Spirits of Flux and Anchor

by Jack L. Chalker

  The church equated disorder with evil. The Seven Who Wait really personified that disorder, and, thus, were depicted as the ultimate evil. Did the Seven, in fact, exist, or were they a convenient invention of the church to scare people with, she wondered? Perhaps it was a grisly sort of joke on all of them, even the church. Perhaps this was not some testing ground but Hell itself, and they were in fact the fallen angels, suffering pain and anguish and being reborn again and again, forever, into eternal punishment, with Heaven so tantalizingly in sight and always totally out of reach, everyone living rigid and mostly unhappy lives because they were working towards ultimate salvation—an ultimate salvation that would be forever denied them. Now that made sense—and would be the ultimate joke. Perhaps this is the secret the stringers knew, that it was all for nothing and that nothing really counted.

  She shivered, only partly from the damp chill of the cell. Well, if that were the way of World, then something, however minor, could and must be done about it. If the angels rebelled against the Holy Mother and created disorder, and if those angels now ran World, then it was time they got a little disorder of their own. It was not in stability that hope lay, but in rebellion. Somehow, some time, she swore to herself, I will help be the instrument of that.

  Strong words from someone who knew that she was to be cast into the Flux, a prisoner and slave, in a matter of days, and who was now pacing a tiny cell, stark naked and alone.

  How long she was there, alone with uncounted tiny vermin and her own sour thoughts, it was impossible to say, but occasionally the heavy bar that kept her door securely closed would move back and a warden, backed up by another, would enter, leave a bowl of foul-smelling gruel, a cup of water, and check the chamberpot. She’d also slept, off and on and fitfully, although she was never quite sure for how long. The small oil lamp continued to burn, and she was afraid to turn it off for fear it would remain that way.

  Still, three “meals” into her imprisonment, the door opened again, but it was not for food. She just stood there, amazed, as two wardens tossed another naked figure into the cell. “Let your roommate there tell you the rules,” one warden sneered, and the door was slammed shut and barred once more.

  Cassie stared at the figure now picking herself up off the floor. “Lani? Oh, Holy Mother of World! Not you, too!”

  The other got up, frowned, and stared at her. Finally something seemed to penetrate the shock. “Cass?”

  Quickly Cassie helped her friend over to one of the beds. “Sit here, or lie back,” she soothed. “There’s mites and everything else in here but they’ll get you no matter where you are so you might as well be as comfortable as you can.”

  It took some time for the small, attractive girl to get a grip on herself, but Cassie was patient, knowing that time was the one thing they had plenty of. Eventually Lani was able to talk about it, sort of, in small bits and pieces, and the story came out.

  The truth was, there wasn’t much to tell. After leaving Cassie at the fairgrounds, she and Dar had headed for the youth hostel. On their way they’d come close to the bright lights and raucous sounds of Main Street, and both had, more or less on impulse, gone over there. It was just curiosity, really—the area was always denied them in the past, and now that they were The Age it was open to them both. Open, yes, but dangerous. They had finally gone into a bar, just to see what one was like, and had been befriended by this nice young fellow working there. He’d been very easy to talk to, and extremely nice and friendly without being anything more than that, and eventually he offered to buy them one drink each just to celebrate their coming of age. It seemed so nice, so reasonable….

  Nor, in fact, was there much more to the story. She had more or less awakened in a room much like a hotel room, but she felt too dizzy and sleepy to see much or tell much about it. She was conscious only of being bound, somehow, and of several people coming in and out at various times, some giving her sweet-tasting things to drink that put her out once more, others just standing there and having some sort of conversation or other that she couldn’t follow, although she seemed to think it was about her. Finally somebody came in with a novice’s white robes and bundled her, still drugged, out a back door and down a series of back streets to some sort of tunnel, and through there to here. She was just coming down from the drugs, and just realizing her status.

  “I’ve been abducted!” she suddenly said, sitting up straight. “Oh, Holy Mother protect me from my sins! Abducted!” She started to shake a little, and began sobbing quietly. Cassie felt sorry for her and let her cry it out, giving what comfort she could. Finally Lani seemed to realize Cassie’s own situation. “You—you’ve been abducted, too!”

