Decker did a double take. “Indians?!” he said. “You mean like Sitting Bull, Cochise, Geronimo?!”
“No! No! I mean real Indians—East Indians, from India.”
“Oh!” Decker laughed at his understandable error. “But, that’s not much better. There’s nothing in the Bible about Jesus ever going to India, is there?”
“No, not in the Bible, but there’s considerable evidence in other literature that suggests he did. There’s a church in Montana called the Church Universal and Triumphant that teaches that Jesus studied under an Indian maharishi. To tell you the truth, sometimes it’s hard to be sure which memories are based on something that actually happened and which are the product of imagination. What I remember, or at least seem to remember, are scenes of life in an Indian village and of one particular Indian who must have been my teacher or spiritual leader. In my dream I’m very young, sitting on a mat listening to him, though I’ve not been able to make any sense out of what he was saying.”
“Is there anything else you remember—in particular, any events that happened differently than what the Bible describes?”
“No, mostly just personal experiences,” Christopher answered regretfully.
“How far back have you been able to remember?” Decker asked. “Do you remember anything about … God?” Decker’s tone bore a strong hint of reverent caution.
“I’m sorry,” Christopher answered, “I wish I did. I can usually remember my dreams while I’m meditating, and I have had a number of dreams that I think involved someone who seemed like a god, but each time when I wake up and try to remember, it just won’t come back to me. I do remember that the dreams were very unusual and I remember a feeling of awe mixed with a heavy dose of fear.”
“In your dream,” Decker probed, “did it seem like you were in heaven?” The word heaven coming from his mouth reminded Decker of the bizarre circumstances of this whole conversation and he looked around again to be sure no one was listening.
“I don’t know,” Christopher answered. “It didn’t seem at all like the heaven Aunt Martha described. I suppose it could have been the planet Uncle Harry thought I came from. I’ve searched my memory time and again, but all I can see of that world is shadows. It’s like trying to hold water in your hand. I’ll start to remember something, and for a moment it seems so real and solid, but the instant I start to grasp it, it’s gone. I do remember seeing lights— glowing bodies, sometimes in human form, sometimes with no form at all.” Decker’s expression said that he wanted to hear more. “Angels, maybe,” Christopher added with an uncomfortable chuckle. “And there was one other thing: a voice. I don’t remember what it said; I just remember the voice, the sound of the voice. Something about it was strangely familiar, but I can’t say exactly why or how. What’s even more puzzling is that I think I’ve heard that voice somewhere else, just recently, within the past several years.”
Decker’s eyes grew wide. “Can you re—” He stopped abruptly as a sudden look of recognition registered on Christopher’s face. “What is it?”
“I just remembered where I heard the voice!” Christopher fell silent, apparently analyzing the new data in his mind.
“Where?” Decker asked, trying to urge him on.
“Remember the dream I had about the wooden box on the night the missiles blew up over Russia?” Decker nodded. “In the dream there was a voice saying ‘Behold the hand of God,’ followed by laughter—cold, inhuman laughter. That was the really frightening part of the dream.”
“Yeah, I remember you telling me that.”
“That’s what made the voice I heard in my meditations seem both familiar and yet at the same time so strange. The voice and the laughter are the same. They are the same person or being or whatever. I’m sure of it.”
Decker waited while Christopher silently continued his analysis. “I’m sorry,” he said, finally. “That’s all I can remember.”
“Do you have any idea what it all means?” Decker asked.
Christopher frowned and shook his head.
Decker waited a moment just in case Christopher had any afterthoughts. He didn’t. “Well,” Decker concluded with a smile, “having you around sure makes life interesting.” He started to take a bite of his meal but was struck by another thought. “Uh, Christopher,” he began, unsure of exactly how to word his question, “these classes and meditation—I don’t suppose they’ve given you any insight into why you’re here? Whether you’re here for a purpose or anything? If you have a mission?”
Decker was entirely in earnest, but for the first time in the conversation Christopher began to laugh. “What’s so funny?” Decker asked, quite surprised by Christopher’s reaction.
“I guess that somewhere in the back of my mind I had always hoped you might someday answer that question for me,” Christopher responded. Decker gave him a puzzled look. “After all, the cloning wasn’t my idea.”
Nor had it been Decker’s idea, but in the absence of Professor Goodman, Decker suddenly felt the weight of a responsibility he had never considered his own.
Christopher broke the brief but uncomfortable pause. “I’m just trying to make the best of a very strange situation,” he said. “I might just as well ask you why you were born. I guess none of us actually chose to be here. We just are.” Christopher paused again. “I guess that’s one big difference between me and the original. Apparently he had some choice in coming to this planet. I had none. I suppose in some ways my lack of choice actually makes me all the more human.” Christopher’s voice seemed to carry a real note of longing—a longing to be like everyone else.
