“Do we have the equipment for that?” Bill Waldstein asked.
“I talked to Lew Arcidiacono about that just now. He says we probably do, or at least enough to protect us on the side facing Mendocino. What we might have to do is keep moving the equipment around from place to place on an ad hoc basis all along our western perimeter until these tumbondé people have gone past.”
Dan Robinson said, “Sounds like we’ll need the entire staff for that.”
“More than just the staff,” said Elszabet. “Lew tells me that we’ll need dozens of people out there on the line, some to patrol, some to haul equipment, some to operate the generators. That’s going to take everybody we have, and then some.”
“Patients too?” said Dante Corelli.
Elszabet nodded. “We may have to use some of them.”
“I don’t like that,” Dan Robinson said.
“The most stable ones. Tomás Menendez, say, Father Christie, Philippa, Martin Clare, maybe even Alleluia—”
“Alleluia is stable?” Waldstein asked.
“On her good days she is. And think of how strong she is. She could probably carry a generator in each hand. We might want to give each patient a twenty-milligram nick of pax before we send them out, but I think there’s no question we’re going to have to use some of them on the lines.”
“Furthermore,” Naresh Patel said, “if we do have to have the entire staff on the front line, it would be a good idea to keep the patients out there with us so we can keep watch on them for the duration of the emergency.”
“Good point,” Robinson said. “We can’t just leave them back here to amuse themselves while we’re setting up the energy wall.”
Waldstein said, “Are you sure this is going to happen, Elszabet? This ferocious onslaught of berserk cultists?”
“They aren’t necessarily ferocious or berserk. But there’s an awful lot of them and they’re in the county and coming in this direction, Bill. Would you like to gamble that they’ll politely go around us without trampling so much as a blade of grass at the Center? I wouldn’t. I’d rather risk wasting a little effort in protecting ourselves than fold my arms and find out that we’re smack in their path.”
“Agreed,” Dante Corelli said.
“We have no choice, I think,” Dan said.
“I think you’re the only one here who has serious doubts, Bill,” Elszabet said.
“Not serious doubts. I just wonder if it’s all really necessary. But you’re right that there’s a real risk of trouble and we’re better off taking whatever precautions we can. I’d like to know something else, though. While we’re busy fending off this potential invasion, what are we going to do with this Tom of yours?”
“Tom?”
“You know. Your fiery-eyed psychotic friend who’s been filling all our heads with his craziness. Do you think it’s safe to let him run around loose?”
“What are you suggesting, Bill?” Dan Robinson asked.
“I’m suggesting that we can’t function effectively if we’re having hallucinations like this every ninety minutes or so. That’s been my experience the last two or three days, and I think everyone else can report the same thing. Drifting in and out of Nine Suns, Green World, the Double Star planets—we have a powerful and dangerous telepath in our midst. He’s messing up our heads. We’re entirely at his mercy. And now if there’s a real crisis marching up the road toward us—”
Robinson said, “Tom isn’t psychotic. Those aren’t hallucinations.”
“I know. What they are is newsreel shots of actual other planets, right? Come off it, Dan.”
“How can you doubt that now?”
Waldstein stared at him. “Are you serious?”
“Bill, you saw the stuff Leo Kresh sent us, the relay photos from the Starprobe satellite. We have unquestionable proof now that Green World, at least, exists. Surely you won’t try to dispute the fact, after seeing that material, that what we’ve been calling the Green World dream is a detailed and exact view of one of the planets of the star Proxima Centauri. And that Tom, far from being psychotic, actually has some kind of telepathic means of picking up images from distant solar systems and relaying them to other minds over a wide geographical range.”
“That’s bullshit,” Waldstein said.
