Aftermath

by Charles Sheffield

  "Does the Eye of God prescribe particular teaching methods of the schools?" she asked.

  She was fishing for information, and innocently enough. But it brought a frown to his face. "I will forgive your remark," he said slowly, "since it is based on ignorance. But you are guilty of blasphemy."

  While she halted and stared at him in surprise, he went on, "The title the 'Eye of God' may be applied only when referring to prophecies. In all other matters, she is to be known as the leader or our leader. A few old friends are permitted to call her Pearl or Pearl Lazenby."

  The smile came back to his mouth, but Celine was watching his eyes. They were cold and clear, without a trace of humor or compromise.

  She thought, My God, he's crazy. And he looks and sounds so normal.

  She said, "I'm sorry. I did not know the custom."

  "Very well." He began to walk. "As I said, it is forgiven. Since it was your first offense, I will not report it."

  Observe, don't speak. Celine followed him along the corridor. It continued for another fifty yards, then made a sudden turn and ended at three elevators. David led them through the open door of the one on the right. Next to the control buttons sat a dozen small icons. Her companion pressed the top button, next to the symbol of a book. As the door closed and the elevator began to ascend, Celine identified some of the other icons: a scythe, a gun, a cross, a skull, a ladder, and a hammer.

  But what were the others? A lamp? A waterfall? A spoon? A bed?

  As the seconds passed, Celine was able to confirm her impression of the previous evening. The headquarters of the Legion of Argos was buried deep underground. They were going up and up and up. She could hear the groan of the cable and the rattle of other elevators passing them. She was convinced after a while that she could feel the air pressure changing.

  Finally, as the urge to ask where they were going became irresistible, the elevator slowed to a halt. The door creaked open. David urged her forward.

  They were in a dim-lit room about fifteen feet square and seven feet high. The far wall was one great window. Two men were standing by the glass, looking through into another room at least three times the size.

  David walked Celine forward as the two men turned. He whispered to her, "Observers," and to them, "This is Celine Tanaka, here to see the school."

  The men wore the usual gray uniforms, but their insignia were different. The scarlet talon was present, but next to it was a lurid human eye. The men nodded to Celine. "Very good to meet you in person," the shorter one said. He spoke in the same hushed voice. "We saw you with the leader. As a matter of fact, you are on delayed relay right now. Come and watch, but speak softly."

  He turned back to the window without offering an explanation of his words. Celine, moving to his side, found she was looking at a brightly lit room full of small children. From her position they were all in profile, while on her left and facing the youngsters stood a woman about forty-five years old. The desks were solid wood, handmade, and like everything else in the room a generation or more out-of-date. The learning equipment was noninteractive, obsolete long before Celine had begun her own formal education.

  Behind the woman, and finally making sense of what the man had said, hung a big projection screen. Celine had a moment of shock when she saw her own picture displayed there. It was replaced a few seconds later by Wilmer's image. Pearl Lazenby's voice accompanied the pictures, saying: ". . . directly here, to the sanctuary of the Legion of Argos. Nothing would give me more pleasure than to see them unite with our cause. I ask you to express your gratitude and pay tribute to the surviving members of the Mars expedition."

  As the scene expanded to include everyone on the platform, with Pearl Lazenby in the center chair, the sound of applause from the projector's sound system swelled. Celine saw the children in the room hesitate, then start to clap their hands at a signal from the teacher. She wondered. Why hadn't anyone turned to stare at her and the men with her? Then she realized that this dim-lit room made the window into a one-way mirror. The children could not see anything on her side of the glass.

