He unfolded himself from full lotus and stood. Barendts was out, probably at the gym exercising, as he did obsessively. The little flat was stark and bare, more a cell than an apartment, but Michael kept it neat. Just now as his mind had quieted toward a meditative state, he had been feeling, if not happy, at least as though he were doing something worthwhile for the first time in months.
Musing about this, he opened the door.
"Hello, Michael," said the woman on the other side.
He almost closed it on her, but after a moment's hesitation, Michael waved her in. Irina Case, NeoShintoist and general pain in the neck, stepped into his little room.
"I've been trying to contact you for months!" she said.
"And I've been avoiding you," he said. "Or hadn't you noticed?" But he waved her to a seat and said, "Would you like something to drink?"
She shook her head. Irina Case was about Michael's age, but blond and with pale, almost white eyes. She came from New Armstrong— had arrived, in fact, with that traitor Mallory. But she claimed not to have any involvement with the New Armstrong plotters.
"I know the Order sent you to try to bring me back into the fold," he said as he brought Case a cup of coffee. "I've dodged calls from the brothers here as well. But why they think you would be able to succeed where they failed is beyond me."
Irina quickly put down the cup. "Oh! I think there's been a misunderstanding." He stared at her; she looked uncomfortable. "I didn't come here to try to bring you back into the Order, Dr. Bequith, although we'd obviously prefer that."
He was puzzled. "Then why are you here? — to apologize for your countrymen?"
She took a sip of the coffee, unsuccessfully trying to disguise annoyance. "New Armstrong is a world, Dr. Bequith. Not a conspiracy. And not an evil empire.
"I suppose you haven't bothered to learn about us. Well. Our world orbits a gas giant only a little bigger than Jupiter. It's a halo world; if it didn't have a huge magnetic field for power, we wouldn't be able to live there at all. Our cities are built on the ice mares; I come from Mare Labrynthus."
Michael translated the name to himself: Sea of Mazes.
"New Armstrong is thriving," she said, "from an economic point of view. But in other ways…. For a long time we were staunch supporters of Permanence and the Compact. The Compact gives people direction, you know— many of our young people took the vows and became members of the Order. We built and launched our own cyclers. But since the fall of the lit worlds… well, people's faith has been shaken. A lot of the younger ones feel abandoned and alone and New A is such a hard place to live that… there's been violence. And suicide. People walking out onto the ice without a suit… and talk of joining the R.E."
He nodded. "And that talk reached the highest levels."
Case grimaced and nodded. "Of course. We would incur all the costs of such an association, and it would cripple us. Nonetheless, there's a powerful group aiming for just that. Mallory and his people are not the disease— just a symptom."
She took a deep breath and went on. "There must be an alternative. Recently, some of us have started a new church. We want to reverse the damage, give the people of New A their pride and sense of destiny back."
Michael suddenly realized where this was going. "Wait a second—"
"You can't have any idea how profoundly your kami affect people from New A," Case rushed on. "Particularly the Euler Night. I've seen a man who was in a deep depression visit those kami and come back laughing. Laughing!"
"I won't be your guru," said Michael. "I merely found the kami, I don't possess their… power."
"Oh, we know that. We just want your blessing to use the Euler Night in our initiatory ceremony. The religion's a mystery cult, adhering to the principles of Permanence Study 19-A. We're not exploitative economically or socially. People can come and participate in the mysteries and if they choose they can volunteer to run centers or learn to conduct initiations. There's no metaphysics or myth system, we're purely methodological. All clean," she said, holding her hands up.
Michael looked around at his tiny apartment. This was the last thing he'd expected. All his life people had asked him to serve, in one way or another. This woman Case was asking for something he didn't even believe he could give: a blessing. "But why?" he asked, trying to sort out how this made him feel. "Why do you need my blessing?"
"People respect you— your accomplishments," she said. "With your stamp of approval on the ceremonies, we'll be able to bring in more people."
"And I should do this because…? Anybody can visit a NeoShinto chapter or buy the equipment to visit the kami privately. They hardly need us, do they?"
Irina Case shook her head. "It's Leary's principles of Set and Setting. We provide a social context for the experience. The ceremonies help visitors to the kami to bring their experiences back to their daily life." She drew herself up and said in a more formal voice, "I would be honored if you would attend one of our initiations here in Lux. If you approve of what we've done, I'd like you to endorse our statement of intent. That's all."
Mike's mind was a blank. He opened his mouth, thinking he would just reject her request out of hand. To his own astonishment, he just said, "Call me tomorrow," he said. "We'll set something up."
MICHAEL CLOSED THE door behind himself and let out a whoosh of breath. For some reason he felt good— very good. He knew he would never rejoin the NeoShintoist Order. But he hadn't known how deeply he'd needed to believe that the years he'd spent in their service had not been wasted.
Yes, he could bless this new mystery cult. Caught between a spiritual awakening and political adventurism, the people of New Armstrong needed to decide a new course for themselves. His kami could help with that, he was sure. And if New Armstrong could rebuild its soul, then he might have won without a shot a war that his people had long ago lost on Kimpurusha.
He had just stepped away from the door when a knock came on it. Irina must have forgotten something, he thought, swinging it open and saying, "What now?"
Three uniformed men stood there. "Michael Bequith," said the one in front. "I hereby place you under arrest for violating the terms of the injunction forbidding you from contacting your former companion, Laurent Herat."
TWO DAYS LATER, Michael was pacing the confines of his cell when an officer appeared outside. "Where's my council?" Michael demanded. He had tried the soft approach with these stone-faced men, and got nowhere.
They seemed to be military police, not like the ones he saw regularly in the streets of Lux. And this was no local police station: He had been flown for hours out over the ice, to finally land at a simple station in the middle of nowhere, and then to drop in an elevator until his ears hurt from the pressure change.
His guard merely grimaced at his question, and said, "You've got a visitor."
He stepped aside, revealing a diminutive woman in a cycler captain's uniform. It was Rue Cassels.
Michael backed away and sat down on the cell's bunk as she stepped in. Rue looked around herself appraisingly, then said, "I'm sorry I had to do this, Mike."
"Do what?" He clutched the edge of the bunk in sudden realization. "You! You had me arrested!"
"Yes," she admitted, looking of all things a bit embarrassed. "It was the only way to get you here."
"What did I do to you? First you strand me here, cut off all communication, steal the professor away, now you have me thrown in jail for trying to get out of this hole? What next? Am I going to be executed?"
She reddened, but her voice was calm as she said, "I only want what I've wanted ever since… since we came here. I want you to join my crew."