He walked to the edge of the stage and—as several of the newcomers rose to their feet in automatic reflex—he hopped off the edge of the stage and landed like a well-trained acrobat on the balls of his feet exactly in front of the newbies.
A wide smile on his ruddy face, Kyle Umber spread his arms and said, “Welcome to Haven. Welcome to your new home.”
The people who had gotten up hesitated a moment, then crumpled back into their seats, almost shamefaced. Quincy O’Donnell—who had seen the minister’s hijinks before—remained standing in the aisle, arms folded across his broad chest, resisting the urge to applaud.
Umber said, in a soft, intimate voice, “I hope you’ll forgive my dramatics. I get a kick out of making that little jump. To me, it sort of illustrates the much bigger jump each of you has made—the jump from teeming, overcrowded, decaying Earth to the new paradise we are working to create here at Haven.”
A few of the new arrivals chuckled appreciatively.
“I suppose you’re wondering why I established this refuge, this sanctuary nearly three billion kilometers away from Earth. The reason is simple: I wanted to create a haven far from Earth and its troubles, a refuge where men and women like yourselves could find peace, and love, and a meaningful life.
“Haven is that place. It is a new world, a world that you will help to build, literally, with your own hands and hearts and skills. A refuge where you can live in dignity and harmony, far from the evils and temptations of Earth. Here in Haven you will build a new world. On Earth you were considered the worst samples of humankind. Here in Haven you will become the best examples of human capabilities. Together, you and I, we will create the best out of the worst.
“Haven is the place where the human race will be reborn, clean, new, strong and free. And you will be reborn as well—clean, new, strong and free.”
Absolute silence through the vast, echoing auditorium. The newcomers were totally fixated on the Reverend Kyle Umber.
“If you are ignorant, we will teach you. If you have skills or knowledge, we will put them to use in building this new world. Put your past behind you! A new life is opening for you, God is giving you a new chance to live the life He wants you to live.”
“Amen!” shouted one of the women.
Smiling, Umber nodded and said, “Amen indeed. We have a stupendous task before us. We will build a new world here, literally. We will—together, you, me and all of us—we will extend and enlarge Haven so that we can accept as many of Earth’s forgotten millions as possible.
“We will build new habitats, new man-made worlds that will house and protect and educate all who come here seeking shelter and wisdom and safety. We will endure hardships and dangers. We will conquer fear and hate. We will create a true human paradise here in the darkness, so far from the lifegiving Sun. We will triumph over ignorance and poverty and hatred.
“Together, you and I and the others, together we will prevail. We will triumph.”
The thirty newcomers rose to their feet as a single entity and cheered lustily. The sound of their enthusiasm echoed throughout the vast, nearly empty auditorium.
Kyle Umber bowed his head in silent acknowledgement of their approval. He stood silent and unmoving until the newbies sat back in their chairs.
Raising his head to look at them again, his smile benign, his eyes aglow, Umber went on, “This is a monumental task we have set for ourselves. It will not be accomplished easily or quickly. But we will prevail!”
Again the thirty jumped to their feet, clapping their hands lustily. Quincy O’Donnell, still standing in the aisle at the end of the row, smiled inwardly. He had seen this performance before. The minister always stirred the newbies with his vision.
As the newcomers settled back into their seats again, Umber half turned back toward the stage and said, “Now I want you to meet the person who has made all this possible: Evan Waxman.”
EVAN WAXMAN
From the same right wing of the stage stepped a tall, lean, elegant man, stylish despite the casual pearl-gray slacks and untucked light yellow shirt he wore. Smiling at the newcomers, he went to the corner of the stage and came down the steps there in an easy, loose-limbed gait.
“This is Evan Waxman.” Umber introduced him. “Our benefactor and great good friend.”
Waxman was a full head taller than Umber, his chiseled features handsome, confident. His hair was dark and cut short; his skin pale, ashen. He waved one hand carelessly at the newbies and smiled at them with dazzling teeth.
“Hello everybody,” he said in a clear deep voice. “Good to meet you.”
Umber reached up to pat Waxman’s shoulder. “Mr. Waxman is really the founder of our feast. He has spent a good part of his family’s fortune to construct Haven out here in the wilderness. The debt we owe him can never be repaid—in money.”
Waxman bowed his head humbly, then spoke up. “What I have donated to Reverend Umber’s cause is only money. I was glad to do it. Reverend Umber has shown me that there are much more important things than mere wealth, things like loyalty, and generosity, and a vision for the future.”
“And a few billion international dollars to donate,” Umber added, with a happy smile.
“That’s merely money,” Waxman repeated, “money that I am glad to give, money that is being turned into this sanctuary, this retreat where you and he and I—together—can create a refuge where we can build new lives for ourselves, where we can learn to live in peace and harmony.”
One of the newcomers—thin, frail, dark of skin and eye—raised a questioning hand.
Waxman nodded to him.
The newbie slowly got to his feet, glanced shyly around at his companions, then asked, “Is Haven strictly a Christian endeavor, or is it truly open to people of all faiths?”
Waxman turned toward Umber, whose smiling face grew quite serious.
“We believe that God is served by all faiths. People from every corner of the Earth try to worship God in the ways that make sense to them. Here in Haven we have no specific denomination of worship. All are free to worship God in his or her own way.”
And he called out, “Roman Catholic decor, please.”
Suddenly the auditorium was transformed. The stage became an altar with a three-story-high crucifix hanging behind it. Windows topped by pointed arches appeared along the side walls, each showing a magnificent stained-glass image of a Biblical scene.
The newbies gasped in awe.
Umber called, “Lutheran decor, please.”
Instantly the dramatic pictures and images disappeared, replaced by quietly dignified simplicity.
Smiling broadly, Umber called, “Thank you. End presentation.”
The auditorium returned to its original bare simplicity.
“We have decor schemes for more than forty different religious affiliations, including Moslem, Hindu, even Baha’i.”
“What about agnostics?” asked the questioner. “Or outright atheists?”
Umber’s smile widened, gentle, understanding. “Whatever your faith—or lack of it—you will be welcome in Haven. After all, the God who created the universe knows what is in your heart. His vision is all-encompassing.”
“I’d like to add something to that,” Waxman said, his brows knitting slightly. “I am an agnostic. The religion that my parents followed—the religion I was indoctrinated with as a child—that religion taught that faith is a gift, given freely by God.” With a shrug of his shoulders, Waxman went on, “Well, I never received that gift. I wish I had, but somehow it’s eluded me. Yet here I am, working shoulder to shoulder with Reverend Umber to help build Haven.”