  Cassie sighed. “Not quite, but I might as well have been.” Quickly she outlined her own story, and why she was now there. “So, you see, I’m above board from their point of view. I’ll be picked in the Paring Rite. You won’t. You’ll just—disappear.”

  Lani shook her head in shock and wonder. “What’s to become of us after that, Cass? What can we do?” Another thought suddenly struck her. “Poor Dar! He must be worried sick!”

  “Yeah, just like us,” Cass told her. “He made such a fuss they copped him, too. He’s probably somewhere in a hole like this one until Paring Rite, then they’ll let him out just long enough to get picked. It’s less messy that way.”

  Lani still could not quite accept it. “The church in league with stringers and kidnappers…. I’m sorry, Cass, it’s just so—hard to accept, even now. And—why me?”

  Cassie sighed. “You were handy. You were, sorry to say it, foolish enough to walk into a joint with your bracelet showing, and the bar owner owed a favor to some bar owner in an Anchor far away. I saw them operate, Lani. They put in orders for people—size, shape, physical stats, you name it— like they were ordering a horse or new plow.”

  “But what would anyone want with me? I mean, was it just because we were the first ones dumb enough or naive enough to walk in there, or what?”

  Cass shook her head. She’d been pretty naive herself, and maybe she still was, but she didn’t recall ever being that naive. “Uh, Lani, a bar doesn’t exactly want you for your brains.”

  For a moment the other girl looked puzzled; then, slowly, the light dawned, and she seemed to wilt a bit. “Oh,” she managed, sounding shocked. “Oh, oh, oh….” She sighed. “What can we do?” she wailed.

  Cassie shrugged. “What can we do? Oh, sure, if you could escape you might kick up a fuss, but nobody would believe the church was involved, so nobody would find me or Dar, and all it means is that they’d get some other girl in your place and your number would be picked like mine and Dar’s will be. They don’t like problems, Lani.”

  “I’d make a stink they couldn’t sweep away,” Lani retorted bitterly.

  “If you managed anything, they’d just kill you. That’s the kind of people they are, Lani. I’ve watched them in action. Look on the bright side. At least you’re going to an Anchor, and you know why and for what. If you’re very lucky, and if they don’t mess With your mind or something—you’re smart. You’ll figure something out. You always have a chance at getting them back. Me—I don’t know. I’m being sent into the Flux, whatever that means. If I get back I’ll be the first I ever heard of to do it.”

  Lani just shook her head sadly and was silent for a moment. Finally she said, “You just don’t know, Cass. My field is—was—biology. I read up on it a lot. Some of the drugs they have … I can even tell you right now the formula for the drug they probably used on me. And the ones they will use on me when I get—where I’m going. Somehow, when you read about them in cold, scientific language you never think of them being used on people, particularly anybody you know. Particularly not me. …” She seemed to lapse into a sort of impersonal world of horror.

  “First they’ll give me a series of doses of aphalamatin. It’s used on the criminally insane, mostly. It burns out certain localized areas of the cerebral cortex, leaving you very nice and hap
py all the time and very, very compliant—you’ll do just about anything to please, like a little kid, and you’re dumb enough you can’t even add without using your fingers. Then, after a tubal of course, they’ll give me massive hormonal injections to get me super-endowed and horny all the time, and …”

  “For Heaven’s sake, stop it" Cassie screamed, reaching down and shaking her. “You’ve got to fight them! Fight as long as you can, with whatever you have! Sure, maybe it’s impossible, but, damn it, you fight anyway! Maybe, just maybe, we can do something, anything to get these bastards!”

  Lani just sat there and didn’t seem to hear. Cassie finally gave up in disgust and tried pacing around a bit. Maybe it was possible to be too smart, she thought. Anybody who ever figured the odds on anything radical and believed them probably would never try it. As for her, she couldn’t name a dozen drugs and wasn’t sure what half of them did, except stop a bleeding cut or cure a headache, but she wasn’t about to give up, or count the odds. Her bitterness and hatred was far too strong and too deep for this, and while Lani’s surrender to the inevitable frustrated and disgusted her, it only reinforced her own anger.

