The Jesus Incident by Frank Herbert
“Oh, simmer down. You’re going to send her to the Scream Room. I just want to know if we should prepare to replace her.”
“Replace . . . Legata? I think not.”
“Let me know in plenty of time if you need a replacement.”
Oakes was still angry. “It strikes me, Lewis, that you’ve been very wasteful of lives.”
“You know some other way I could’ve handled this?”
Oakes shook his head. “I meant no offense.”
“I know. But this is why I don’t report such things unless you ask or unless I have no choice.”
Oakes did not like the tone Lewis took there, but another thought struck him. “One of us has to stay at the Redoubt all the time? What about . . . I mean, Colony?”
“You’re going to have to wind things up here and come groundside to manage Colony. It’s our only answer. You can use Legata for shipside liaison, provided she’s still useful after the Scream Room.”
Oakes thought about this. Go groundside among all of those vicious demons? The periodic demonstration-of-power trips were bad enough . . . but live there full time?
“That’s why I asked about Legata,” Lewis said.
Mollified, Oakes ventured a more important question: “How . . . are . . . conditions at Colony?”
“Safe enough as long as you stay inside or travel only in a servo or shuttle.”
Oakes closed his eyes for a long blink, opened them. Once more, Lewis demonstrated impeccable reasoning. Who else could they trust as they trusted each other?
“Yes. I understand.”
Oakes glanced around his cubby. No visible sensors, but this had never reassured him. The damned ship always knew what was happening shipside.
I will have to go groundside.
The reasons were compelling. Lewis would take Lab One to the Redoubt, of course. But there were too many other delicate matters in balance at Colony.
Groundside.
He had always known he would have to quit the ship one day. It did not help that circumstances had made the decision for him. The move was being forced and he felt vulnerable. This incident with the Nerve Runners did nothing to reassure him.
What a dilemma!
As he gathered more power and exercised it, shipside became increasingly untrustworthy. But Pandora remained equally dangerous and unknown.
It occurred to Oakes then that he had been hoping for a tranquilized and sterilized planet, a place made ready for him by Lewis, before going groundside.
Sterile. Yes.
Oakes stared at Lewis. Why did the man appear so smug? It was more than survival against odds. Lewis was holding something back.
“What else do you have to report?”
“The new E-clones. They were in an isolated chamber and all survived. They’re clean, completely unprogrammed and beautiful. Just beautiful.”
Oakes was distrustful. The statistical incidence of deviation among clones was a known factor. The body, after all, was transparent to cosmic bombardments which altered the genetic messages in human cells. Rebuilding the DNA structure was Lewis’ specialty, yes, but still . . .
“No kinks?”
“I used ’lectrokelp cells and went back to recombinant DNA as a foundation for the changes.” He rubbed the side of his nose with a forefinger. “We’ve succeeded.”
“You said that last time.”
“It worked last time, too. We simply couldn’t keep up with the food supply necessary to . . .”
“No freaks?”
“A clean job. All we get is accelerated growth to maturity. And that kelp isn’t easy to work with. Lab people hallucinating all over the damn place and aging faster than . . .”
“Are you still able to waste lab technicians on this?”
“They’re not wasted!” Lewis was angry, exactly the reaction Oakes had sought.
Oakes smiled reassuringly. “I just want to know that it’s working, Jesus, that’s all.”
“It’s working.”
“Good. I believe you’re the only person who could make it work, but I am the only person who can give you the freedom in which to do this. What is the time frame?”
Lewis blinked at the sudden shift of the question. Cagey old bastard always kept you off balance. He took a deep breath, feeling the wine, the remembered sense of protective enclosure which Ship . . . the ship always gave him.
“How long?” Oakes insisted.
“We can continue an E-clone’s growth, the aging, actually, and arrive at any age you want. From conception to age fifty in fifty diurns.”
“In good condition?”
“Top condition and completely receptive to our programming. They’re mewling infants until they become our . . . ah, servants.”
“Then we can restore the Redoubt’s working force rather rapidly.”
“Yes . . . but that’s the problem. Most of our people know this and they . . . ahh, saw what I did with the clones and the sympathizers. They’re beginning to see that they can be replaced.”
“I understand.” Oakes nodded. “That’s why you have to stay at the Redoubt.” He studied Lewis. The man was still worried, still holding something back. “What else, Jesus?”
Lewis spoke too quickly. The answer had been right there in front of his awareness awaiting the question.
“An energy problem. We can work it out.”
“You can work it out.”
Lewis lowered his gaze. It was the answer he expected. Correct answer, of course. But they had to produce more burst, their own elixir.
“I will give you one suggestion,” Oakes said. “Plenty of hard work precludes time for plotting and worry. Now that you’ve solved the clone problem, put your people to work eliminating the kelp. I want a neat, simple solution. Enzymes, virus, whatever. Tell them to wipe out the kelp.”
Chapter 27
An infinite universe presents infinite examples of unreasoned acts, often capricious and threatening, godlike in their mystery. Without god-powers, conscious reasoning cannot explore and make this universe absolutely known; there must remain mysteries beyond what is explained. The only reason in this universe is that which you, in your ungodlike hubris, project onto the universe. In this, you retain kinship with your most primitive ancestors.
