Reverend Lawrence Roberts, Doctor of Divinity by some ROM-staffed diploma mill, had decided to make that band of kids his own little project. He wanted to redeem their lives. Not only did he intend to baptize them into his particular sect of Christianity, but he wanted to get them System Identification Numbers and bring them back into the mainstream of society. He wanted to create in them an example of a way Christians could fight back against Satan's rule on the earth.
Raven had Tom Electric run a sample of one of Roberts' services by me. It was part of a simsense chip package that Roberts' ministry offered. Being a male in my twenties, I got version 20M. The simsense would feed back the emotions of a person recorded observing the service, so matching me with the appropriate version was vital for me to get the full impact of the good Doctor's presentation. I pulled a trode rig over my head and started it running. As the static wall thinned and evaporated and the simsense began to roll, the Old One growled in disgust.
The preacher oozed charisma from the top of his thin, blond hair to the Italian leather loafers on his feet. Clutching a battered Bible, he looked out from his lectern like a prisoner about to confess before a jury. One amid thousands, I felt my heart begin to pound with anticipation.
"Yes, my friends, the things you have heard about me are true." Reverend Roberts began in low, embarrassed tones, but I sensed he was in control of the whole situation at all times. "Fifteen years ago I was nothing but a conman, and one of the most vile stripe. My partner and I used to read the newsfax to see who had died, then we'd print up a customized edition of a Bible. It would be inscribed from the deceased to whoever his closest survivor happened to be." He showed us his well-used book. "This was the last of the Bibles we ever created.
"We knew no shame. We'd go to the bereaved and ask for the deceased. When we were informed of the death, we would act embarrassed and eventually confess that the deceased had special-ordered the Bible. He had paid only twenty nuyen of the one-hundred nuyen it cost, and had gotten it specially for the person to whom we were speaking. We would say we were sorry for bothering them in their grief and then turn to leave."
Roberts' eyes flashed down at the ground as a blush rose to his cheeks. He stared at one of the many carnation bouquets surrounding him. "Of course, the bereaved would stop us and give us the eighty nuyen remaining on the book. We would hand it over, having earned an easy seventy-five nuyen profit. It was an easy life, for anyone would pay gladly for that last piece of their departed loved one, and we talked ourselves into believing that we were really offering them another chance to say good-bye-manufacturing memories the people so dearly hungered after."
Roberts' brought his head up and steel entered his spine. I knew, aided by the digitized emotional feed coursing in through the trodes, that Roberts had somehow been motivated away from this evil path. He smiled and confirmed my belief.
"Then, one night, my partner and I were heading out for what would be our last attempt. God and the Devil came to us, and each showed us a vision of what we would reap in the afterlife. My partner held his hand out to the Devil and was taken to hell right then and there. I looked upon the face of God and chose the path of light. Praise Jesus, I was saved!"
Thunderous applause washed over me and I found myself mouthing the word "Alleluia!" I pulled the trodes off in disgust and let the Old One's growl rumble from my throat. Raven looked over at me and smiled. "What do you think, Wolf?"
I patted my Beretta Viper. "I've got a love offering for the good Reverend, right here."
Raven decided that might be a bit extreme as our first effort at contact. He gave me the address for Roberts' ministry headquarters. I changed into a corduroy suit jacket, button-down shirt, and tie before I headed out, deferring to Raven's sense of decorum, not mine. The clothes hid my silver wolf's-head pendant and my Viper, but I didn't so much mind that. When entering the lion's den, it's best to dress like a lion.
III
Roberts' personal secretary was pretty enough that I would have considered converting were she willing to do some missionary work with me. She flashed me a smile as I came up the stairs to the third-floor foyer, but she kept getting distracted by the big goomer seated on the edge of her desk. He was clearly intent on ministering to her, but she looked like she wanted him exorcised faster than you could say "Amen."
I cleared my throat and quickscanned her nameplate. "Evening, Miss Crandall. I'm Wolfgang Kies. I called ahead for an appointment with Dr. Roberts."
The big man moved off the desk as she positively glowed at me. "Yes, Mr. Kies. Six forty-five and you're exactly on time." Her smile carried right on up into her blue eyes and clearly irked the other man.
"Do I get points for punctuality?"
"With me you do, Mr. Kies." She looked up at the man. "Brother Boniface will take you to Dr. Roberts."
Boniface looked like an ape that had been given one of those all-over bikini waxes or a troll that had been cold-hammered into a smaller shape. Either way, he did not look happy to be in a suit and sent on a mission that would take him away from the charming Miss Crandall. As a result of his discomfort, somewhere inside his tiny skull one electron collided with another and all of a sudden he had a thought. It was too much for him to contain and he made his move to frisk me.
The Viper's barrel made athunk as I drew it in one smooth motion and poked a Mark of Cain in the center of Brother Boniface's forehead. He retreated a step and raised both hands to cover the bruise. "Ask and ye shall receive, Boniface. Presume and I'll make a martyr out of you."
I let the gun slip forward and hang from my index finger by the trigger guard. Boniface made a grab for it, but I ducked it under his hand and slid it onto Miss Crandall's desk. "Keep it warm for me."
"My pleasure," she cooed. The gun slipped from sight beneath the level of her desk.
Boniface slunk forward and led me down a short hallway to Roberts' office. He only opened one of the two oak doors, but it was double-wide anyway and provided a stunning panorama as I entered. I didn't feel slighted only getting the single-door treatment because I got the distinct impression that even if Jesus returned for an encore he wouldn't get a two-door salute.
The very first thing I noticed in the room was the expensive wooden paneling on the walls, and the stunning number of leather-bound books lining the bookshelves. Reverend Roberts had laid out significant nuyen to splash old-world respectability around his office. The west wall was made entirely of glass, with a view of the Sound that impressed even the Old One. Shown a picture of this place and asked to choose whether it belonged to some highly placed corpgeek or a preacher constantly crying poormouth, I'd have been wrong even with two free guesses.
It took me about two seconds to scan the place and get the Old One's howl to vet my opinion. By that time, the unearthly scent of hundreds of carnations assaulted my nose. Save for the top of Boniface's head, every flat surface in the room boasted a vase jammed with carnations of various colors. I recalled the riot of flora surrounding the Reverend on the simchip, but 3-D reality was another order of magnitude above even that.
The gaudiest of the carnations resided in the buttonhole of Roberts' lapel. Standing behind his desk, he nodded to me and extended his hand. "Welcome, Mr. Kies."
I accepted his hand and found his grip disturbingly firm. I normally judge a man by how he shakes hands, but Roberts' grip felttoo right and practiced. The difference might have been subtle, and I could have put it down to my general dislike of him, but I got the feeling he was playing at being a regular guy.