When most people were seated, Shaw strolled up to Table 7 and sat, leaving one empty chair between him and the brunette. He nodded to the others: an older man, another who was tall and slim, and two women in their late twenties or early thirties. They regarded him with cautious politeness, as if he’d accidentally stepped into the wrong private dining room at a nice restaurant.
He turned to the brunette. “I’m Novice Carter.”
She looked up, blinking in surprise. Her pale gray eyes dipped to his blue amulet and grew wide with concern. She seemed speechless.
“How’s it going?” Shaw asked, giving the shoulder salute. He looked around. “What’s on the menu. Doesn’t smell too bad. Haven’t had a hot meal for a couple days, unless you consider a Big Mac hot.” He whispered, “Wouldn’t mind a beer, but I guess the bartender’s off duty. Permanently.” He laughed at his own feeble joke.
“I’m . . . I’m sorry but this is an Apprentice table.” She pointed to her red infinity sign. Her eyes held his momentarily, then fled to the oilcloth.
“Huh?”
She stammered a repetition. “An Apprentice table.”
“Oh.” He lowered his arm, feigning confusion.
“What do we have here, Apprentice Victoria?”
A familiar voice: Adelle’s. She’d changed her blouse. No blood. “Novice Carter.”
“Journeyman Adelle.” He frowned. “Something wrong?”
Victoria said, “I’m sorry, he just—”
Adelle: “There are assigned seats, Novice Carter.”
“There are?”
“The chart.” She pointed.
“Oh. Hey. Wasn’t paying much attention.”
She chided, “It’s one of the rules.”
Read them carefully. They do take them seriously . . .
“And Apprentice Victoria, you must remember that if someone breaks a rule, you call an AU or an IC immediately.”
Shaw recalled his cheat sheet: IC was Inner Circle. AU, Assistance Unit.
Adelle was continuing to speak to Victoria, her voice dull-edged but firm. “If you don’t call one of us right away . . .”
“That’s a violation of the rules too. I know that!” Victoria’s eyes were cast down. “I was caught off guard. I was journaling . . .”
“It’s a minor infraction. I don’t think I need to call Journeyman Hugh in for a decision.”
“Oh, thank you, ma’am.”
Hell. Shaw realized how his little tactic here had nearly gotten her disciplined by the very person he was trying to protect her from. He resolved to be more careful.
Victoria winced. “And I won’t say ‘ma’am.’ Or ‘sir.’”
Shaw recalled the rule.
“That has been a mistake of yours in the past. Not grievous but something to watch.” Adelle’s head cocked a small degree. “And he doesn’t need to know about this either.”
The reverential emphasis told Shaw that Adelle was probably referring to Eli.
“Oh, thank you, Journeyman Adelle.”
Her breathless submissiveness galled Shaw, especially as Victoria seemed several years older than Adelle.
Victoria returned to her notebook. Her hands were tremoring.
Adelle accompanied Shaw to the seating chart. “There you are, Novice Carter. Table Four.”
“I’ll take a look at those rules again.”
With a nod, she peeled off and headed to a Journeymen’s table.
He found a place and sat. Pitchers of water and iced tea were on the table, which was set with cheap metal utensils and paper napkins. Like all the others, this table was covered with a dark purple cloth. Shaw suddenly realized that the colors of the lower-level amulets, blue and red, combined to make purple, the shade of the Journeymen’s infinity signs. Maybe purple represented something significant in ancient Egypt—he still didn’t know how Osiris figured in the scheme. Or maybe the shade was part of Eli’s personal mythology.
Shaw greeted the other Novices at his table. There was a couple in their sixties, Walter and Sally. The balding man from the Intake office earlier that day was Henry. He was fit, his grip firm—they shook hands before mutually recalling that it wasn’t allowed.
Shaw whispered, “You ever done anything like this before?”
“Never. Little bizarre. You from here, Washington?”
“No. California. Travel around a lot. I’m a surveyor. Forestry.”
“I live on the East Coast.” Henry looked around the room and his morose expression from earlier that day returned. “Hope this works.” He fell silent.