Elszabet said, “Bill, how can you—”
Waldstein swung around fiercely toward her, hunching forward, face flushed. “How do we know those pictures came from Proxima Centauri? How do we know that Tom doesn’t have some way of hocus-pocusing the receivers at Cal Tech that picked those relays up, the same way he hocus-pocuses our minds? I’ll grant you that he’s a telepath with astounding abilities. But not that he’s scanning planets dozens of light-years away. The whole thing’s his own cockeyed fantasy, top to bottom, and he’s spewing it out into millions of other people. I feel invaded by this crap myself. I feel soiled. I think he’s a menace, Elszabet.”
Quietly she said, “I don’t. I believe his visions are genuine ones and that the Starprobe relay confirms it. He’s in tune with the whole cosmos. He’s opening the universe to us in the most amazing way—”
“Elszabet!”
“No, don’t look at me that way, Bill. I’m not crazy. I’ve spent hours talking with him. Have you? He’s a gentle holy man with the most fantastic power any human being has ever had. And if what he’s told me is true, his powers are ripening to the point where it will actually be possible for human beings to travel instantaneously to the worlds we’ve been seeing in our—visions. He says that we’re going—”
“For God’s sake, Elszabet!”
“Let me finish. He says a time is coming soon—the Time of the Crossing, he calls it—when our minds will begin jumping across space to those worlds. We’ll all abandon Earth. Earth is done for; Earth has had it. The universe is calling us. Does that sound crazy, Bill? Sure it does. But what if it’s true? We already have the evidence of the Starprobe photos. I don’t think Tom’s a madman, Bill. He’s a disturbed individual in some ways, yes, he’s been whipped around by the enormous thing within him, he’s pretty far off center, sure, but he’s not crazy. He might just be able to open the whole universe to us. I believe that, Bill.”
Waldstein looked stunned, shaking his head. “Jesus Christ, Elszabet. Jesus Christ!”
“So the answer to your question is no, I don’t think we need to restrain Tom in any way while the tumbondé people are passing through. And afterward I think it would be a good idea for us to drop everything else and devote our skills to finding out what Tom is really all about. Okay? And unless there are serious objections, I’d like to get back to the topic of how we can prepare ourselves for the possibility that hundreds of thousands of trespassers may soon—”
“May I say just one more thing, Elszabet?”
Elszabet sighed. “Go ahead, Bill.”
“Starprobe or no Starprobe, I’m still not convinced that this man is in any genuine contact with real-world extraterrestrial planets. But if he is, and if this Crossing you speak of is in any way possible, then I don’t think we should just lock him up. I think we should kill him right away—”
“Bill!”
“I mean it. Don’t you see the danger? Suppose he can really do it. Send the minds of everybody who’s ever had a space dream off to other planets. Leaving what behind, empty husks? Wipe out the whole human race, depopulate the Earth? Doesn’t that idea bother you in the slightest?” Waldstein shook his head. He pressed his hands against his face. “Jesus, I can’t believe I’m sitting here seriously discussing this lunacy. One last try: Either Tom is crazy and dangerous to everybody’s mental health because of his ability to transmit hallucinations, or he’s sane and dangerous to everybody’s life because he’s getting ready to empty the world of people. Okay? Okay? Whichever way it is, he’s a menace.”
Naresh Patel said calmly, “I have a proposal. Let’s devote our energies now to the task of defending the Center against the trespassers. I gather that they are
moving steadily toward some destination far to the north of us and will be a potential threat to us only for the next day or two. After that, let’s examine Tom closely and attempt to determine the nature and range of his abilities; and if protective action seems desirable to take then, we can consider it at that time.”
“Seconded,” said Dan Robinson.
“Bill?” Elszabet said.
Waldstein clapped his hands together in a gesture of resignation. “Whatever you want. I hope to hell he leaves for Mars in half an hour. And takes the entire bunch of you with him.”
3
FERGUSON didn’t sleep at all that night. He lay awake the whole night long, and the whole night long his head swarmed with wonders. The space dreams came to him by twos and threes. He wasn’t sure they could really be called dreams because he wasn’t asleep: but he saw the other worlds, turning under their suns of many colors. He saw strange intricate creatures moving about, speaking in languages no human ear had ever heard. He saw gleaming wondrous cities of strange design. He saw—
He saw—
He saw—
A couple of times he cried out in the dark, the things that he was seeing were so beautiful.
