Epilogue
Cindy Gladstone woke with a strange feeling that she had something to do. Mentally, she called to the computer.
“You asked to be alerted when Chris Appleton next entered meditative prayer.”
“Thank you,” she answered. As she sat up, she asked the computer for the surface time. It was the middle of the night. “Yet, she did not need the computer to tell her why he would be praying to Sif now. She had watched his escape from K’non using the computer’s censors. She knew it would take a long time before the emotions that his shooting two guards would generate to settle enough to allow him to contact her. He might not remain long in that state; she grabbed her robe and headed for the control room.
Inside, four of her assistants sat at monitors waiting on the chance that an emergency arose requiring Cindy’s assistance. She was the registered player in Jacobson’s game; only she could communicate with those Sifian prophets placed under her authority.
“Checking up on us?” Marissa asked as she stepped away from the consol.
“Somebody I need to talk to,” Cindy answered as she climbed up into her chair. A quick check with the computer told her that Chris was still in meditation.
Cindy did not know how much time she had, but she needed to be awake for this. From a small drawer built into the arm of her chair she pulled a thin, round waffer, which she placed into the feeding disk on her wrist. She did not like the idea of storing her brain in a vat; however, eating food was such an inefficient way of obtaining nutrients and maintining a healthy blood chemistry that she had given it up. The white disk she selected held stimulants as well; enough to make sure that any mistakes she made during the conversation would not be caused by lack of sleep. Impatiently, she waited for the chemicals to have their effect. She had made her decision; she was going to go through with it.
Unofficially, the word that the senior officers of the Greater Glory had adopted a lenient policy on the doctrines Sif’s angels could advocate reached her while the meeting was still going on. Dave Valance contacted her directly. The computer’s censors, prohibiting the transmittal of scientific knowledge to the residents of Jacobson’s World, remained in effect, but she was freed, to some extent, from the need to advocate the “humans are superior” doctrine that the Greater Glory adopted as its official doctrine. Yet, the council’s vote did not give her total freedom either. Political realities made it important to build alliances within the organization, and the vast majority of players would have her forcefully removed if they discovered that she was working to put an end to Jacobson’s game.
She opened the channel. On the floor below her, a holographic projection disk flickered, then settled to show Chris kneeling on the forest floor. Behind him, Cirrus whinnied and satisfied the hunger generated from a bell of flying. Chris cocked an eyebrow when he noticed her image.
“I saw,” Cindy said. Chris looked down. “I’m sorry.”
“My fault,” Chris said over a chin starting to quiver. “I thought I had time to cure them. I had to stop them.”
“Control yourself, Jeffers. Too much emotion and we can’t talk. Put it out of your mind for a moment. Not because it isn’t important, but it is important that we talk.” She gave him a moment of silence to settle himself. “That’s better. Now, what did you want?”
“Answers,” he said. “I want to know what kind of game you’re playing with us down here. And, I’m back to being Chris again.”
It was Cindy’s turn to be surprised. Chris knew nothing about the game. His prayers did not show the slightest suspicion. How did he figure it out? She could not ask; the censors would block that, too. But she could show surprise; she hoped that Chris read her reaction correctly.
Chris continued. “You’ve got the power to put an end to all of this. Why don’t you?”
“We cannot,” Cindy answered. “We are prohibited from interfering with events on the planet, except through the actions and through powers granted to those who endure the sacrifices and make the effort to contact us — as you have. You must do the work. I will help you where I can.”
“Why do the other angels spread such lies? If you and the others would get together . . .”
“There are disagreements in heaven just as there are on earth, Chris. I would like nothing better than to have the others tell their minions to adopt the harmonious ways we have prescribed. They would like nothing more than for me to give up my position and the influence I wield on this planet. Our fight, Chris, takes place on all levels. You must do your part.”