The others at Table 4 were Todd, a sullen man in his early thirties, crew cut, trim. He was inked, probably a sleeve, but Shaw couldn’t see more than an inch’s work at his wrist, disappearing under the uniform. Abby was a pretty brunette with a somber face and fidgety manner. She couldn’t’ve been older than nineteen or twenty. A tanned, curly-haired man in his late twenties sat hunched forward over the place setting. His name was John.
At 7:10 the Inner Circle Companions, equal numbers men and women, stepped away from the wall and fanned out, each sitting at a different table. Apparently they were chaperones.
Or guards.
Spies was another option, Shaw supposed.
The Inner Circle Companion assigned to Table 4 approached, striding stiffly. The mid-thirties man sported hair that was perfectly trimmed and gelled into a businessman coif. He stood erect and looked them over. He said in an oily, practiced voice, “Greetings, Novices. I am Journeyman Quinn. And I’m proud to be your table host for this evening.” His glasses were of the sort you don’t see much: wire frames with half lenses.
He touched his left shoulder with his right palm. Ignoring the absurdity he felt, Shaw did the same. He summoned a shy smile—as if proud to be part of the family, even if a newcomer.
Quinn made a show of lifting the iced tea pitcher and the water, one in each hand, and leaning close to the diners. “Preference for a beverage?”
Shaw opted for tea. Quinn poured for everyone—the other ICs were doing the same—and then he sat.
A voice from the overhead speakers announced: “Let us give thanks.” Most knew what was coming and spoke along: “For what we are about to receive, our thanks to you, Master Eli, and all that you have taught us, you are teaching us, and you will teach us. From the Yesterday, a better Today. From the Today, a perfect Tomorrow.”
Shaw and Henry mouthed along as best they could. He noted that Quinn was watching them make the effort. Then the voice from above called out, “The best is yet to come!”
Applause filled the room, though not what you’d hear at the end of a concert. Several of the Inner Circle had started a coordinated slow clapping of their cupped palms, carefully timed, one strike per second. This lasted for a very long half minute.
“Now, Journeymen may approach the buffet.”
The senior Companions did so. Only when they had filled their plates and sat down was permission granted to the Apprentices. Finally the Novices.
Control . . .
The food was what Shaw had expected: steam table chicken, hamburgers, vegetarian lasagna, salads and side dishes. Parker House rolls, butter. He was hungry from the effort of the trip here and his quick-march surveillance of the camp, so he piled the plate high.
As he ate, Shaw would glance at Victoria. Her brunette hair was in double braids, disappearing down her back. The ends were bound in thin red ribbons, the bows carelessly tied. Her face oval in shape. Over her blue uniform blouse she wore a blue vest. No wedding ring or other jewelry. Shaw scanned the room; no one wore any, it seemed, none that he could see. Surely some of these people were married. Maybe they’d had to check their rings, like the cell phones. Getting rid of reminders of the outside world. He couldn’t tell if Victoria was wearing makeup. Her face had the slightly ruddy shade he reca
lled from the other day. Maybe a tan.
Shaw looked away just as she lifted her head and started to glance his way, as if she’d felt she was being observed. He struck up a conversation with his tablemates. He and Henry were the only Novices at this table to start today. Abby had been here for ten days. John, Sally, Walter and Todd had been studying the Process for a week. Shaw noted that Walter did the talking for the couple; Sally was retiring and uncertain. Abby was constantly in fidgety motion, Todd was suspicious, John was rueful.
When they had finished the main courses and were toying with substance-less devil’s food cake for dessert, Quinn wiped his mouth and set down the napkin.
He looked over everyone with his cool lizard eyes. Finally, he said, “Now it’s time to share.”
26.
I’m Walter and this is Sally.”
Quinn tilted his head, a corrective tap.
“Ah, I meant to say, Novice Walter and Novice Sally. My apologies.”
With thin white hair and slim build and only a faint swelling of belly, Walter had the mannerisms and serenity of a successful businessman transitioned to retirement. He now explained as much: “We’re from Chicago. I owned a manufacturing company that made parts that went to Detroit and disappeared into cars. I wouldn’t’ve made ’em if the government didn’t say they had to be in your horseless carriages, so I did, and that put the kids through college, thank you very much.”
