lot of ambition. He's too lazy to be a farmer, too stupid to be an engineer, too unreliable to be a banker-but, brother, can he pray! After a while he has gathered around him other knotheads who don't have his vivid imagination and self-assurance but like the idea of having a direct line of Omnipotence. Then this character is no longer Nehemiah Scudder but the First Prophet'
I was going along with him, feeling shocked but rather pleasantly so, until he named the First Prophet. Perhaps my own spiritual state at that time could have been described as that of a 'primitive' follower of the First Prophet-that is to say, I had decided that the Prophet Incarnate was the devil himself and that all of his works were bad, but that belief did not affect the basics of the faith I had learned from my mother. The thing to do was to purge and reform the Church, not to destroy it. I mention this because my own case paralleled a very serious military problem that was to develop later.
I found that Zeb was studying my face. 'Did I get you on the raw again, Old fellow? I didn't mean to.'
'Not at all,' I answered stiffly, and went on to explain that, in my opinion, the sinfulness of the present gang of devils that had taken over the Church in no way invalidated the true faith. 'After all, no matter what you think nor how much you may like to show off your cynicism, the doctrines are a matter of logical necessity. The Prophet Incarnate and his cohorts can pervert them, but they can't destroy them-and it doesn't matter whether the real Prophet had dirty underwear or not.'
Zeb sighed as if he were very tired. 'Johnnie, I certainly did not intend to get into an argument about religion with you. I'm not the aggressive type-you know that. I had to be pushed into the Cabal.' He paused. 'You say the doctrines are a matter of logic?'
'You've explained the logic to me yourself. It's a perfect consistent structure.'
'So it is. Johnnie, the nice thing about citing God as an authority is that you can prove anything you set out to prove. It's just a matter of selecting the proper postulates, then insisting that your postulates are "inspired". Then no one can possibly prove that you are wrong.'
'You are asserting that the First Prophet was not inspired?'
'I am asserting nothing. For all you know, 1 am the First Prophet, come back to kick out the defilers of my temple.'
'Don't be-I was all wound up to kick it around further when there came a knock at Zeb's door. I stopped and he called out, 'Come in!'
It was Sister Magdalene.
She nodded at Zeb, smiled sweetly at my open-mouthed surprise and said, 'Hello, John Lyle. Welcome.' It was the first time I had ever seen her other than in the robes of a holy deaconess. She seemed awfully pretty and much younger.
'Sister Magdalene!'
'No. Staff Sergeant Andrews. "Maggie", to my friends.'
'But what happened? Why are you here?'
'Right at the moment I'm here because I heard at dinner that you had arrived. When I didn't find you in your own quarters I concluded that you would be with Zeb. As for the rest, I couldn't go back, any more than you or Zeb-and our hideout back in New Jerusalem was getting overcrowded, so they transferred me.'
'Well, it's good to see you!'
'It's good to see you, John.' She patted me on the cheek and smiled again. Then she climbed on Zeb's bed and squatted tailor-fashion, showing a rather immodest amount of limb in the process. Zeb lit another cigarette and handed it to her; she accepted it, drew smoke deep into her lungs, and let it go as if she had been smoking all her life.
I had never seen a woman smoke-never. I could see Zeb watching me, confound him!-and I most carefully ignored it. Instead I grinned and said, 'This is a wonderful reunion! If only -,
'I know,' agreed Maggie. 'If only Judith were here. Have you heard from her yet, John?'
'Heard from her? How could I?'
'That's right, you couldn't-not yet. But you can write to her now.'
'Huh? How?'
'I don't know the code number off hand, but you can drop it at my desk-I'm in G-2. Don't bother to seal it; all personal mail has to be censored and paraphrased. I wrote to her last week but I haven't had an answer yet.'