“You okay?” Tomás Menendez asked from the far side of the room.
“The visions don’t stop,” Ferguson said.
“Do you see Chungirá-He-Will-Come? Do you see Maguali-ga?”
Ferguson shrugged. “I see the whole shebang. It’s the most amazing thing ever happened to me.”
Out of the darkness Nick Double Rainbow muttered, “Son of a bitch, I’m trying to sleep!”
“I’m having visions,” Ferguson said.
“Well, fuck your visions.”
“It is the great time,” said Tomás Menendez. “The opening of the gate will soon occur. Now you must fill your heart with love, Nick, and let the gods spill through into you. As Ed is doing. Do you see how happy Ed is now?”
Nine suns blazed on the screen of Ferguson’s mind. A gigantic weird-looking thing with one brilliant eye on the top of its head turned toward him and held out many arms and called him by his name. Then the image went away, and he saw a different landscape, a white sun in the sky and a yellow one, and even weirder-looking beings that seemed to be riding around in automobiles made out of water were traveling to and fro. And then—and then—
It isn’t ever going to stop, Ferguson thought. On and on and on, one after another. You wanted space dreams, Ed baby? Okay, now you’ve got space dreams.
Joy overflowed in him and tears came to his eyes again.
He had never cried so much in his life, not since he was a baby. He couldn’t stop. He was like a fountain. But that was all right. The tears were washing his soul. It felt good to cry. Tom had touched something inside him, Tom had opened him up somehow, and now the tears were rushing through him like the spring thaw, washing away all kinds of ancient grime and garbage. They should see me now, he thought. Blubbering like this. Everyone who knew me in Los Angeles, they wouldn’t believe it. Poor Ed has flipped his lid. Crying all the time, and loving it. Poor Ed. Poor nutty Ed.
Look, that’s the blue star, the one that’s so hot it melts the ground. The shimmering floating city. The shining ghostlike people. Gorgeous! Gorgeous!
His pillow was soaked with tears.
God, it felt good. Cry all you want, Ferguson told himself. And then cry some more. Clean yourself out, fellow. Whatever thing is happening to you, it’s all right. Just let it happen. The way Tom had said: Just for once, let everything go, let it all open up. Let grace come flooding in.
He couldn’t just lie still. He got up, walked around the room, held onto the door, to the cabinet, to the sink, anything that would steady him. The world swayed around him. He was spinning, spinning—it would be so easy, he thought, just to let go, let himself go floating off into space—
Tomás Menendez stood beside him. “It is a wonderful time, no? The gods are breaking through. Chungirá-He-Will-Come arrives on Earth, or perhaps we will go to Chungirá, I do not know which. But everything will be changed.”
“Shut the fuck up.” From Nick Double Rainbow.
Ferguson smiled. “Now I see the red sun and the blue one, and a bridge of light streaming between them. Christ, that red sun, it takes up half the sky!”
“It is the vision of Chungirá,” said Menendez. “Come, let us go outside. Stand under the stars, let Chungirá enter your soul.”
“A big white wall of stone,” Ferguson murmured. “It’s the thing Lacy saw. Alleluia. Now me. The golden thing with the curving horns.”
Menendez had him by the elbow, guiding him into the hallway out to the steps of the dormitory building. Ferguson didn’t care. He would go wherever Menendez wanted to take him. He saw only the giant red sun, throbbing and pulsing, and the blue one beside it, pounding his mind like a gong. And the wonderful being with the curving horns. Reaching toward him. Calling to him. An arch of blazing light stretching across the heavens.
