Eden knew instinctively that despite the lack of gold tiered crowns or jeweled miters that he was in the presence of someone of great authority, someone who could order the plug pulled on his transfer couch, and he resolved to be very, very careful how he answered.
“Mr. Kelsey, what are the serpents?”
“I wondered if you would ask that.”
“I will withdraw the question if you so desire.”
“No, that’s all right. They’re recording proges—among other things.” Kelsey gestured and the serpents darted away from Eden and resumed their watchful fluttering a few feet overhead. “Tell me, Brother Davis, what is divinity?”
“A type of fudge?”
Kelsey grinned. “I’m glad that you had the balls to say that, Davis. You looked pretty washed-out when I came in here—figuratively speaking. Now, what is divinity?”
Eden paused, considering what not to answer. Emmanuel Davis was supposed to be a research librarian, so his answer should have some sophistication. On the other hand, it should not be so sophisticated as to indicate undue knowledge in the area of theology or anthropology.
“I have been considering that question since soon after I became a neophyte, sir. You must understand, I first came to the Church of Elish as a tourist.”
“Most do,” Kelsey said mildly.
“I came back, though, because it seemed to me that there was something in the temple when we were told that a deity was present, that I could feel the presence even before the announcement was made.”
“Interesting.”
“And after a time I became convinced that what I felt was the emanations of the divine aura—an aura that I had felt nowhere else in Virtu or Verite.”
“Were you a church shopper, Davis?”
“A little.” This answer had been carefully worked out in advance. “I was raised Baptist. Dropped out. Tried a few other religions—though I guess not all of them qualified for tax exemption; they were more like philosophical traditions. Eventually, I decided that there weren’t any ultimate answers and mucked along, making do.”
“What brought you to our church?”
“A girl from my office wanted to go, didn’t want to go alone.”
“Is she with us?”
“No. It didn’t really appeal to her. She said it didn’t have enough affirmation of the female.”
“Ishtar will be so hurt.”
“She didn’t like her much, to be honest. Said it was the classic bitch pattern all over again.”
“Well, it did have to come from somewhere, didn’t it?”
“I see your point, sir. And, to be honest, my friend was a bit of a bitch herself. I think she would have liked to identify with Ishtar—assertive feminism or something—but it just didn’t work for her.”
“A pity, but we are straying from your own conversion—and your recent experience. How did you learn you had developed a virt power?”
“I was doing some work and my notepad slipped. I’d just finished the adept training here and I reached out and… well, it stopped.”
“Did you report immediately?”
“No, sir. I didn’t. I practiced for a couple of days. I wanted… I was afraid I’d look like a fool.”
“Did you share this information with anyone who was not a member of the Church?”
“No, sir. I didn’t.”
“Very good. Continue not to do so. We do not wish to be flooded with neophytes who only desire to acquire paranormal abilities.”
“But don’t most people already know about them?”
“We did make the news of our miracles public, but most dismiss them as tabloid fodder. However, if everyone knew someone who has a virt power—someone nice and ordinary like a local librarian who just doesn’t need to get up to get a book off the shelf—we would be inundated by the greedy.”
“I can’t, you realize.”
“Can’t what?”
“Get a book off the shelf. It’s too heavy and my grip isn’t precise enough.”
Kelsey smiled. “Continue your studies, Davis, and you will be able to do that and other things—things even more wonderful. However, I am troubled with the question of your faith. When can you take leave again from your job?”
Eden wanted to say immediately, but he knew that wouldn’t do.
“I just took off a long chunk of time for the last training session, sir. I’ve just about burnt my vacation time.”
“Have you begun a new project?”
“Well, I’m about done with a short one I started when I got back. I’ve been angling for one on early Gothic novels for a professor at Harvard. It involves the Devendra P. Dharma Collection and promises at least one trip to Italy.”
“It sounds quite interesting. However, would you be interested in being hired by us instead?”
“Us?”
“The Church. We could hire you to do some research for us. Some of your work time would be directed to instruction in the faith.”
Eden tried to keep from looking too excited, but he knew his eyes had widened in astonishment.
“Could you really do that? I don’t want to jeopardize my job. It’s taken me a long time—”
“We can do it. I doubt your employers would turn down a lucrative contract that specifically called for your services.”
“I guess you’re right, Mr. Kelsey.”
“Then you will accept?”
“Will the terms be the same as usual for my job?”
“We would be working through your usual employer. You would even have your usual work hours—though we might ask you to donate some time to the Church for your lessons.”
“Consider me hired.”
“Tell me, Mr. Davis. Do you feel the presence of a god here?”
Eden closed his eyes, reached out for that strange tingle he had felt once or twice and had dismissed as part of the aesthetic trims of the Elishites—something like a subaudible hum, perhaps. He would never have worked it into his Davis biography if he hadn’t believed that there was something at work—though he suspected sophisticated programming rather than gods.
“No, Mr. Kelsey. I do not.”
“Honest, too. Very good. Come kneel beside me. We will sing the praises of the divinities who—even if they are not physically present— do have a tendency to listen to those of our Church.”
Taking his place on the kneeler next to Kelsey, Arthur Eden mouthed the appropriate responses. It looked like if he played his cards right and was very careful, he would have the research opportunity of a lifetime. Perhaps he would even meet the founders of this religion, uncover its deepest secrets.
He smiled and raised his voice in song.
SIX
In the evening, as he sat in his lab wondering whether the banshee would howl or a ghost put in its appearance, Donnerjack thought back over the old days, when he and Jordan and Bansa had worked out what was to become the theoretical basis of Virtu. It was raining, as usual, and his mind skipped back over nights of good fellowship and amazing leaps of logic. Of pizza and beer. Was he still capable of the sort of work the three of them had done back then?
Near midnight, he received a message from the CID. It was a holo, from Reese.
The man stood before him, looking as he had just a few hours earlier.
“If you receive this,” he began, “I’ve made it through one more. Don’t know what sort of shape I’ll be in for some time, though. You’ll hear from me eventually. Glad you didn’t get the other message.”
Donnerjack touched a code. “Paracelsus,” he said, “spare me a minute.”