I thought about excusing myself at once and writing a letter, but I didn't. It was wonderful to be with both of them and I didn't want to cut the evening short. I decided to write before I went to bed-while realizing, with surprise, that I had been so much on the go that, so far as I could remember, I hadn't even had time to think about Judith since ... well, since Denver, at least.
But I did not get to write to her even later that night. It was past eleven o'clock and Maggie was saying something about reveille coming early when an orderly showed up: 'The Commanding General's compliments and will Legate Lyle see him at once, sir.'
I gave my hair a quick brush with Zeb's gear and hurried away, while wishing mightily that I had something fit to report in, rather than a civilian suit much the worse for wear.
The inner sanctum was deserted and dark except for a light that I could see in the far inner office-even Mr. Giles was not at his desk. I found my way in, knocked on the door frame, stepped inside, clicked my heels and saluted. 'Legate Lyle reports to the Commanding General as ordered, sir.'
An elderly man seated at a big desk with his back to me turned and looked up, and I got another surprise. 'Ah, yes, John Lyle,' he said gently. He got up and came toward me, with his hand out. 'It's been a long time, hasn't it?'
It was Colonel Huxley, head of the Department of Applied Miracles when I was a cadet-and almost my only friend among the officers at that time. Many was the Sunday afternoon that I had relaxed in his quarters, my stock unhooked, free for the moment from the pressure of discipline.
I took his hand. 'Colonel-I mean "General", sir . I thought you were dead!'
'Dead colonel into live general, eh! No, Lyle, though I was listed as dead when I went underground. They usually do that when an officer disappears; it looks better. You're dead, too-did you know?'
'Uh, no, I didn't, sir. Not that it matters. This is wonderful, sir!'
'Good.'
'But-I mean, how did you ever-well-' I shut up.
'How did I land here and in charge at that? I've been a Brother since I was your age, Lyle. But I didn't go underground until I had to-none of us do. In my case the pressure for me to join the priesthood became a bit too strong; the Superintendent was quite restless about having a lay officer know too much about the more abstruse branches of physics and chemistry. So I took a short leave and died. Very sad.' He smiled. 'But sit down. I've been meaning to send for you all day, but it's been a busy day. They all are. It wasn't until now that I've had time to listen to the record of your report.'
We sat down and chatted, and I felt that my cup runneth over. Huxley I respected more than any officer I had ever served under. His very presence resolved any residual doubts I might have-if the Cabal was right for him, it was right for me, and never mind the subtleties of doctrine.
At last he said, 'I didn't call you in at this late hour just to chat, Lyle. I've a job for you.'
'Yes, sir?'
'No doubt you've already noticed what a raw militia we have here. This is between ourselves and I'm not criticizing our comrades-every one of them has pledged his life to our cause, a harder thing for them to do than for you and me, and they have all placed themselves under military discipline, a thing still harder. But I haven't enough trained soldiers to handle things properly. They mean well but I am tremendously handicapped in trying to turn the organization into an efficient fighting machine. I'm swamped with administrative details. Will you help me?'
I stood up. '1 shall be honored to serve with the General to the best of my ability.'
'Fine! We'll call you my personal aide for the time being. That's all for tonight, Captain. I'll see you in the morning.'
I was halfway out the door before his parting designation sunk in-then I decided that it was a slip of the tongue.
But it was not. I found my own office the next morning by the fact that a sign had been placed on it reading: 'CAPTAIN LYLE'. From the standpoint of a professional military man there is one good thing about revolutions: the opportunities for swift promotion are excellent ... even if the pay is inclined to be irregular.
My office adjoined General Huxley's and from then on I almost lived in it-eventually I had a cot installed back of my desk. The very first day I was still fighting my way down a stack of papers in my incoming basket at ten at night. I had promised myself that I would find the bottom, then write a long letter to Judith. But it turned out to be a very short note, as there was a memorandum addressed to me personally, rather than to the General, at the bottom.
It was addressed to 'Legate J. Lyle,' then someone had scratched out 'Legate' and written 'Captain'. It went on: