Charles Sheffield - Aftermath

He was sound asleep on his back, his mouth open. She looked at him fondly. It took more than music to budge Wilmer. He woke in the morning only for food. In the first few weeks of their relationship it had also been for sex — Celine was a morning person — but he had complained so abominably about being wakened and about his need for calories that she soon gave up the effort. Anyway, fifteen minutes from the start she would be on her own in bed. Wilmer’s idea of afterplay in the morning was a stack of blueberry pancakes and a quart of milk.

She slipped out of bed and went to peek into the other room. Jenny was asleep. Reza was over in a corner, eyes closed and meditating in the lotus posture. There was no point in talking to either one.

Celine put her shoes on — she was otherwise fully dressed — and went across to the door. Rather to her surprise, it was unlocked. As she opened it she saw why. There was no place for a lock, but with her first step outside a gray-clad figure rose like a ghost from the floor.

“You are awake.” No greeting, no cheery good morning. It was a male, younger than any she had seen so far. In the dim light and with his oversized uniform he looked about fourteen. He held his semiautomatic rifle as though it made him more nervous than it was likely to make anyone else.

“I am awake,” Celine said. “My companions are still asleep. What time is it?”

For a second, she wondered if even that information was restricted. But at last the youth said, “It is almost seven o’clock.”

“Then it is time for breakfast. We had no real dinner last night. How do we get food?”

That seemed to baffle him. He rubbed his chin, which was sprouting faint downy signs of a beard, and hesitated.

“I will have to get someone to bring you food.”

“And I need to use the bathroom.”

He turned his face away and looked very uncomfortable. “I will get someone to deal with — that problem. I was placed here only to make sure that no one came out through this door.”

“But I just did come out through it.”

The attempt at a lighter tone was a waste of time. He stared at her and said again, “I will have to get someone else. Do not go anywhere. I will bring someone who can answer your questions.”

He marched away along the corridor. Celine called after him, “Why are they playing that music?”

He turned his head. “In honor of the surviving members of the returned Mars expedition.” He did not stop, and Celine’s call, “But that’s us ,” received no response.

She went back inside and poked Wilmer hard in the ribs. He grunted and burrowed under the blankets. “What do you make of that, cobber?” The heap of bedclothes did not move. “Everyone here agrees that we defiled Heaven by going into space. Pearl Lazenby told us so herself. Now they’re playing music to celebrate our safe return. Are we heroes or villains?”

Jenny appeared in the doorway, rubbing her eyes. “We’re villains,” she said. “You don’t guard heroes to keep them from wandering around.”

“You tried it?”

“In the middle of the night. The guard was asleep on the floor. I’m afraid I trod on him. I guess I’m lucky he didn’t shoot me.”

“No. He’d have to get somebody else to shoot you. But if we’re villains, why were they playing the Mars music in our honor?”

“I heard that. I thought I must be dreaming. If they’re playing anything, though, it’s on orders from Pearl Lazenby. They don’t blink in this place without her approval.”

Celine sat on her cot. “If that music was played in all the corridors and tunnels, a lot of her followers will be wondering why.”

“As we are.” Jenny sat down next to Celine. “She must have a plan. She wants to use us in some way.”

“Which would mean she intends to keep us, and not let us go.”

“I hope you’re wrong.” Jenny rubbed at her thigh muscles. “We’re weaker than anyone here, and I don’t think I could walk a kilometer in this gravity. But I want out. If Pearl Lazenby is running a puppet show, I won’t—”

She broke off, because a woman in her early thirties was coming in through the door. She had a round face, straight black hair cut short, and a kindly expression. She was dressed in a plain gray blouse and pants. Incongruously, she had an automatic pistol stuck in her waistband. A ruddy-faced older man weighing at least three hundred pounds waddled in behind her. Like Eli, his chest and cuffs bore an emblem of scarlet claws. His was more elaborate, a triplet of talons surrounding and clutching the central blue-green globe. On his belt he wore a holster containing a revolver, so ancient that Celine had never seen one like it except in museums.

“Good morning.” The man’s wheezy tone, unlike Eli’s the night before, was polite and deferential. “My name is Samuel. I understand that you would like the use of a bathroom, and then breakfast.”

“We would.”

“Then you women will go along with Naomi to the bathroom facilities. She will then escort you to breakfast. She is suffering a penance of silence, so please do not try to talk to her.” He waved a plump hand, and the woman nodded at Celine and Jenny.

“You will meet your menfolk later.” Samuel’s voice became hushed and positively oily. “I noticed someone in meditation in the other room. I assume that he is the one with the powers of prophecy, of special interest to the Eye of God. Naturally, I will respect or even anticipate his wishes in every way possible.”

“Actually, no. That’s not him.” Celine didn’t like being demoted to a second-class citizen, even politely. “The man you saw is Reza. The man you want is Wilmer. That one.” She pointed to the untidy heap in the bedclothes as she and Jenny followed Naomi toward the door. “You’ll have to wake him up. Good luck with that. He’s not at his best in the morning.”

Facilities at the Legion of Argos headquarters looked crude, but they worked fine. Celine had forgotten how good a torrent of hot water could feel, beating down on your head and shoulders under a full Earth gravity. She stayed and wallowed for ten minutes, and came out to find that her clothes had disappeared. They had been replaced with new underwear, shirt, and pants, all white and all just a fraction too big. Her shoes were where she had left them. Jenny was waiting, dressed in an identical outfit. With the silent Naomi leading the way they moved side by side down a long narrow hall to an automated cafeteria, where trays of food were dispensed from a moving belt.

“Notice something?” While Naomi was picking up her tray, Celine had her first chance for a private word with Jenny. Just because Naomi did not speak did not mean she did not listen — and report.

“If you’re worried about what was in your pockets,” Jenny said. “Don’t. I grabbed everything before they took our clothes. They say they’re just cleaning them.”

“Not that. I mean the people we’ve seen. No blacks, no Hispanics, no Orientals. I think the Legion of Argos is a whites-only group. You, Wilmer, and Reza certainly qualify. I’m borderline, but Pearl Lazenby’s attitude last night suggests I’m acceptable.”

Naomi was approaching. Celine and Jenny settled down to a silent meal.

Celine had plenty to think about. More and more, she felt certain that the members of the Legion of Argos from the top down were mental cases. Prophecies, penances, holy cleansings, arbitrary murders to settle grievances, ethnic entry requirements, guns everywhere, regimented behavior, visitors who were effectively prisoners — all the signs of a paramilitary religious cult. And added to that, Eli’s exultant “there will be no turning back, no quarter given.” The cult was approaching a point of no return. The right word from Pearl Lazenby, and the members would move to violent action.