—Raja Thomas, Shiprecords
AS SHE stood frozen in terror of the foul-breathed stranger, Hali tried to think of a safe response. The terrible differences of this place where Ship had projected her compounded her sense of helplessness. The dust of the throng which followed the beaten man, the malignant odors, the passions in the voices, the milling movements against a single sun . . .
“Do you know him?” The man was insistent.
Hali wanted to say she had never before seen the injured man but something told her this could not be true. There had been something disquietingly familiar about that man.
Why did he speak to me of God and knowing?
Could that have been another Shipman projected here? Why had the wounded man seemed so familiar? And why had he addressed her directly?
“You can tell me.” Foul-breath was slyly persistent.
“I came a long way to see him.” The old voice which Ship had provided her sounded groveling, but the words were true. She felt it in these old bones she had borrowed. Ship would not lie to her and Ship had said this. A very great distance. Whatever this event signified, Ship had brought her expressly to see it.
“I don’t place your accent,” Foul-breath said. “Are you from Sidon?”
She moved after the crowd and spoke distractedly to the inquisitor who kept pace with her. “I come from Ship.”
What were those people doing with the wounded man?
“Ship? I’ve never heard of that place. Is it part of the Roman March?”
“Ship is far away. Far away.”
What were they doing up on that hill? Some of the soldiers had taken the piece of tree and stretched it on the ground. She glimpsed the activity through the crowd.
“Then how can Yaisuah say that you know God’s will?” Foul-breath demanded.
This caught her attention. Yaisuah? Ship had said that name. It was the name Ship said had become Geezus and then Hesoos. Jesus. She hesitated, stared at her inquisitor.
“You call that one Yaisuah?” she asked.
“You know him by some other name?”
He gripped her arm hard. There was no mistaking the avaricious cunning in his voice and manner.
Ship intruded on her then. This one is a Roman spy, an informer who works for those who torture Yaisuah.
“Do you know him?” Foul-breath demanded. He gave her arm a painful shake.
“I think this . . . Yaisuah is related to Ship,” she said.
“Related to . . . How can someone be related to a place?”
“Isn’t he related to You, Ship?” She spoke the question aloud without thinking.
Yes.
“Ship says that’s true,” she said.
Foul-breath dropped her arm and stepped back two paces. An angry scowl twisted his mouth.
“Crazy! You’re nothing but a crazy old woman! You’re just as crazy as that one!” He gestured up the hill where the armored men had taken Yaisuah. “See what happens to crazies?”
She looked where he had pointed.
The two men already hanging there were roped to the cross-pieces and she realized they were being left to die. That was going to happen to Yaisuah!
As the full realization hit her, Hali began to weep.
Ship spoke within her mind: Tears do little to improve acuity. You must observe.
She wiped her eyes on a comer of her robe, observing that Foul-breath had moved up into the crowd. She forced herself to climb up with him, pressing in among the people.
I must observe!
The armored ones were stripping the robe from Yaisuah. This exposed his wounds—cuts and bruises all over his body. He stood with a stolid watchfulness through all this, not even responding to the gasp which went up when the mob saw his wounds. There was an unguarded vulnerability to this moment, as though everyone here was participating in his own personal death.
Someone off to the left shouted: “He’s a carpenter! Don’t tie him on!”
Several large, crudely wrought nails were pressed up through that part of the crowd and thrust into the hands of an armored young man.
Others took up the cry: “Nail him on! Nail him on!”
Two of the armored men supported Yaisuah on either side now. His head swayed slightly from side to side, then bowed. Things were being thrown at him from the far side of the crowd but he made no attempt to dodge. Hali saw stones strike him . . . an occasional glob of spittle.
It was all so . . . so bizarre, played in an orange glow of mute sunlight coming through a high layer of thin clouds.
Hali blinked the tears from her eyes. Ship said she had to observe this! Very well . . . She estimated that she stood no more than six meters from Yaisuah’s left shoulder. He appeared to be a wiry man, probably active through most of his adult life, but now he was near the point of exhaustion. Her med-tech training told her that Yaisuah could survive this, given proper care, but she had the impression that he did not want such care, that none of this surprised him. If anything, he seemed anxious to get on with it. Perhaps that was the reaction of a tortured animal, cornered and beyond all will to fight or flee.
As she watched, he lifted his head slowly and turned to face her. She saw then the slight glow about him, an aura such as she had seen around her own body when Ship had projected her away from . . .
Is he also a projection of Ship?
She saw that there was a debate going on among the armored men. The nails were being waved in front of one of them by the one who had taken them from the crowd at the far side.
Yaisuah was looking at her, compelling her attention. She saw recognition in his eyes, the lift of eyebrows . . . a suggestion of surprise.
Ship intruded: Yaisuah knows where you are from.
Are You projecting him?
That flesh lives here as flesh, Ship said. But there is something more.
Something more . . .That’s why You brought me here.
What is it, Ekel? What is it?
There was no mistaking the eagerness in Ship.
He has another body somewhere?
No, Ekel. No!
