“You are welcome.”
“Lydia… I didn’t wish to ask before, but… two years is a long time, especially when you are young and lovely. Have you found someone else?”
She glanced up at him through her lashes, remembering her conversation with Gwen. For a moment, she considered prevaricating—perhaps that would make him value her more. Then she banished the thought.
“No one. I didn’t even look.”
“Nor did I.”
He sighed happily. They held each other for a long while. Over the lake, a pair of swallows dove after midges.
“How long before you are expected at home, Lydia?”
“At least another hour.”
“Spend it with me, please. I will tell you everything I can about where I have been and I want to know all about what you are doing, too.”
“All in an hour?” She laughed from pure happiness.
“An hour now,” he said, squeezing her hand as if he would never let it go, “and perhaps we can make a date for longer later.”
They sat on the virtual shore, arms around each other, and talked about love and other very real things.
None of the mysteries that troubled Dack about his young charge were solved in the six months that followed. The boy grew larger and his vocabulary increased. When Dack questioned him carefully regarding the butterfly, the snake, the dog, and the monkey, his reply was always, “They’re my friends. They come play with me.”
As he grew, the bracelet expanded to accommodate his growth. Even so, John Junior often struggled to remove it as he removed his shoes, socks, and play clothes.
“Take it off!” he demanded of Dack.
“No,” Dack told him firmly. “Your father made it, but he never told me why. Still, I don’t think you should take it off.”
At the mention of his father, the boy smiled, his pique forgotten.
“Tell me about my father,” he said, “and my mother.”
“I’ll show you what they looked like,” Dack responded, summoning their images onto the holo-stage.
Young Donnerjack stared at them for a long while.
“You do bear them some resemblance, young sir,” Dack said.
“Were they nice people?” the boy asked.
“Yes,” Dack replied. “I would say so.”
The boy walked around the figures.
“Good. They look nice,” he finally said.
“Who knows? You may grow up to be something like them,” Dack said.
“Good.”
“Come. It’s almost dinnertime.”
Dack changed him, bathed him, and led him off to eat.
“Can you tear yourself from your work for a moment, Davis?” Randall Kelsey asked. “I would have words with you.”
Arthur Eden looked up from the hard copy of Mud Temples, the text he had been reading. His eyes were bleared and a bit sticky. Glancing at the clock, he realized that he’d been at work long past his usual break. Kelsey stood in the doorway of his office.
“Yes, sir.” He rose, rubbing the small of his back as he did so. “I think I had better stop or my muscles will freeze in that position.”
“Something good?”
“Architectural analysis of some of the ancient Sumerian/Babylonian ruins with extrapolations as to how the actual buildings might have been constructed. It’s ancient stuff—late twentieth century—by a guy named Keim who also did work on Southwestern American ruins with an archeologist named Moore. I think we’re going to be able to use some of Keim’s ideas on structural stress to enhance the virt programming for the Sacred Citadel.”
“Great. As the congregation grows, so does our responsibility to serve their needs on every level. The vestments you helped design for the new tertiary lay initiates were a great success.”
“The ones for the Devotees of Innana? Thanks. I was pretty pleased with how they came out myself.”
They had walked down a short corridor and now they paused in front of an elevator door finished in what appeared to be beaten brass worked with a relief sculpture depicting a portion of the creation myth. Kelsey pushed the button discreetly hidden in a minor demon’s eye.
“Remind me how long you’ve been with us, Davis.”
“Full-time? For about two years. Then I was consulting a year before that and a member of the Church for a year or so before that. I guess that makes four years.”
The elevator arrived, the doors slid open. Inside several of the major deities were depicted, each with their characteristic emblems. The artwork was original, by a well-known convert, and preserved behind bulletproof glass. The Church chose to flaunt its growing influence even in its mundane establishments, but that didn’t mean it was careless.
“Four years? Is that all? Are you content with your progress?”
The elevator door opened and Kelsey gestured for Eden to precede him down the corridor. Eden looked around in interest. He’d never been invited to this floor before. Glancing up, he saw that the ceiling was made up of a dome of glass panels revealing what was apparently blue sky overhead. He frowned. The skyscraper was topped with a step pyramid. How could this be? Kelsey caught his expression and chuckled.
“Always analyzing, Davis! It’s an illusion. The glass ceiling is there, but the ‘sky’ you’re seeing is a projection. It’s a neat bit of work, actually, since it can be set—like it is now—to show the actual sky outside or, on nasty days, to play something more attractive. Now, come into my office and have a drink. You still haven’t answered my question.”
Eden followed Kelsey into a large, well-lit room furnished with minimalistic but surprisingly comfortable furniture. Kelsey gestured him to a chair, found out his preferences, and served him from the bar. Then he slouched in a chair across from the one Eden had taken, put his feet on the low table between them, sipped from his stein of beer, and sighed happily.
“So, Davis, are you content with your progress?”
The magic question. Say “no” and you’re too ambitious. Say “yes” and you’re not driven enough. Eden tasted his own drink—a light rice wine—and framed his answer.
“I enjoy my work and I feel I am making a valid contribution to the advancement of the Church. I would, however, be willing to embrace a new challenge.”
“Very good.” Kelsey took another swallow from his beer. “Very good, indeed. You present me with a difficult situation, Davis.”
Eden felt his heart thud harder. Had he been discovered? He didn’t think it was possible. When he had accepted the full-time job as a researcher for the Church, he had moved completely into the Davis persona. Arthur Eden was on a half-pay leave of absence from his teaching job (a thing his university had welcomed in the current budget crunch), and the mortgage for his unused dwelling and sundry other expenses were paid directly by the university bursar. Eden lived off of what Davis earned as an employee of the Church, and somewhat frugally at that. But Kelsey was speaking…
“You have manifested your virt power strongly, reliably. Training has granted you steady improvement. You can recite litanies as well as priests with years of seniority and you conduct yourself with appropriate enthusiasm during all ritual events. Yet… yet…”
“Sir?”
“I still suspect that you remain something of a skeptic despite all of this.”
Wisely, Eden remained silent. Kelsey fixed him with his pale blue gaze.
“At a recent meeting of Church Elders, your name came up as a possible candidate for a singular honor. As your supervisor, I was asked if I could second that recommendation.”
“Honor, sir?”
“See? That questioning again! Most of our acolytes when presented with such an opportunity would fling themselves to the carpet to praise the gods that they were even considered. A few would ask if they were truly worthy. You—you and a small group of others—question. Yet, if I nominate you for this honor, you will be elevated to a position that few others in the Church will ever hold.”