“I don’t know what I can do,” Chris sighed, his shoulders sagging and his head drooping forward. “Back on earth we had all of the evidence we needed that free will did not exist. For every movement of a muscle, scientists had an unbroken chain of cause-and-effect. They knew how pulses traveled down neurons through a wave of cancelled electrical potential across cell membranes, how neural transmitters released by an impulse reaching the end of one nerve started a pulse in the next, how some neurons released chemicals into muscle tissue that caused the muscles to contract. They knew how photons striking the retina and sound waves moving the ear drum, pressure and temperature on the skin and chemical reactions in the nose and mouth, transmitted their information to the brain. No scientist had ever recorded brain activity that violated the determined laws of physics and chemistry, and almost everybody back on Earth still believed that somewhere between sensory input and behavior, free will exerted an influence.
“If they refuse to be convinced, what hope is there for these people? I can’t say how many times I wanted to call free will and justice a ghost; only, I’ve seen ghosts here. I have talked to ghosts. How do you people pull that off? When I see a ghost, either there is some substance out there causing the air to give off photons that strike the eye, leaving an image of a person, or — or you can get into my head somehow and make me see things that aren’t even there. Damn, Cindy, I know it’s a trick. I found the filaments built into the zombie bodies that made them move. I know about the hydrogen balloons you biologically engineer dragons around. Why do you do these things?”
“Calm, Chris,” she said, though she knew the anger was not real. The projector showed no threat of breaking the link.
“If people back home can’t give up the idea of free will without ghosts and dragons and magic, how am I supposed to convince the people here when they are surrounded by the stuff — or the illusions of ghosts and magic that you people somehow generate. It’s almost as if you don’t want them to figure it out.”
“Some of us don’t,” Cindy said. Saying the words sent her heart pounding. Chris still showed on her projector; for the moment, at least, she was still in the game.
“Why don’t you tell people this is all a trick?” Chris asked; his words stepping over her answer in a way that told her he had not heard. The censor had blocked her answer and was in a process of transmitting a report of the breech to the game’s referees.
Chris huffed, “I said I want answers. I’m not getting any.”
“I’ll answer your real question, Chris,” Cindy said, her mind frantically searching for words as she hoped Chris would follow her lead. “You have noticed that the people on this world can not learn scientific truth. Explain electromagnetism or your chemistry to them, and they forget what you say in a moment.”
“Why are you just sitting there?” Chris pleaded.
Cindy had stepped over the line, and the computer had not allowed her words through to Chris. She sighed. “Sif has her reasons,” she said.
“And what are they?”
Cindy smiled in relief.
“What’s so funny?”
“Chris, you are reaching conclusions without all of the facts. There are things which you do not understand. . . .”
“Try me?”
“I cannot.”
“Why do I pray to you? I thought you would help me.”
“Chris, you have to believe that I am giving you as much help as I am able.” After a moment’s thought, she repeated, “As much as I am able. I am a servant of Sif. I do not make the rules.”
Chris’s eyes widened for a moment, then half closed. “What am I to do? I am giving up hope that I can ever accomplish anything meaningful here; not with all of the illusions you people generate leading the people here to conclusions that aren’t true; not when everything I say about biochemistry leaks from their mind the moment they hear it. What can I do for these people if I can’t teach them science — if I can not teach them to think?”
“There are answers, Chris, even if I can not give them to you.” Cindy tossed her head in frustration that the censor would not permit the next words she thought to say.
“I’m tired,” said Chris.
“I know. But you will not rest. Something will drive you to reach out again, to keep trying. And one of these days you will be surprised. You will find a way of saying what you need that everybody can listen to. They will listen to you. You have access to powers no god can ever grant. Use it; show people what your knowledge can do. Then, they will listen.”
“I’m tempted to go to Laurella, just to prove you wrong. But, I suspect the Laurellans have people about seeking harmony with the trolls and hobgoblins that have moved back into this region. Could you help me find them?”
“I will grant you the power to seek divine guidance. The magic will tell you the direction and distance you need to travel to join the Laurellans. I wish you luck.”
“Luck,” Chris said.
For a moment, Cindy expected him to say more, but the screen flickered and her link to his mind ended. She cursed. She had said so little to help him. But there will be more opportunities. She told the computer again, “Alert me when he enters meditation.” There was no going back to sleep now. She looked around, “Marissa, what’s happening down there. Is there anything we can help with?”