  The fact was, she couldn’t really blame the girl. Like herself, Lani had been brought up very secure in the system and was a solid true believer. Unlike her, Lani had not witnessed the total betrayal of that system firsthand. Lani was here because she was pretty; Cassie was here because she knew too much. It was a major difference. Secure in her knowledge that the system was rigged, a total sham, she had no qualms whatsoever about betraying it. Lani, on the other hand, faced her unpleasant future still shackled with the beliefs of her upbringing, beliefs shaken only by Cassie’s admittedly biased account and by no real supporting evidence. Lani had only Cassie’s word they were in the Temple.

  Lani, then, had surrendered to the total fatalism that the church and scripture brought, and as the hours wore on she seemed to wrap herself more and more in the comfort of those beliefs.

  “It is the will of the Holy Mother,” Lani pronounced at last, and relaxed a bit. “It was my own past sins that led me to go to Main Street, and this is my payment. Well, I will do it. I will be the best damned stripper, dancer, whore, or whatever they will me to be. The Holy Mother’s will be done!”

  Cassie could do nothing but sigh and get more disgusted. This, of course, was the trouble, and why things worked so well for the people who ran it. They probably wouldn’t have to use a single drug on Lani, or much of anything else.

  That, in fact, discouraged Cass the most. A rebellion was impossible if only one rebel existed. Lani in fact showed just how formidable a task rebellion was, and why it was unheard of in Anchor Logh. What could a liberator do when the slaves of the system would fight like hell against the rebels for their right to remain slaves?

  Still, perhaps unwittingly, the Sister General had offered some slight hope. There had been rebellion elsewhere, in other Anchors. The old bitch as much as admitted it. And, by their conversation, it was certain that there was more than nothingness in the Flux. There were, in fact, real places with real rulers and real names, although just what sort of place would be ruled by somebody who thought herself a goddess was hard to imagine.

  Well, let the sheep be led to the slaughter if they wanted. She, Cassie, would have none of it. She would probably die or suffer terribly; even she was logical enough to realize this. But she’d die or suffer fighting, and if there was any chance, any chance at all, for something more she would have what revenge she could.

  They came for her after what seemed like an eternity. At first she had welcomed Lani’s company, but by now the poor girl was far gone into her own fantasy rationalization, practicing being sexy and alluring and seemingly looking forward to her fate with a near messianic fanaticism that Cass found bizarre in the extreme. Separation was now a relief.

  Of course, Cassie and Dar had to be produced for the Paring Rite, for the same reason Lani had to stay hidden. They took Cass out of the cell and upstairs to a comfortable dressing area, where she found all her clothes neatly cleaned and pressed. She put them on and gave the wardens no trouble. If nothing else had, Lani had convinced her that whatever future she had was not in Anchor Logh, but out there, somewhere, in the terrible Flux. The system was simply too good for easy solutions. Revenge, and revolution, must come from without, for it would certainly never come from within. That she knew now with a certainty equalling the certainty that her name would be picked today in the Paring Rite. In a way, she was like Lani—she’d stopped bemoaning her fate and actually welcomed getting it over with.

  Anything rather than go back to that damned, cursed cell with its other occupant.

  They kept her in the ante-room while things started up outside. She could see their plan, and it was really pretty clever. No matter who was outside, or what family had attended, she was to be released just before the “lottery,” out a side entrance. She’d be out there, free, but pinned in one location by the crowd and with no time at all to do much of anything before being called. It would look very convincing—and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it, damn them.

  Outside, the great square was filled with people, overflowing down the side streets as far as the eye could see. Speakers had been set up all over town so that the sacred rite and its result would be known to all, and at exactly mid-day it all began with the grand processional.