She cringed before Ship’s disappointment, forcing herself to a peak of alertness which her fears demanded.
Something more . . . something more . . . She saw something then, a significance of the aura. Time does not confine him.
That is very close, Ekel. Ship was pleased and this reassured her, but it did not remove the pressure from the moment.
There is something of him which Time cannot hold, she thought. Death will not release him!
You please Me, Ekel.
Joy washed through her to be cut off abruptly by Ship’s demanding intrusion: Now! Watch this!
The armored men had settled their argument. Two of them threw Yaisuah to the ground, stretching his arms along the timber.
Another took the nails and using a rock for a hammer began nailing Yaisuah’s wrists to the wood.
Someone shouted from the crowd: “If you’re the son of God, let’s see you get yourself out of this!”
Hali heard jeering laughter all around her. She had to clasp her hands across her breast, forcing herself not to rush forward. This was barbarous! She trembled with frustration.
We are all children of Ship!
She wanted to shout this to these fools. It was the lesson of her earliest WorShip classes, the admonition of the Chaplain.
Two soldiers lifted the length of wood, hoisting the man who was nailed to it by his wrists. He gasped as they moved him. Four soldiers, two on each side of him, lifted the timber on their spear points into a notch on a tall post which stood upright between the other two victims. Another soldier scrambled up a crude ladder behind the post and lashed the crosspiece into the notch. Two more soldiers moved up to Yaisuah’s dangling feet. While one soldier crossed the ankles, the other nailed the feet to the upright. Blood ran down the wood from the wound.
She had to open her mouth wide and breathe in gulping gasps to keep from fainting.
She saw the brown eyes flash with sudden agony as a soldier shook the upright to test its firmness. Yaisuah slumped forward unconscious.
Why are they causing him such pain? What do they want him to do?
Hali pressed forward in the suddenly silent throng, elbowing her way through with a strength which she found surprising in this old body. She had to see it close. She had to see. Ship had commanded her to observe. It was difficult moving in the press of people even with the strength of her inner drive. And she suddenly became aware of the breath-held silence in the throng.
Why were they so silent?
It was as though the answer had been flashed on her eyes. They want Yaisuah to stop this by some secret power in him. They want a miracle! They still want a miracle from him. They want Ship . . . God to reach out of the sky and stop this brutal travesty. They do this thing and they want a god to stop it.
She pressed herself past two more people and found that she had achieved the inner ring of the crowd. There were only the three timber constructions now, the three bodies . . .
I could still save him, she thought.
Chapter 28
I play the song to which you must dance. To you is left the freedom of improvisation. This improvisation is what you call free will.
—The Oakes Covenant
“THE MEETING will please come to order.”
Oakes used his wand-amplifier to dominate the shuffling and buzzing in the Colony’s central meeting hall. It was a domed and circular room truncated by a narrow platform against the south wall where he stood. When not being used for meetings, the room was taken over by manufacture of food-production equipment and the sub-assembly operations for the buoyant bags of the LTAs. Because of this, all m
He still felt beset by the tensions of moving from shipside to groundside. His time sense was upset by the diurnal shift and this meeting had been rushed. It was almost the hour of mid-meal here. There would be psychological pressures from the audience because of that.
This was the wrong hour for a meeting and there had been some muttering about interference with important work, but Murdoch had silenced that by leaking the announcement that Oakes had come groundside to stay. The implications were obvious. A major push was impending to make Colony secure; Oakes would command that push.
On the platform with Oakes stood Murdoch and Rachel Demarest. Murdoch’s position as director of Lab One was well known, and the mystery surrounding that lab’s purposes made his presence here a matter of intense curiosity.
Rachel Demarest was another matter. Oakes scowled when he thought about her. She had learned things while acting as a messenger between Ferry and groundside.
Sounds in the room were beginning to subside as the stragglers made their way in and took seats. Portable chairs had been provided, many constructed from the twisted Pandoran plant material. The unique appearance of each chair offended Oakes. Something would have to be done to standardize appearances here.
He scanned the room, noting that Raja Thomas was present in a seat down front. The woman beside Thomas fitted the description Murdoch had provided of one Waela TaoLini, a survivor of the original kelp-research projects. Her knowledge might be dangerous. Well . . . she and the poet would share Thomas’ fate. End of that problem!
Oakes had been groundside for almost two diurns now and much of that time had been taken up in preparation for this meeting. There had been many eyes-only reports from Lewis and his minions. Murdoch had been quite useful in this. He would bear watching. Legata had provided some of the data and, even now, was back shipside gathering more.
This meeting represented a serious challenge to his powers, Oakes knew, and he intended to meet it head on. Lewis had estimated that about a thousand people were here. The larger part of Colony personnel could never be spared from guard and maintenance and building and rebuilding. Two steps forward, one step back—that was Pandora’s way. Oakes was aware, though, that most of those facing him down on that floor carried the proxy votes of associates. There had been an unofficial election and this would be a real attempt at democracy. He recognized the dangers. Democracy had never been the shipside way and it could not be allowed groundside. It was a sobering thought and he felt adrenaline overcoming an earlier indulgence in wine.