As the priest landed in front of us, though, he looked entirely human. He was short and skinny, his robe didn’t fit too well, glasses perched precariously on his button nose, his graying hair was so thin I could hardly follow the course of his tonsure—the strip shaven from ear to ear, across the top of the head, that was said to have originated with Simon Magus.
He turned to the crowd first. “Let me speak with these gentlemen out of love, not hatred, and righteousness may prevail,” he said in his oddly carrying tone. “ ‘He that loveth not knoweth not God; for God is love.’ ”
“Amen,” mumbled across the grounds.
As the little man faced back toward us, I had a sudden belief that he really meant that dear quotation. It didn’t drive away the miasma. The Adversary knows well how to use single-minded sincerity. But I felt less hostile to this priest as a person.
He smiled at us and bobbed his head. “Good evening,” he said. “I am Initiate Fifth Class Marmiadon, at your service.”
“Your, uh, ecclesiastical name?” Barney asked.
“Why, of course. The old name is the first of the things of this world that must be left behind at the Gate of Passage. I’m not afraid of a hex, if that is what you mean, sir.”
“No, I suppose not.” Barney introduced us, a cheap token of amity since we were both easily identifiable. “We came out hoping to negotiate a settlement.”
Marmiadon beamed. “Wonderful! Blessings! I’m not an official spokesman, you realize. The Committee for National Righteousness called for this demonstration. However, I be glad to use my good offices.”
“The trouble is,” Barney said, we can’t do much about their basic demands. We’re not against world peace and universal disarmament ourselves, you understand; but those are matters for international diplomacy. In the same way, the President and Congress have to decide whether to end the occupation formerly hostile countries and spend the money social uplift at home. Amnesty for rioters is up to our city governments. School courses in Gnostic philosophy and history have to be decided on by elect authorities. As for total income equalization and phasing out of materialism, hypocrisy, injustice ” He shrugged. “That needs a Constitutional amendment at least.
“You can, however, lend your not inconsiderable influence to forwarding those ends,” Marmiadon said. “For example, you can contribute to the Committee’s public education fund. You can urge the election of the proper candidates and help finance their campaigns. You can allow proselytizers to circulate among your employees. You can stop doing business with merchants who remain obstinate.” He spread his arms. “In the course of so doing my children, you can rescue yourselves from eternal damnation!”
“Well, maybe; though Pastor Karlslund over at St. Olaf’s Lutheran might give me a different opinion on that,” Barney said. “In any case, it’s too big a list to check off in one day.”
“Granted, granted.” Marmiadon quivered with eagerness. “We reach our ends a step at a time. ‘While ye have light, believe in the light, that ye may be the children of light.’ The present dispute is over a single issue.”
“The trouble is,” Barney said, “you want us to cancel contracts we’ve signed and taken money for. You want us to break our word and let down those who trust us.”
His joy dropped from Marmiadon. He drew himself to his full meager height, looked hard and straight at us, and stated: “These soldiers of the Holy Spirit demand that you stop making equipment for the armed forces, oppressors abroad, and for the police, oppressors at home. Nothing more is asked of you at this time, and nothing less. The question is not negotiable.”
“I see. I didn’t expect anything else,” Barney said. “But I wanted to put the situation in plain language before witnesses. Now I’m going to warn you.”
Those who heard whispered to the rest, a hissing from mouth to mouth. I saw tension mount anew.
“If you employ violence upon those who came simply to remonstrate,” Marmiadon declared, “they will either have the law upon you, or see final proof that the law is a creature of the vested interests . . . which I tell you in turn are the creatures of Satan.”
“Oh, no, no,” Barney answered. “We’re mild sorts, whether you believe it or not. But you are trespassing. You have interfered with our work to the point where we’re delayed and shorthanded. We must carry on as best we can, trying to meet our contractual obligations. We’re about to run an experiment. You could be endangered. Please clear the grounds for your own safety.”
Marmiadon grew rigid. “If you think you can get away with a deadly spell—”
“Nothing like. I’ll tell you precisely what we have in mind. We’re thinking about a new method of transporting liquid freight. Before going further, we have to run a safety check on it. If the system fails, unprotected persons could be hurt.” Barney raised his volume, though we knew some of the police officers would have owls’ ears tuned in. “I order you, I warn you, I beg you to stop trespassing, and get off company properly. You have half an hour.
We wheeled and were back inside before the noise broke loose. Curses, taunts, obscenities, and animal howls followed us down the halls until we reached the blessed isolation of the main alchemy lab.
The dozen scientists, technicians, and blue-collar men whom Barney had picked out of the volunteers to stay with him, were gathered there. They sat smoking, drinking coffee brewed on Bunsen burners, talking in low voices. When we entered, a small cheer came from them. They’d watched the confrontation on a closed-loop ball. I sought out Ike Abrams, the warehouse foreman. Ever since we soldiered together, I’d known him as a good man, and had gotten him his job here. “All in order?” I asked.
He made a swab-O sign. “By me, Cap’n, she’s clear and on green. I can’t wait.”
I considered him for a second. “You really have it in for those characters, don’t you?”
“In my position, wouldn’t you?” He looked as if he were about to spit.
In your position, I thought, or in any of a lot of other positions, but especially in yours, Ike-yes.
As a rationalist, I detested the irrationality at the heart of Gnosticism. Were I a devout Christian, I’d have more counts against the Johannine Church: its claim to be the successor of all others, denying them any further right to exist; worse, probably, its esotericism, that would deny God’s grace to nearly the whole of mankind. Rationalist and religionist alike could revolt against its perversion of the Gospel According to St. John, perhaps the most beautiful and gentle if the most mystical book in Holy Writ.
But if you were Jewish, the Johnnies would pluck out of context and throw at you texts like “For many deceivers are entered into the world, who confess not that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh. This is a deceiver and an antichrist.” You would see reviving around you the ancient nightmare of anti-Semitism.
A little embarrassed, I turned to Bill Hardy, our chief paracelsus, who sat swinging his legs from a lab bench. “How much stuff did you produce?” I asked.
“About fifty gallons,” he said, pointing.
“Wow! With no alchemy?”
“Absolutely not. Pure, honest-to-Berzelius molecular interaction. I admit we were lucky to have a large supply of the basic ingredients on hand.”
I winced, recalling the awful sample he’d whipped up when our scheme was first discussed. “How on Midgard did that happen?”
“Well, the production department is—was—filling some big orders,” he said. “For instance, a dairy chain wanted a lot of rancidity preventers. You know the process, inhibit the reaction you don’t want in a test tube, and cast a sympathetic spell to get the same effect in ton lots of your product. Then the government is trying to control the skunk population in the Western states, and—” He broke off as Ginny came in.