  That was equally true for the teacher. Did she know when someone was watching? She was saying, with what Celine heard as a note of slight nervousness, "Now, children. You have heard our leader tell us that these people came as messengers from Heaven. You remember the prophecy of the Eye of God. What does it say? 'When the word comes from Heaven . . .' "

  After a moment of hesitation, the chorus of young voices picked up the prompt. " 'When the word comes from Heaven, the Hour of Judgment will be here. We will go forth as one, and we will save the world from sin . . .' "

  They continued chanting their lesson, but Celine was no longer listening. She had noticed that the wall at the back of the room, behind the children, contained a window. It stood at an acute angle relative to her position, so she could see only a thin oblong of what lay beyond; but that oblong showed the dazzling white of undisturbed snow, with a twig of evergreen shrub angling across the top corner.

  The school was not in the deep subterranean caverns of the Legion of Argos's headquarters. It was all the way up on the surface, where children in the break from lessons could go outside and play in the sun.

  If these children played at all. There was no sense of joy in the schoolroom. Uniformed seven-year-olds had the grave faces of old men. The teacher was nervous. Her expression had the uncertain misery of Celine's mother when her father came home late. Would it be flowers and a kiss, or rage and a black eye?

  "You stay out of this, young lady, or you'll get a damn sight more than you bargain for." Celine had flown a hundred million miles to escape that memory, and it was still here. She shivered and turned to the people standing next to her. Their faces were stern and unsympathetic. Observers. Two of them, for a single teacher. On the watch for any sign of deviation in what was being learned—and taught.

  "Is she on some kind of probation?" she whispered to the man on her right.

  He frowned, as though she had said something ridiculous, and shook his head.

  Celine backed away from the window. It was not just David, it was all of them. The leaders of the Legion of Argos were out-of-this-world mad. Rigid in outlook, intolerant of minor differences. In other centuries they would have led the Inquisition, tortured the heretics, burned the witches.

  And Pearl Lazenby, pleasant, sympathetic Pearl, was worst of all. She set the rules for everyone.

  David was walking toward her. "Did you see what you want to see here? If you would like to speak with the children, they would consider it an honor. We would have to approach through a different route, of course, because the observation rooms do not have direct access to the school."

  Celine breathed deep and distanced herself from her own emotions. "It would be interesting. But if we have only one hour I would rather see something else."

  "What?"

  What? "Can we look at—the kitchens?"

  He stared at her. "You want to see the kitchens?"

  "If that would be all right. If it's permitted."

  Celine knew what she really wanted to see: whatever lay beyond that other window. But he must not suspect.

  . . . our time is close, our tide approaching the flood. Within one week, I promise action.

  To counter extreme evil, extreme actions may be necessary.

  * * *

  Pearl Lazenby was busy and could not be disturbed when they arrived back at the deep levels. Celine pleaded fatigue and was allowed to eat and return to their sleeping quarters. The young man assigned by David to take her there treated Celine with great respect, but his continued armed presence outside made her status clear.

  She remained there alone for over an hour, until Jenny arrived. They sat side by side on two cots and spoke in whispers.

  "Reza and Wilmer?"

  Jenny shook her head. "Weren't with me. I never even saw them. I wish Reza were here, I'm worried about him. He's changed a lot since Zoe and the others died. Last night it was all Pearl L
azenby this and Pearl Lazenby that. Where did you go?"

  Celine summarized her trip to the school and the kitchens, and her reaction.

  Jenny nodded. "Same with me. Organized, and clean, and scary. This isn't their only facility—they're scattered across at least three states."

  "The big question is still, how many? It's clear they intend to cause trouble."

  Jenny put her head close to Celine's. "I think I know. I was shown a group training for military action. They only looked about twelve years old. I asked if everybody had training like this, and my guide said yes. I asked how many people reported to the next level up, and he said it was always ten people. I didn't dare to get too nosy, but as we were leaving I asked the number of levels between this group and the leader. He told me, six. That means they have more than a hundred thousand people, trained and under arms."

  "We have to collect information—" Celine broke off as the outside door swung open.

  Wilmer and Reza marched in. Without a word from either of them, Celine could see that they were in very different moods. Wilmer was cheerful and good-humored, what she called his after-lunch look. Reza's eyes were dark and distant.

  "About time," Jenny said. "I waited in that lunch place for nearly an hour. Where were you?"