“No, I’m not entirely human,” Christopher continued. “I don’t get sick and if I hurt myself I heal quickly. But I feel what other people feel. I hurt like other people hurt. I bleed like other people bleed. And I can die, too.” Here Christopher paused. “At least I guess I can.” And paused again. Decker didn’t interrupt. “If I were to die, I’m not sure what would happen. Would I be resurrected like Jesus was? I don’t know. What was it that resurrected Jesus? Was it in his nature? My nature? Or was it some special act of God? I don’t know.”
Decker had seen Christopher’s humanity time and again: in the pain he carried with him over the loss of his adoptive aunt and uncle; in the compassion he showed toward Decker for the loss of Elizabeth, Hope, and Louisa; in his desire that his life and profession be directed toward helping those less fortunate than himself; and in the concern he had for the well-being of his friend and mentor Secretary Milner. And here again was another sign of Christopher’s humanity, one that Decker had never seen before: his feeling of being lost and alone in a life and a world he had not chosen.
“I don’t think I’m here for any reason in particular,” Christopher concluded, “except maybe, like everyone else, to be the best me I can be.”
Abruptly, Christopher’s thoughts shifted to Milner, almost as if they had been pushed in that direction by Decker’s own fleeting thought of the former assistant secretary-general a moment earlier. “I’m really worried about him,” he said.
Decker knew immediately who Christopher was referring to. He would have preferred to stay on the subject of Christopher’s dreams and recollections, but they could return to that later. Right now Christopher was displaying the very humanity that Decker had just been pondering. He was obviously more concerned with Milner’s well-being than with his own circumstances.
“He put up a good show at the hospital,” Christopher continued, “but I think he’s in much worse condition than he let on. I asked the doctors, but they said they were prohibited from talking about the case, except to say his surgery went well.”
“That’s pretty much standard policy,” Decker said. “I wouldn’t let that worry you. I insist on the same policy with Secretary-General Hansen’s doctors. They don’t say a word to the press or anyone else without my approval.”
“Sure, I know that,” Christopher said, a little reluctant to be reassured. “I guess mainly it�
�s just a feeling. I’ve never seen him like this. I know that he’s getting on in years, but he’s always been so strong. I just wasn’t prepared to see him so pale and short of breath. I wish you could have been with me.”
“Well, look, if it’ll make you feel any better we can drop by the hospital on the way home.” Decker immediately realized he was making an assumption. “You are planning to stay at the apartment?”
“Sure, if that’s okay with you.”
“Of course it’s okay. Your room’s just the way you left it.”
At the hospital Decker and Christopher headed for Milner’s room. They were in the elevator when a sudden look of concern swept over Christopher’s face. “What is it?” Decker asked.
Christopher shook his head as if he were trying to shake off a dizzy spell. “It’s that feeling—the one I told you about where a battle is raging somewhere nearby. Maybe it’s because I was just telling you about it, but suddenly I had it again.” The conversation ended abruptly as the elevator reached their floor and the door opened, revealing something unusual. There was a steady stream of people—mostly elderly, but a few younger ones as well—moving as quickly as their feet or wheelchairs would carry them, which in the case of some was not very fast at all. There was no apparent panic. They were not running from something. Rather they seemed to be going toward something.
“Have you seen him?” one nurse asked another at the nurse’s station as people walked, rolled, or shuffled past. “Only a peek,” the other answered. “There are too many people around the door to get a look at him.”
As they walked down the hall with the flow of people, Decker and Christopher couldn’t help but notice the excitement. “I wonder what’s up,” Christopher said.
“Looks like somebody’s giving away free money and these people want to get there before it’s all gone,” Decker suggested.
When they rounded the corner, it became clear that the excitement was centered around a room at the end of the hall. Outside the door stood about forty people, most in hospital clothes and slippers, some dressed in the garb of orderlies or nurses, each trying to get closer to the door.
“That’s Secretary Milner’s room,” Christopher said. They immediately picked up their pace, intending to press headlong through the crowd, but were quickly engulfed in the melee. Just as they arrived, a very stoutly built nurse led four orderlies toward the same crowd. Soon Decker and Christopher were pushed away along with the rest of the throng. They might have stood their ground; the others probably would have made their way around anyone who seemed unwilling to move. Instead, they made for an empty alcove as the mass moved by them, driven on like a herd of cattle. “What is going on?” asked Decker in disbelief. But the only one who heard him was Christopher, who seemed as bewildered as Decker.
“Do you think something has happened to Secretary Milner?” Christopher asked.
“Nah,” responded Decker reassuringly. “Didn’t you see those people? They weren’t acting like they were headed for a funeral. In fact, from the looks on some of their faces, I’d think it was more likely that Milner had a baby.”
Christopher smiled. Soon the final stragglers passed, followed closely by the stout nurse and her armor-bearers. From there it was only a matter of getting past the guard at the door, an easy task for someone of Decker’s experience and credentials. As the door to Milner’s room swung open they saw two doctors huddled around the bed, leaning way over as if working on their patient. On closer examination it became clear that the bed was unoccupied except for some medical charts the doctors were examining.
“Where is Secretary Milner?” Christopher asked anxiously.
For a moment the doctors ignored them, and then one turned and called for the guard to escort the intruders out of the room. “It’s okay,” the second doctor said as he recognized Christopher from his visit earlier in the day.