He followed Menendez out of the building. Light sprinkles of moisture struck his cheeks. The air smelled different: clean, fresh, new. Somewhere during the night the rainy season had begun: soft rain, gentle rain, quietly pattering down. He had almost forgotten what rain was like, all these dry months. But here it was, finally. That was all right, Ferguson thought. I’ll just stand here in the rain, get myself clean outside as well as in. It seemed to be almost morning. Ferguson didn’t feel at all as though he had gone without sleep. His mind was alert, active, wide open. The horned figure was going through the same movement again and again, turning, reaching out, raising its arms, turning sideways. And turning again.
Ferguson stared. He saw the staff office building, the red building, the dark looming massive trees beyond. But all those things were misty and insubstantial, almost transparent. What had real density and substance was the shining white block and the huge figure that stood on top of it. And the red sun, and the blue one. He lifted his face toward them. Rain streamed down his forehead. He had no idea how long he stood there. A minute, an hour, how could he tell?
Then the vision faded. The real world returned, solid, visible. Ferguson looked around, feeling a little dazed.
He was standing on the front porch of the dormitory building with Tomás Menendez beside him. It was raining lightly. The sky was gray but getting brighter. A figure in a yellow rain-slicker came jogging by, heading toward the far side of the Center. Teddy Lansford, it was.
“What is it, time for pick already?” Ferguson called.
Lansford paused a moment, running in place in the rain. “No pick today,” he said.
“You kidding?”
“Not today. Not for anybody. Dr. Lewis says.”
“Why?” Ferguson asked, baffled. “What’s so special, today?” But Lansford was gone already, sprinting off into the rainy morning. Ferguson swung around and saw other figures emerging from the dorm, crowding out onto the porch as if to see if it was really raining. April, Alleluia, Philippa, a couple of the others. “No pick today!” Ferguson said to them. “It’s a pick holiday!”
“Why?” April asked.
“Dr. Lewis says,” Ferguson told her with a shrug.
Which set them all into excited discussion. Ferguson stood to one side, scarcely listening. It didn’t matter to him, one way or the other, about pick this morning. What had happened to him couldn’t be taken away. If they picked the visions from his mind new visions would come. He was fundamentally different now, that much he knew. He was changed forever. Just as well there was no pick today, he figured, because he wanted time to think, to analyze what had happened to him yesterday, how Tom had changed him. Taking him by the hands, opening him to the visions-Ferguson didn’t want to lose his memories of all that. But he realized it would be no big deal if he did. The important thing was not what had happened but who he was now, and who he was was someone else from the person who had been riding around in his head yesterday. He leaned against the porch wall. The wind picked up a li
ttle, blowing rain inward at him. He didn’t move. It felt fine, the rain. This early in the season the rain wasn’t too cold.
Dante Corelli appeared out of the mists. She looked as if she’d been up all night too. She trotted up on the porch and clapped her hands. “All right, everybody. Get yourselves up to the mess hall and have some breakfast, and then assemble in the gymnasium. Pick’s canceled today.”
Alleluia said, “What’s going on, Dante?”
“A little trouble, nothing too major. There’s a big parade, sort of, coming this way, thousands of people who have been marching all the way from San Diego. Some kind of religious thing, that’s what I hear. They’re supposed to be traveling through Mendocino today, but we think that some of them might just go astray and wind up in here and cause some difficulties. So we’re going to put up energy walls around the Center and keep them out. That’s all. Nothing for anybody to get worried about, no cause for alarm, but it’s going to be a sort of unusual day.”
Tomás Menendez, standing next to Ferguson, said as if to himself, “The Senhor is here! It is the Senhor!”
“What was that?” Ferguson asked.
“He has come here because this is the Seventh Place!” Menendez said.
“Who has?” Ferguson asked. But Menendez, his face flushed, his eyes glowing strangely, turned and walked past him, back into the dormitory, without replying. Well, okay, Ferguson thought. Like Dante says, it’s going to be a sort of unusual day.
Dante trotted off toward the headquarters building. “Remember, everyone,” she called, looking back at them. “Breakfast right away, and then over to the gym.”
Ferguson went inside to get dressed. Father Christie came up beside him. “How are you this morning, son?”
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