"My children," Artemis intoned, "we are gathered here this evening to praise the holy name of the one true God."
"Praise God!" the recruits shouted.
"And to condemn the evildoers who worship falsely."
"Death to the false gods!" the recruits screamed.
"For our nation is plagued with the evil spread by the false gods and their demented followers."
"Death to the followers of the false gods!"
Father McConnell noticed that the recruits were reading their responses from huge cards held by the woman on stage.
"And only through the strength of our military might may we hope to banish evil from our land."
"Praise God!" they shouted. "Hail Artemis!"
Father McConnell could not believe his eyes. That was what it said on the card: "Hail Artemis."
"Haü Artemis!" they yelled. "Hau Artemis!"
39
r
"No," McConnell whispered. "Oh, dear God . . ."
He began to back away through the press of bodies toward the exit, but he was restrained by two burly soldiers carrying billy clubs.
"Let me go!" Father McConnell hissed. Instead he felt the cold metal of handcuffs slapping shut over his wrists, and felt his body borne high above the heads of the congregation as the guards carried him forward.
"What have we, o sentries?" Artemis boomed. The crowd was still.
"A heretic, most exalted Lord Artemis, God of Gods." They set McConnell down at the feet of the white-robed pastor.
"What say you?" Artemis boomed, staring at McConnell.
Father McConnell cleared his throat to speak. No sound came out. He tried again. "I am Father Malcolm McConnell of the Roman Catholic faith, chaplain to the Fort Wheeler United States Army Base," he said. His pronouncement was met with boos and Bronx jeers and shouts of "Infidel!"
"Are you come to make amends for your evil existence as a tool of the corporate-military oppressors?" Artemis asked.
"I most certainly am not," McConnell said. "What you are practicing is blasphemy, and it cannot be condoned—"
"Death to the evil messengers of false gods!" someone screamed so loudly that his voice cracked. And then the tent was teeming with enraged soldiers stampeding toward the handcuffed priest.
"Halt!" Artemis said, raising the neon lightning bolt offered by the woman in white. Instantly, si-
40
lence fell over the throng. "Clear the circle. It is time."
A hushed buzz filled the tent. "Time for what?" Father McConnell asked, feeling his sweat pouring from his armpits. "Time for what?" he repeated.
A lone soldier worked his way through the crowd to the edge of the circle surrounding Father McConnell. It was Sergeant Grimes. His hands were in his pockets, and he smiled. "Exorcism," he said softly. "That's what the Sunday evening services are for. I was in charge of getting you here, devil priest."
Father McConnell's eyes widened. "Sergeant Grimes," he whispered.
"Your kind's not long for this world," he said. "Not if we have anything to do about it." A buzz of assent circulated around the sweltering tent.
Artemis raised his hands for silence, and the crowd was still. "Before we cast out the evil in the demon follower of the false god, we will purify ourselves with the taking of the Cup," he intoned. The woman in white scurried behind a curtain and reappeared with an enormous silver chalice filled with red liquid. Artemis took it by its two handles and spoke in a voice of deepest authority.
"You are the soldiers of Artemis, about to take the first step toward destroying the oppressors of this nation," he said. "The flag of America proves its devil worship by bearing thirteen stripes. From the beginning has it been a repository of evil on earth. You did not enter this army to die for the devil-worshipping politicians."
"No," came the thundering response.
"You did not enter this army to march into distant lands to wage war on innocents."
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"No," the men yelled, looking as one thousand-eyed animal at the cup in Artemis's hands.
"You did not enter this army to see your nation's poor and helpless beaten by the corporate-political system."
"No!"
"And now I ask you: Why did you enter this army?"
The recruits looked among themselves, bewildered. "I will tell you," Artemis whispered. The crowd listened raptly. "You joined the army to find the one true way."
Cheers.
"Put your faith in me, o Lambs of Artemis, and I will show you the road to glory."
"Praise Artemis," they shouted.
"I will take you all to a promised land, where you may serve men of greatness. Even as I speak, that land is opening up to you, awaiting your triumphant entry. And that land shall be called Vadassar."
The room buzzed with excitement. "Hail Vadassar!" the men shouted.
"Vadassar will be your home and your strength."
"Hail Vadassar."
"Vadassar will be your master and your servant."
"Hail Vadassar."
Father McConnell looked up, puzzled, at Artemis's fiery eyes. What on earth was Vadassar?
"One day, my children, I will be gone from this world, but Vadassar shall remain to carry on my work through eternity. When I die, Vadassar will provide for you." Artemis held the cup before him at arm's length. "Therefore, this do in remembrance of me," he said, his eyes ceilingward. "With this Cup will you find Vadassar and serve it welL"
42
I
"This is madness," Father McConnell said, crossing himself. A soldier slapped his hands down.
The men formed a single une to approach Artemis and his chalice of murky liquid. One by one, they drank from it, and as they did, their eyes took on a vacant stare, their jaws sagged open, and they wandered aimlessly around the tent, not speaking, not focusing, mindlessly walking into one another like bumper cars.
"Behold the devil priest!" Artemis roared, pointing to the trembling Father McConnell at his feet.
The men formed a circle around him. "Out, demon, out," they chanted. Their voices were low. They inched forward menacingly. "Out, demon, out."
"This is the United States of America," McCon-nell pleaded. "You can't do this."
"Out, demon, out." The circle tightened.
"Come to your senses!"
"Out, demon, out." The white-robed woman with Artemis f ell to her knees. "Out, demon, out," she moaned, tearing her gossamer gown to her waist, exposing her fleshy breasts. Her nipples were pink and hard. She writhed on the floor at Artemis's feet, beside McConnell.
"She's picked up his spirit," Artemis yelled. "We have a true demon in our midst, spreading his evil filth to the prophetess Samantha."
Screams of outrage filled the night as the men closed in, zombielike, and the prophetess Samantha stripped, wriggling, to the buff. "Out, demon, out," she called breathlessly as she bucked and thrashed on the floor.
"As we do to you, priest, so shall we do to all who serve the oppressors of men," Artemis shrieked.
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. Father McConnell closed his eyes and repeated the Pater-Noster for the last time.
With a heave, Artemis lifted the prophetess Sa-mantha out of the way as the recruits fell in a wave on the trembling form of Father Malcolm McConnell. When they were done, the priest was little more than a smear on the dirt floor of the tent.
"And whosoever here shall betray himself or others shall die," Artemis concluded in final warning against anyone present who might still be entertaining the notion of discussing the evening's activities with someone outside the holy order.
"Praise Artemis," the prophetess Samantha chanted weakly as the remanís of Father McConnell were being covered with sawdust.
"Praise Artemis!" the troops cheered, tossing paper money at their new god while Samantha, naked as a jaybird, blew them kisses.
"Wow, that was a hot one," Samantha murmured under the roar of the crowd.