“Where is Secretary Milner?” Christopher repeated insistently.
“He’s in the lavatory,” the second doctor answered.
“What was all the commotion about? Is he all right?” Christopher asked, a little less urgently.
“See for yourself,” said a voice from their left. There, standing in the open bathroom door was former Assistant Secretary-General Milner in his hospital gown. His appearance gave no hint as to why he was even in the hospital. His eyes were clear and bright, his complexion restored to its ruddy glow, his stance tall and erect, with shoulders and chest broad and firm.
Decker gave his head a quick shake to check his orientation. Christopher simply stared.
“How do I look?” Milner asked proudly.
“You, uh … look great,” Christopher answered. “What happened?”
Milner cast his eyes toward the doctors, though it seemed he did so less for an answer and more to gloat over their lack of an explanation.
“We’re not sure,” one of the doctors admitted. “He seems to be in perfect health. He’s no spring chicken, but if I didn’t know better I’d swear he was twenty years younger than when he checked in.”
“They’re not sure,” Milner said, repeating the doctor’s first remark with glee. “Actually, they haven’t the foggiest idea.”
“He’s right,” one of them confessed.
“Why don’t you fellas just go on back to your offices and study those charts while I talk to my visitors,” Milner urged as he motioned his physicians toward the door.
The doctors didn’t resist but warned Milner not to overexert himself.
“Of course not,” Milner responded, unconvincingly.
When they were gone, Milner checked the ties on his hospital gown, dropped to the floor and began doing push-ups. “Count ’em for me, Christopher,” he said as he began. Christopher resisted but counted them anyway as Milner, refusing to let the feat go unmeasured, started to count for himself. As he reached twenty-three Christopher insisted he cease, which he promptly did after two more.
Decker was too busy chuckling at this strange scene to speak, but Christopher asked again, “What’s going on? What happened?”
“What do you mean, ‘What happened?’” Milner responded. “It’s obvious: I’m well and I feel ready to take on the world.”
“But how did this happen?” Christopher pressed.
“It’s obvious,” Milner repeated, unharried by Christopher’s insistence. “It all started after I got the transfusion of the blood you donated.”
Decker was momentarily stunned, not only by the fact that Christopher’s blood had this effect, but by Milner’s matter-of-fact response. Did Milner know about Christopher? How could he? He wondered whether he should pursue this any further and risk giving away Christopher’s secret. “What are you saying?” he asked, unable to control his own curiosity.
“Mr. Hawthorne,” Milner said, formally, “I have known of Christopher’s history since the first moment I saw him. And to some small extent I also know his destiny—though I am forbidden to reveal it, even to him. I cannot claim I knew this would happen,” he said, referring to his improved condition, “but neither does it surprise me in the least!”
19
The Prince of Rome
Eight years later
South of Frankfurt, Germany
THE TRAIN FROM HEIDELBERG to Frankfurt sped quietly along the track through the German summer evening. A few hundred meters to the left, the foothills of the Odenwald Mountains burst forth from the flat plains of the Rhine Valley to form the western wall of what in millennia past had been a massive sea. Every eight or ten kilometers along the crest of the mountains, castles sat in various states of repair, some in ruins, others still inhabited. Along the mountain’s base, the beautiful towns and villages of the Bergstrasse were punctuated by the seemingly requisite steeples and onion domes of the state-supported Catholic and Lutheran churches. Farther away in the west, but within clear sight of the train, the steeples of the small village of Biblis Lorsch were overshadowed by the seven massive cooling towers of Germany’s larges
t nuclear power plant.
Behind the powerful electric engine that pulled the dingy yellow and blue train were three private cars that had been commissioned for the secretary-general of the United Nations, his party, and the ever-present members of the press. Two hours earlier, at the castle of Heidelberg, Secretary-General Jon Hansen had given a speech to a group of international business leaders on the benefits of the recent United Nations decision to remove the remaining barriers to trade among nations. To the casual listener the speech would not have been particularly stirring, but Hansen was preaching to the choir—an audience of men and women from all over the world who had been at the forefront of the effort to eliminate trade barriers. World peace under Hansen had been good for capitalism and for capitalists.
Most notable among the rich and powerful in attendance was billionaire David Bragford, who had introduced the secretary-general to the assembly. It was commonly believed that five years earlier Bragford had been the driving force behind the elimination of most of the trade barriers established by the European Union. It was only a question of time before he sought the total elimination of all trade barriers.
Jon Hansen was now in the fourth year of his third consecutive term as secretary-general, a position that had grown continually in importance since his first oath of office. Now, as more and more power was consolidated both under Hansen and the restructured Security Council, the pace of that consolidation was increasing. The time had passed some years earlier when politicians and news commentators addressed themselves to the subject of whether there would be a unified world government. Now they pondered such topics as how that government might best be administered. There were still significant hurdles to be cleared before its final realization. No one of major consequence was calling for the complete dissolution of independent nations—not publicly, anyway—yet the direction was undeniable.
In His Image Page 31
