Stranger in a Strange Land

“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.”

Jubal looked horrified. “They can’t do this to me!”