Robert Heinlein - Stranger in a Strange Land

“I know, dear. But it’s not in the Nest, and Michael has taught us that it is good to ask, even when we know the answer is yes. I’ll lie on it and feel the grass against me and be filled with Happiness to be in my brother’s ‘little nest.’”

“You’ll be most welcome, Patty.” Ben reminded himself sharply that he didn’t give a hoot in hell what his neighbors thought—but he hoped she would leave her snakes behind. “When will you be there?”

“I don’t know. When waiting is filled. Maybe Michael knows.”

“Well, warn me if you can, so I’ll be in town. If not, Jill always knows the code for my door—I change it occasionally. Patty, doesn’t anybody keep track of this money?”

“What for, Ben?”

“Uh, people usually do.”

“Well, we don’t. Just help yourself as you go out—then put back any you have left when you come home, if you remember to. Michael told me to keep the grouch bag filled. If it runs low I get some more from him.”

Ben dropped the matter, stonkered by the simplicity of the arrangement. He already had some idea, from Mike and second-hand from Jill and Jubal, of the moneyless communism of the Martian culture; he could see that Mike had set up an enclave of it here—and these bowls of cash marked the transition point whereby one passed from Martian to Terran economy. He wondered if Patty knew that it was a fake… bolstered up by Mike’s enormous fortune. He decided not to ask.

“Patty, how many are there in the Nest?” He felt a mild worry that he was acquiring too many sharing brothers without his consent, then shoved back the thought as unworthy after all, why would any of them want to sponge on him? Other than, possibly to lie on his grass rug—he didn’t have any pots of gold just inside his door.

“Let me see… there are almost twenty now, counting novitiate brothers who don’t really think in Martian yet and aren’t ordained.”

“Are you ordained, Patty?”

“Oh, yes. But mostly I teach. Beginners’ classes in Martian, and I help novitiate brothers and such. And Dawn and I—Dawn and Jill are each High Priestess—Dawn and I are pretty well-known Fosterites, especially Dawn, so we work together to show other Fosterites that the Church of All Worlds doesn’t conflict with the Faith, any more than being a Baptist keeps a man from joining the Masons.” She showed Ben Foster’s kiss, explained what it meant, and showed him also its miraculous companion placed by Mike.

“They all know what Foster’s kiss means and how hard it is to win it and by then they’ve seen some of Mike’s miracles and they are just about ripe to buckle down and sweat to climb into a higher circle.”

“It’s an effort?”

“Of course it is, Ben—for them. In your case and mine, and Jill’s, and a few others—YOU know them all—Michael called us straight into brotherhood. But to others Michael first teaches a discipline—not a faith but a way to realize faith in works. And that means they’ve got to start by learning Martian. That’s not easy; I’m not perfect in it myself. But it is much Happiness to work and learn. You asked about the size of the Nest—let me see, Duke and Jim and Michael and myself—two Fosterites, Dawn and myself… one circumcised Jew and his wife and four children—”

“Kids in the Nest?”

“Oh, more than a dozen. Not here, but in the nestlings’ nest just off of here; nobody could meditate with kids hooting and hollering and raising Ned, Want to see it?”

“Uh, later.”

“One Catholic couple with a baby boy—excommunicated I’m sorry to say; their priest found out about it. Michael had to give them very special help; it was a nasty shock to them—and so utterly unnecessary. They were getting up early every Sunday morning to go to mass just as usual—but kids will talk. One Mormon family of the new schism—that’s three more, and their kids. The rest are the usual run of Protestants and one atheist… that is, he thought he was an atheist, until Michael opened his eyes. He came here to scoff; he stayed to learn… and he’ll be a priest before long. Uh, nineteen grown-ups—I’m pretty sure that’s right though it’s hard to say, since we’re hardly ever all in the Nest at once, except for our own services in the Innermost Temple. The Nest is built to hold eighty-one—that’s ‘three-filled,’ or three times three multiplied by itself—but Michael says that there will be much waiting before we’d need a bigger nest and by then we will be building other nests. Ben? Wouldn’t you like to see an outer service, see how Michael makes the pitch, instead of just listening to me ramble on? Michael will be preaching just about now.”

“Why, yes, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“You could go by yourself. But I’d like to go with you… and I’m not busy. Just a see, dearie, while I get decent.”

“Jubal, she was back in a couple of minutes in a robe not unlike Anne’s Witness robe but cut differently, with angel-wing sleeves and a high neck and the trademark Mike uses for the Church of All Worlds—nine concentric circles and a conventionalized Sun-embroidered over her heart. This getup was a priestess robe, her vestments; Jill and the other priestesses wear the same sort, except that Patty’s was opaque, a heavy synthetic silk, and came so high that it covered her cartoons, and was caught at both wrists for the same reason. She had put on stockings, too, or maybe bobby socks, and was carrying sandals.

“Changed the hell out of her, Jubal. It gave her great dignity. Her face is quite nice and I could see that she was considerably older than I had first guessed her although not within twenty years of what she claims to be. She has an exquisite complexion and I thought what a shame it was that anyone had ever touched a tattooing needle to such skin.

“I had dressed again. She asked me to take off just my shoes because we weren’t going out the way I had come in. She led me back through the Nest and out into a corridor; we stopped to put on shoes and went down a ramp that wound down maybe a couple of floors until we reached a gallery. It was sort of a loge overlooking the main auditorium. Mike was holding forth on the platform. No pulpit, no altar, just a lecture hall, with a big All-Worlds symbol on the wall behind him. There was a robed priestess on the platform with him and, at that distance, I thought it was Jill—but it wasn’t; it was another woman who looks a bit like her and is almost as beautiful. The other high priestess, Dawn—Dawn Ardent.”

“What was that name?” Jubal interrupted.

“Dawn Ardent—née Higgins, if you want to be fussy.”

“I’ve met her.”

“I know you have, you allegedly retired goat. She’s got a crush on you…”

Jubal shook his head. “Some mistake. The ‘Dawn Ardent’ I mean I just barely met, about two years ago. She wouldn’t even remember me.”

“She remembers you. She gets every one of your pieces of commercial crud, on tape, under every pseudonym she has been able to track down. She goes to sleep by them, usually, and they give her beautiful dreams. She says. Furthermore there is no doubt that she knows who you are. Jubal, that big living room, the Nest proper, has exactly one item of ornamentation, if you’ll pardon the word—a life-sized color copy of your head. Looks as if you had been decapitated, with your face in a hideous grin. A candid shot that Duke sneaked of you, I understand.”

“Why, that brat!”

“Jill asked him to, behind your back.”

“Double brat!”

“Sir, you are speaking of the woman I love—although I’m not alone in that distinction. But Mike put her up to it. Brace yourself, Jubal—you are the patron saint of the Church of All Worlds.”