  "Meeting with Pearl Lazenby." Wilmer sat on the cot next to Celine. It sagged under his weight. "For more than two hours. She wanted to know how I made my 'prophecies' about what will happen to the Earth fifty years from now."

  "I hope you didn't tell her," Celine said.

  "Of course I did. I explained about electron degeneracy and heavy ion emission and gas cloud optical depth. I don't think she understood one word, but she seemed impressed by what I told her. She wants me to stay here. I would be her special adviser."

  Wilmer's words confirmed all Celine's suspicions. She wanted to say, That does it, we're getting out of here now, before she makes us all her converts. But her built-in worry button had been pushed. Caution came with it. She could not forget how Zoe had rushed to action, and its terrible effects.

  She forced herself to think. They were still weak after their long journey through space; snow on the surface would make travel hard, even if they could reach it. Celine had an idea that she was reluctant to discuss generally, because of Reza. All signs of the old mercurial Reza Armani had vanished. Now he spoke hardly a word. He seemed to be off in a different world.

  So she said only, "We are very lucky to have found a place where we can eat and rest and get our strength back. We should make the most of it. And we need to compare notes."

  Jenny picked up Celine's unspoken message. She stood up. "They'll be coming for us again in a couple of hours. We might as well take a rest." She took Reza's hand. "Come on. I want to hear what you've been up to."

  He said nothing, but he did not resist as she led him through to the other bedroom. It was Wilmer, easygoing and unperceptive Wilmer, who after the two were gone frowned at Celine and said, "Is Reza all right?"

  "Why shouldn't he be?"

  "I don't know. Seems to be behaving a bit funny, that's all." He scratched his head. "Well, it's been a hard few days. He'll be all right once we're out of here. So what were the two of you up to this morning?"

  * * *

  Thank God for Jenny. Calm, logical, and understanding, she provided Celine's sanity check for the next forty-eight hours. They tried to stay together during the sightseeing sessions, as servants of the Legion of Argos took them through miles of underground tunnels to visit the dormitories, workshops, and depressingly well-stocked arsenals. Electric power came from two nuclear plants, meticulously maintained. Celine checked the radiation level outside a reactor pressure vessel and found it hardly above background. Better than USMA industrial standards.

  The Legion of Argos members were doing more than show, they were showing off. The mood was jubilation and anticipation. The followers of Pearl Lazenby were going to carry out, in just a few days, their great project—the "holy cleansing," promised for so many years. Celine and Jenny hid their own feelings, and did their best to express approval and admiration.

  Back in their quarters they compared notes on what they had seen and talked again about getting away. At Celine's insistence they did so with a mixture of cryptic words and gestures, meaningless to anyone who might be listening. There were no signs of surveillance equipment, but with so paranoid a group the possibility could not be ignored.

  Celine was pleased with everyone's improving physical condition, but not with much else. She had been able to think of only one method of escape. They needed a fallback plan. The other big question was timing. They would get only one shot, and they had better not botch it.

  Jenny had another worry. Celine learned about it on the late morning of their third day underground. As the two of them were eating in the half-filled cafeteria, she said to Jenny, "Tonight."

  It was a statement, not a question. Jenny took it for granted that Celine was now their leader and made the major decisions. This time, however, Jenny glanced carefully around them and replied, "I don't know."

  "You don't feel we're ready?"

  "I'm more than ready. It's Reza. You haven't seen much of him except at mealtimes and in the evenings. But I sleep with the man and we've talked a lot. Especially about Pearl Lazenby."

  "Do you think she sees him as a possible convert?"

  "I know she does—not just him, all of us. Doesn't Wilmer talk about Pearl Lazenby, too?"

  "Of course he does. But you know Wilmer. When it comes to thinking bad of people, he's an innocent. He believes that Pearl Lazenby is wrong and a bit off the wall, but he doesn't see real danger in her. Reza has an unstable side, you know that better than I do. If they're trying to recruit him, and you think he might be vulnerable—"

  "It's worse than that." Jenny paused, and took another careful look around her. Then she said, louder than was wise, "He's trying to recruit me!"

