Heads on either side of the table craned forward, shaven knobs of bone anxious to hear the answer from an adept who had achieved selection, which was the first important step toward the goal of briefing.
"You don't and you never do. Every day the battle is fought anew. The struggle is endless."
Virudhaka was heard to remark skeptically, "That's easy to say. Such talk is cheap, and it still doesn't answer the question."
"Yes, you're right," Mara agreed, surprising them all. "Talk is cheap."
He removed the long steel pin that secured his robe and pushed it with a slow, steady pressure through his right cheek until the steel point appeared through his left cheek. After a moment he slid the pin out and fastened his robe with it. On his cheeks were tiny bloodless punctures.
Devadatta had turned pale. Virudhaka too was silent, unable to drag his eyes away. There the discussion ended.
As they were filing out of the chamber one of the base controllers touched Mara's sleeve and indicated that he should stand aside. Mara waited, spindly arms folded inside his black robe. With clinical detachment he knew he was to be punished for breaking the rule of self-aggrandizement. He had yielded to petty temptation. Such empty posturing should be beneath him. He might even lose status.
Mara followed the base controller down a winding flight of steps cut into the rock and they emerged into the original main tunnel of the mine. This led from what had been the entrance--now blocked off-- into the heart of the mountain. The tunnel was high and wide with smooth walls and lit by globes in wire cages. The air was cool and fresh, wafted against their faces by hidden fans.
Down more steps, the tunnel narrower this time, into the lower depths where Mara had never been before. This was "access restricted" to all adepts.
Finally they entered a short tunnel that ended in a wooden door. The base controller pushed the door open, stood to one side, and Mara squeezed past him. Once inside the small gloomy cell the door was shut and he was left alone in darkness and silence, the shuffle of sandaled footsteps fading away to nothing.
Was this his penance, to be locked away? For how long? Not that time was important, providing his status wasn't rescinded; that was his greatest fear.
Gradually it came to him that he wasn't alone--the other's black robes made him impossible to see, but Mara's heightened senses detected another presence in the whisper of a breath and the distinctive odor of another human being. So he had been locked away with another penitent. What wrongs, in deed or thought, had the other committed? What rules had he broken?
"Sit down, Mara."
Staring hard, Mara's weak eyes were just able to make out a faint shadow that resolved itself into a narrow bony head on a stalk of a neck. His breathing quickened. Was it possible? Could it really be ... ?
"Sit down, Mara," Bhumi Bhap repeated.
He obeyed, sitting cross-legged on the cool sandy floor of the cell.
Ever since the day he had been given the name of Mara he knew that he had been specially chosen. Mara, his namesake, the Evil One, lord of the upper sky, god of transient pleasures in heaven and hell-- the name was his because they had seen his promise from the beginning, as a shy, intense kid who never smiled. He had fulfilled that promise and now he was ready.
Mara exulted. This was his briefing!
"You are the youngest to be chosen, Mara, which means that we expect more of you. Your purpose must be keener, your resolve stronger. Age brings disillusionment and the prospect of failure, but at nineteen such things can't touch you. You copy?"
"I copy," Mara replied.
"Your briefing schedule has been finalized," Bhumi Bhap went on. "Times and movements have been monitored and an optimum termination point selected. Follow the mission plan as closely as possible-- but not to the detriment of the OTP. Use your own initiative as the situation requires. You're out there on your own, so the final decision to achieving successful accomplishment rests with you. We at Mission Control can't make it for you. Is that clear?"
"Affirmative." Mara could now make out Bhumi Bhap's face in more detail. The eye sockets were deep black holes, the skin shiny and tight like vellum. Mara had never been so close to him before. He had never known that Bhumi Bhap reeked of death.
"This mission is one of many, but each is vital to our ultimate goal. I know you won't fail us, Mara."
" To be reborn it is necessary to die first,' " said Mara, intoning the litany.
"One last thing." A note of warning in Bhumi Bhap's voice. "The Faith must be protected. If for whatever reason you find yourself in a no-go situation--abort. You know the procedure. You have been well trained and you're the right stuff. Do I need to say more?"
"Negative, Earth Father."
"You will receive documentation at dawn tomorrow, including mission plan, log sheets, and termination pack. Questions?"
Mara was too excited to think straight. He shook his head giddily, the wire frame of his glasses faintly catching the dim light. His own mission at last!
"Get a good night's sleep. Meditate on rising and pray for a successful termination. I won't see you again before you leave, so I'll wish you good luck. I have a hundred-and-one-percent confidence in you, Mara. A-OK?"
"A-OK," Mara confirmed.
Chase was searched three times even before he got to the reception hall at the UN. When he finally made it, his ID was scrutinized by a surveillance operative behind a bulletproof glass shield while a red-capped guard stood nearby cradling a snub-nosed automatic pistol in the crook of his arm.
The operative fed the serial index into the terminal and read off the instant dossier that flashed onto the screen. Carefully he compared the two mug shots--the one on the ID with the one on the screen--then punched a button and in seconds a facsimilie photograph was spat through the slot. This he affixed to a green-bordered security pass, ran it through a magnetized coder, and handed the pass and the ID over, waving Chase through the electronic barrier.
There must have been several hundred people milling about in the hall with its gigantic mosaic murals and marble columns and the spotlit fountain as its centerpiece. The continual movement of feet on the marble floor slurred into a sibilant sound that scraped at the nerves. Chase had never understood why the sight of crowds of people hurrying about should unsettle him. Each one had a purpose, presumably, a reason for being here, yet in places like this he felt uneasy because there were so many people on secret errands--not like at airports where everyone's reason for being there was obvious.
"Are you lost, Dr. Chase?"
He swung around and looked down into the brown eyes of a woman with dark curly hair. He frowned and snapped his fingers. "Ruth . . ." He remembered. "Patton." They shook hands and Chase said, "You recognized me after all this time?"
"Even with the beard," Ruth smiled. "You're not exactly unknown, are you? Best-selling author and TV celebrity. The cover of Time."
Foolishly he almost blushed. He couldn't get used to fame. The Gavin Chase in the media wasn't him--some other guy. "What are you doing in New York?" he asked her.
"I actually live and work here," Ruth said. "Somebody has to." She told him about Manhattan Emergency on Sixty-eighth Street and her research there. "I have just spent a frustrating and totally fruitless two hours with the medical attache of the Chinese delegation. I heard that they'd introduced a new respiratory drug in China and I've been trying to get hold of a sample to test." Her lips tightened. "Oh, they're exceedingly polite--yes, madam, of course, madam, leave it to us, madam. That makes the third positive assurance in three months."
"And still nothing?"
Ruth shook her head. "You know, we send them our new stuff and the formulas. Medicine shouldn't have ideological barriers. For Christ's sake we're all living on the same planet--" She threw up her hands and tapped her heel on the marble floor. "Okay, Ruth, take it easy. I tend to get carried away, and will be one day, literally. So what are you doing here?"