Stranger in a Strange Land

Boone nodded approvingly. «That's a mark of grace, Doc. We'll save you yet. Another round, folks?»

Jill hoped that someone would say yes — The gin was watered but it was starting a flame of tolerance in her middle. Nobody spoke up, so Boone led them away, up a flight, past a sign reading: POSITIVELY NO SEEKERS NOR SIN NERS — THIS MEANS YOU!

Beyond was a gate. Boone said to it: «Bishop Boone and three pilgrims, guests of the Supreme Bishop.»

The gate opened. He led them around a curved passage into a room. It was large, luxurious in a style that reminded Jill of undertakers' parlors but was filled with cheerful music. The theme was Jingle Bells with a Congo beat added; Jill found that it made her want to dance.

The far wall was glass and appeared to be not even that. Boone said briskly, «Here we are, folks — in the Presence. You don't have to kneel — but do so if it makes you feel better. Most pilgrims do. And there he is … just as he was when he was called up to Heaven.»

Boone gestured with his cigar. «Don't he look natural? Preserved by a miracle, flesh incorruptible. That's the very chair he used when he wrote his Messages … and that's the pose he was in when he went to Heaven. He's never been moved — we built the Tabernacle right around him … removing the old church, naturally, and preserving its sacred stones.»

Facing them about twenty feet away, seated in a chair remarkably like a throne, was an old man. He looked as if he were alive … and he reminded Jill of an old goat on the farm where she had spent childhood summers — out-thrust lower lip, the whiskers, the fierce, brooding eyes. Jill felt her skin prickle; Archangel Foster made her uneasy.

Mike said in Martian,«My brother, this is an Old One?»

«I don't know, Mike. They say he is.»

He answered,«I do not grok an Old one.»

«I don't know, I tell you.»

«I grok wrongness.»

«Mike! Remember!»

«Yes, Jill.»

Boone said, «What's he saying, little lady? What was your question, Mr. Smith?»

Jill said quickly, «It wasn't anything. Senator, can I get out of here? I feel faint.» She glanced at the corpse. Billowing clouds were above it; one shaft of light cut through and sought out the face. As lighting changed the face seemed to change, the eyes seemed bright and alive.

Boone said soothingly, «It has that effect, first time. You ought to try the seekers' gallery below us — looking up and with different music. Heavy music, with subsonics, I believe it is — reminds 'em of their sins. Now this room is a Happy Thoughts meditation chamber for high officials of the Church — I come here and sit and smoke a cigar if I'm feeling a bit low.»

«Please, Senator!»

«Oh, certainly. Wait outside, m'dear. Mr. Smith, you stay as long as you like.»

Jubal said, «Senator, hadn't we best get on into the services?»

They left. Jill was shaking — she had been scared silly that Mike might do something to that grisly exhibit — get them all lynched.

Two guards thrust crossed spears in their path at the portal of the Sanctuary. Boone said reprovingly, «Come, come! These pilgrims are the Supreme Bishop's personal guests. Where are their badges?»

Badges were produced and with them door prize numbers. A respectful usher said, «This way, Bishop,» and led them up wide stairs to a center box facing the stage.

Boone stood back. «You first, little lady.» Boone wanted to sit next to Mike: Harshaw won and Mike sat between Jill and Jubal, with Boone on the aisle.

The box was luxurious-self-adjusting seats, ash trays, drop tables for refreshments. They were above the congregation and less than a hundred feet from the altar. In front of it a young priest was warming up the crowd, shuffling to music and shoving heavily muscled arms back and forth, fists clenched. His strong bass voice joined the choir from time to time, then he would lift it in exhortation:

«Up off your behinds! Gonna let the Devil catch you napping?»

A snake dance was weaving down the right aisle, across in front, and back up the center aisle, feet stomping in time with the priest's piston-like jabs and the syncopated chant of the choir. Clump, clump;.moan! … Clump, clump, moan! Jill felt the beat and realized sheepishly that it would be fun to get into that dance — as more and more people were doing under the brawny young priest's taunts.

«That boy's a comer,» Boone said approvingly. «I've team-preached with him and I can testify he turns the crowd over to you sizzlin'. Reverend ”Jug” Jackerman — used to play left tackle for the Rams. You've seen him.»

«I'm afraid not,» Jubal admitted. «I don't follow football.»

«Really? Why, during the season most of the faithful stay after services, eat lunch in their pews, and watch the game. The wall behind the altar slides away and you're looking into the biggest stereo tank ever built. Puts the plays right in your lap. Better reception than you get at home — and it's more thrill with a crowd around you.» He whistled. «Cherub! Over here!»