  It was still an impressive sight, even to one who knew that it was all just a different version of carnival showmanship. At the mid-hour the great gong sounded from the high steeple, not its usual six times but, for the only time in the year, thirteen times. As the gong started, the great bronze doors opened as if on their own, and the processional began from within.

  First came the novices, all in bright white cloaks with hoods up, then the associates and professional orders, headed by their superiors—the Midwife General, the Judiciary General, the Educator General, and all the others, followed by their members. They fanned out, providing a riot of colors in their formal robes and vestments, on both sides of the platform. Now came the ranking priestesses of each parish, large or small, from the entire Anchor, followed by their associates and assistants, and, finally, the ranking members of the priestly guilds of the Temple itself. Below, in the square, directly in front of the platform, were roped-off rows of chairs, and now the processional filed down the steps on both sides of the platform and filed into those seats, novices in the back, Temple personnel in front, everybody else in between.

  Finally the Sister General herself appeared, dressed in a robe of sparkling gold inlaid with gems that contained all the colors of all the orders below, carrying her gold septre of office and wearing a crown made up entirely of colorful flowers. She looked in every respect the absolute monarch she actually was, subject only to the orders of Her Perfect Highness, the Queen of Heaven, who was safely in her palace in Holy Anchor half a world away.

  She walked to a small, flower-covered lectern that had been set up for her in the front and center position on the platform, and stood there while aides lit incense in small stands flanking the high priestess. The day was cloudy and damp, but nobody seemed to mind.

  She raised her right arm and the entire crowd went down on one knee, or as far down as the packing would permit.

  “Peace be unto you, and the blessings of the Holy Mother be with you always,” she intoned, the small hidden mike carrying her blessing clearly throughout the city.

  “And to you and the Holy Mother Church,” came the mass response. Even Cassie found herself mouthing the required responses, although she viewed the whole procedure cynically. Even so, she couldn’t help but wonder what the effect on this crowd would be if they’d seen the same majestic-looking Sister General the way she had.

  There followed the long and complex sacramental service, through which the local priestesses of the various churches represented their parishioners, interspersing prayers and responses. As it was winding down, though, the chief of administrati
on for the Temple and two wardens brought down the large wire mesh drum and placed it behind the Sister General, anchoring it firmly in pre-drilled slots in the platform base. At that time a warden inside came up to Cassie and said, “All right, you— down and out that door there.” And, with that, she found herself pushed out the side and onto the street right in the midst of the throng. She looked around on the off-chance that somebody familiar would be there, someone who, at least, could carry news of what was going on for Dar and Lani as well, but she saw no one.

  The Paring Rite itself began.

  “Sisters and brothers, we are gathered here today for a most sacred and holy duty,” the Sister General began. “The Holy Mother and Her Angels have directed the welfare of this Anchor for the past year and have determined it is in all ways in accord with the holy scriptures and divine will. People were born, people died, in accordance with the divine cycle of death and rebirth, so that we who once failed our great test could, by Her infinite mercies, regain the richness of Heaven.

  “Those souls which are darker than others, and which must learn much more to reach this holy perfection, are revealed to us in the Paring. This is surely the most clear illustration of divine will and direct intervention in our affairs, for it is the Holy Mother who determines the size of the harvest, the death and birth rate, and so, by comparing the two, creates the miracle by which souls who need purification in the Flux that surrounds us are revealed to us. This year the number is fifty males and fifty-six females, out of a blessedly large generation, showing us indeed that Anchor Logh is among the most blessed of the communities of World.

  “Now,” she continued, “through Her divine intervention, the names of those souls will be made known to us. Do not judge anyone of a family of the chosen to be in any way blamed for that selection. To blame another is to substitute the will Of humankind for the wisdom of the Holy Mother, and She will not hold blameless those who cast aspersions on any family member. Likewise, do not grieve for those who are chosen, for they are not lost, but rather found, and through their Paring and subsequent purification they, too, gain in the eternal quest for perfection. Do not judge them—let the Holy Mother alone do that, or you, yourself, may be judged wanting by Her in your next life, and may have been so judged in the past.”