so perhaps we really should give this story one last chapter, a happy, beautiful one.”

  They carried on talking and remarking back and forth as they walked to the tent. They traced a path around and around it, like they were a young couple without any cares in the world, taking a stroll in some fine park in some old-time elegant city, before the storms changed everything.

  Tables were set up and enough seats found for everyone. Orwell and Francisco had developed a kind of bond, with Orwell solicitous for each of Francisco's needs and calling out for help if he couldn't supply them himself. They were placed to one side of the central table and on the other side there was a large high-backed easy chair where Elise was ensconced, propped up on cushions. She was already much brighter and aware of her surroundings, looking at people and prepared to say hello and grin back at whoever smiled at her. Greta hovered over her. She had appointed herself Elise's guardian, taking her instructions from Magada and monitoring the dosage of the intravenous drip plugged twice a day into Elise's arm. Whatever her life in Magus' cabin had been, she had been able to create a rich fantasy existence for herself and now she had the chance to play out one of its roles, the attentive nurse. Dressed in a variety of neat, crisp clothes she provided a sharp contrast from everyone else in their beat-up denim, but the little bit of theater seemed entirely fitting and it contributed to everybody's upbeat spirits. It seemed to promise a clean bill of health to the woman she attended whose body and soul were so ravaged

  Alaqua and a couple of others brought out the plates and glasses. Ravel had found yellow and crimson cactus flowers and dug them up entire, placing them in pots on the table. He then returned to playing his infinite guitar concerto from the back of the tent. Koyo was seated next to him. She had emerged one day from her angry isolation and with hardly anyone noticing had sidled in beside Ravel as he played. He had not driven her away and now she was always sheltering beside him, making sure it was the side farthest from Magada.