  It ought to have been a surprise, but it wasn't. The nagging doubt had been with Celine since the first evening, when Reza stood in the doorway with that enraptured look in his eyes and assured them that Pearl Lazenby was an amazing woman.

  "You've talked to him?" Celine said. "You pointed out the terrifying side of all this?" She waved her arm, indicating the dead-serious diners and the spotless room.

  "I've tried. I can't get through to him. All he'll talk about is the Legion of Argos and Pearl Lazenby. When we first arrived here I didn't see how anyone could fall for the Eye-of-God guff. Now I get nothing else. I hoped at first that it was just one of his phases, so he'd come out of it and see through her. But he hasn't. He's getting worse. And to trust him with any escape plans at all . . ."

  "We can't. Absolutely not." Celine stared down at her half-filled plate. She couldn't eat any more. She knew how Jenny must have agonized, keeping the problem to herself and hoping that Reza would come out of his strangeness. Finally, with a time set for attempted escape, she had been forced to speak. And she was ashamed.

  Celine's own problem was different: How could she organize an escape for four people, when one of them might refuse to go—worse than that, might betray their plans for what he saw as their own good?

  "Tonight," Jenny said suddenly. "You're right, it has to be as soon as possible. They are getting ready for action, they might decide to move us or split us up anytime. We dare not wait much longer."

  It was going to be hard for Celine to explain that Reza simply could not be trusted. But Jenny was continuing, "Between eleven o'clock and midnight. You and Wilmer will have to take care of the guard, if there is one. You've got to do everything quietly. I'll keep Reza occupied."

  She held up her hand as Celine began to speak. "You are usually the boss, but this is different. It's too important to run an added risk. Nothing bad will happen to me and Reza—they'll be glad we're loyal converts. I'll tell them that we had no idea what you and Wilmer were planning, you didn't take us into your confidence."

  Celine opened her
mouth, then closed it.

  "Eleven o'clock," Jenny went on calmly. "Not before. And no more discussions about what you're going to do. That way, I won't be able to tell them—no matter what."

  No matter what. Forcing information out of Jenny by torture? Surely even Pearl Lazenby would not try that. But her fanatical followers . . . Humanity must be cleansed of sin, even if it means scraping to the bone.

  "Jenny—"

  "Are you going to have dessert?" Jenny turned toward the serving line, as though she wanted to see what might be available. "I don't usually; but today I think I will."

  When there is nothing to be said, the best thing to say is nothing. Celine reached across the table and took Jenny's hands in hers. "Eleven o'clock. Not before."

  * * *

  The next problem was Wilmer. One reason Celine was so fond of him was his openness, which led to his inability to either hold grudges or keep secrets. Normally she liked that, but today she didn't dare to tell him anything. The four of them ate a late dinner in an atmosphere that Celine found totally artificial. She and Jenny prattled trivia, spouting any nonsense that came into their heads. Wilmer pretended to be listening and occasionally he nodded politely; Celine knew that he was busy inside his head.

  And Reza took no notice of anyone. He was smiling and looking off into the distance. Something wonderful was happening there, and he was watching it.

  They were back in their living quarters by nine-thirty. Pearl Lazenby, in spite of her welcoming words, had not taken away the guard. It was the same youngster as on the first night. He had learned from experience and had brought a sleeping bag.

  Celine went inside and came back with a pillow. "Here. This ought to make you a bit more comfortable. Good night. We'll see you in the morning."

  He smiled his thanks. She didn't like that. What she was doing was deceitful, to someone who was hardly more than a child. She tried to justify her action to herself with the thought that if the guard were sound asleep at midnight, she would not need to knock him unconscious. The other half of her brain, giving her an argument as usual, pointed out that the guard's punishment by his superiors would be much less if he were knocked unconscious.