The sharing, the Inner Circle Quinn had told them, was about letting the others know why you’d come to the Foundation, what you hoped to get out of the experience. This helped “facilitate the Process.”
Walter continued, “Now, I do some consulting, which means, gettin’ paid to shoot my mouth off. And Sally’s such a good gardener that she’s got green fingers in addition to thumbs.”
Sally smiled at the mention of her name. Gray haired, a heart-shaped face, the woman was trim too, with wattles at the chin. Maybe a recent weight loss. Shaw wondered about cancer, but her skin had a healthy pallor.
Walter continued his narrative, to make sure she didn’t have to chime in. “I’d say she’s got green toes, but that’s an unfortunate image, so we’ll let it go. We’ve been married forty-two years and have three children and four grandchildren.”
A frown crossed Sally’s face as she looked down at her left hand, resting on her husband’s. She was gazing at her naked ring finger, and her eyes darted about, panic filling her face. She’d be thinking the piece had gone missing. Walter didn’t notice.
Shaw understood why they were here.
Walter confirmed this with: “We’ve had a few health issues that’re making life a little tricky and we read about the Foundation when we were doing some research about getting ourselves a little better. We heard how people said the Process makes them happier. Who doesn’t need more happier in their life? So here we are.”
Sally whispered to her husband, lifting her left hand. He smiled and told her something in return. She grew calm again, comforted that her missing engagement and wedding rings were accounted for.
Alzheimer’s . . .
Quinn said, “Thank you, Novice Walter. And, Novice Todd?”
“Yeah, that’s me.” The man ran his hand over his short hair. His eyes brown, his complexion dark—Latinx, maybe, and definitely military, Shaw decided.
“I’m from San Diego. Encinitas. Did a couple of tours. Was all right, no big shit. But I lost a couple of buddies overseas. Kind of, everything kind of went to hell when I got back.” He unbuttoned his cuff and exposed his skin. It wasn’t a sleeve tat, it was a knife and the words EVER FORWARD. A gothic typeface. “Did some VA shit. Some private docs. Nothing helped.” He shrugged. “Heard about this thing in a bereavement group. Thought I’d give it a shot.”
“Very good, Novice Todd. But remember . . .”
“Yeah, yeah. Sorry. Not ‘thing.’ The Foundation.”
“You’ll learn.”
“Medicine didn’t work, doctors didn’t work. I hope the Process will.”
“Is it, Novice Todd?” Quinn asked, head back, eyes down, looking at him closely over his half-rimmed glasses. “Do you think it’s working?”
“I think so, yes.”
There was a hesitation in his voice. If Shaw noticed it, so did Quinn.
“Thank you for that. Now.” Quinn turned to the slim, bald man beside Shaw. “Share.”
“I’m Henry. Novice Henry.” He was embarrassed. “This is my first day.”
“Welcome, Novice Henry.”
“I’m a researcher for a drug company in RTP—Research Triangle Park, outside of Raleigh, North Carolina.” A deep breath. “I . . . uhm, I lost my wife eight months ago.” His voice trembled. He brought it under control. Flustered for a moment, he gave a hollow laugh. “I work on oncological drugs. You know, chemotherapy drugs. Karen had cancer. A different kind from what I specialize in. But it’s kind of ironic, I guess, so I thought I’d mention it.” A look toward Quinn.
The IC encouraged, offering that smile that everyone on the staff here was so good at—partly embracing, partly distant.
Henry swallowed and said, “It’s kind of hard to cope. Every day is hard. So. That’s what I’m hoping to fix. I’ve tried bereavement groups, therapy, drugs. They’re not working all that great. Maybe this’ll be better. Tomorrow will be better. That’s what they said.”
“Very good, Novice Henry. Now, you, Novice Abby.”
“That’s me. Uhm . . . This is my second week. You know, same old. You’ve heard it.” She seemed edgy, upset. She played with her food. Hadn’t eaten much.
“Our new Novices haven’t,” Quinn said evenly. “Please enlighten them with your tale, Novice Abby.”
Eyes down, she was digging one fingernail into a cuticle. “Just, stuff, you know.”
“Go ahead. Remember: don’t shy from the Minuses. You can do it. Master Eli says you’ve made good progress.”
Her eyes widened slightly, and she seemed moved that the leader of the Foundation had commented about her.
“Go on.” Quinn nudged.
“Okay, like, I’m in college, studying communications.” She didn’t make eye contact with anyone. “So. The thing is, at home, it’s kind of sucky. I stay away as much as I can. I got in with this crowd. I mean, they’re okay. Sort of okay. But there was some Oxy action, you know. Other shit.” She stopped abruptly.
Quinn pulled a smile, fast as a gunslinger. “It’s all right. Say what you feel.”
“They got me into all kinds of stuff. Like, finally I got clean. It’s not so easy. And I’m pretty freaked that I’ll lapse. You know, go back. I’ve got this friend and her mother came here and it was, like, it helped her. So I kind of sent my application in and I got accepted.” She shrugged, then slouched back in her chair. “And it’s pretty cool. Master Eli is, like, the best.”
“Thank you, Novice Abby. And, Novice Carter?”
Shaw spun his fictional account of hard times, not being able to hold down work, his emotional problems. He channeled Adam Harper and Harvey Edwards, along with some of the tougher fugitives he’d pursued in his reward-seeking business. He skirted the criminal past—largely because he hadn’t written a very detailed script about that portion of Skye’s life.
Shaw stuck with the tale that Carter had a family history of depression. The drugs, the anger issues. He always started out hopeful with a girl, but then—he gave a thumbs-down—he’d hit the road and never see her again. “Trying to outrun the blues, I guess. Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t.”
“Good,” Quinn said. “Thank you for that.”
John, the thirty-something, had no professional issues. He was a successful coder and software designer in Los Angeles. He liked his work. He was good at it. Then his voice dropped in volume. “So, a year ago I was on PCH—Pacific Coast Highway—with my buddy. My best friend. I was hotdogging in
my Porsche.” His voice caught. “We went off the road, hit a tree. He was killed. I didn’t get a scratch . . . Not a goddamn scratch. I’m trying to get over Dale. It’s not so easy. My trainer says I can. Master Eli too. He says I’ll be okay. Eventually. I believe them.”
“You should,” Quinn said. “He’ll take care of you. You’ll be all right.”
As Quinn looked them over, Shaw wondered: Could a human being sit up any more upright?
“Very good, everyone,” Quinn said. “You can be confident that the Process will bring you comfort. Would you like some more beverage, Novice Carter?”
He’d noted that Shaw’s iced tea was half empty.
“No. I’m good. Thank you, Journeyman Quinn.”
Conversation at the table resumed—but only momentarily. A silence descended in the room, punctuated by Companions’ whispering. Eyes had turned toward the front of the dining hall. Through the windows, Shaw detected movement along the path leading to the building. It was hard to make out anything specific in the dusk. Lamps on wooden poles lined the paths but the illumination was subdued and yellow. The lanterns added to the nineteenth-century feel.
A whisper: “Is that him? Is he coming in?”
“Sometimes he does at dinner.”
“Let’s hope.”
“Here he comes!”
Two AUs opened the door, and in walked an entourage, led by a man in a white tunic. He strode slowly into the hall. Spontaneously, the slow, rhythmic clapping of earlier broke out.
Master Eli paused, smiled and offered the shoulder salute to his flock.
27.
Shaw knew from Mack’s research the man was forty-one. He seemed younger. Though not tall, he was in solid, sportsman’s shape, perfectly proportioned. When he walked he was perfectly upright.
His broad, handsome face was well tanned. The eyes were piercingly blue, similar to Shaw’s though lighter, ethereal, and the upper lids dipped slightly, imparting what was sometimes described as bedroom eyes. The thick black hair was carefully trimmed and parted on the side. It was a politician’s cut. He wore an infinity amulet; his was gold.
The Goodbye Man Page 13
