Judgment Day (51 page)

"You're still thinking Earth-think, honey," Grandma Jones said. "Where we're going he can be the man of the family, working the fields all day, bringing home the bacon, and there won't be no government money to seduce her away from her man. They'll make it together or they won't make it at all."

"They're still awfully young for marriage," Christy persisted. "Has anyone discussed the facts of life with them?" she asked delicately.

"Experimenting with the facts of life is why they're getting married in the first place," Grandma Jones said with a laugh. "Anything they don't already know they'll just have to learn by trial and error, but that's half the fun, isn't it?"

Grandma Jones laughed but when Christy didn't join in she sobered, fearing she had insulted Christy.

"I'm sorry, honey, I forgot you're still a virgin."

Embarrassed, Christy reddened.

"What's a matter with that Pastor Shepherd, anyway? I'm going to talk some sense into him."

"Please don't."

"He needs a good talking to."

"It's not just him, it's me too. I just don't. . . I'm not ready."

"Says you, but I says you're past ready." After a sigh she said, "I'll stay out of it if you say so, but you're ripe for the picking and if the good pastor isn't harvesting then it's time to open the field for U-pick."

A small compartment on the lower deck was designated the honeymoon compartment and the regular occupants vacated for three nights, rotating through bunks throughout the ship. After that the couple was separated again. There was no family space, all compartments gender segregated. The newlyweds walked the ship together after that, hand in hand, clockwise in the morning, counterclockwise in the evening.

Teresa White, Grandma Jones's neighbor in Chicago, shared their cabin along with two of her children. Teresa was open to a fault, sharing freely about her life before she had asked Jesus into her heart. Not an ounce of pretense, a hearty laugh, and a ribald sense of humor, Teresa was the life of the compartment and a sought-after companion. Her girls, Nashville and Fayette, shared the compartment, and her son Wheaton was at the other end of the ship staying with the men. When Christy asked about their unusual names Teresa answered in characteristic fashion.

"I named my children after the places where they were conceived.

Although, if truth be known, Fayette should have been named Drive-in,"

she said, laughing at her own joke.

"Or Cadillac," Grandma Jones added.

"I never did like him that much," Teresa said, "but I sure loved that car—it was yellow. That was Fayetteville, then I had that little adventure in Nashville—always thought that was the prettiest name for a girl. I fudged on naming my boy Wheaton since the motel wasn't technically in the city limits, but it's a good name. I got two older boys too. York turned out as rotten as the city he was named after. He's in prison now and he'll be an old man before he gets out."

The compartment was quiet then, Teresa's normally booming voice had trailed off, sadness creeping in. Then life came back to her voice, her face animated.

"But Harlem, he turned out good. Never could figure that. They grew up together, only a year apart, and Harlem worshiped York, but when York turned down the wrong path Harlem didn't follow. He stayed out of the gangs and never got himself hooked on the drugs. Only boy in his neighborhood without a rap sheet—kind of embarrassed him," she said, laughing again. "He's apprenticed himself as a plumber. Got himself two kids of his own. I cried an ocean when I said good-bye to them babies. He thought about coming but his wife's not the country type. She's assistant manager of a Safeway and the pay's good. Those two are going somewhere, but then so are we,"

she said, banging on the steel wall.

Nashville was a quiet girl who liked to read and spent hours in her bunk, curtain closed, churning through book after book. Christy discussed some of those books with her in the corridors at night, their backs against the wall trying to fool their bodies into thinking they were sitting in chairs.

Fayette had a wild side and spent the days in the corridors, parading up and down, flirting with boys. Occasionally Fayette would slip out at night, ostensibly to use the bathroom, but twice Teresa went after her when she didn't come back in ten minutes. A shouting match erupted after the second incident, everyone staying inside their curtained racks, pretending not to hear the scolding Teresa gave her girl.

"Boys only want one thing and they won't buy the cow if they can get the milk for free," she said.

Grandma Jones's daughter Fancy was a drug addict and spent the first few weeks in withdrawal, irritable, sweaty, a bad case of the shakes. Without even tobacco to feed her addiction, she turned to her fingernails, chewing them to nubs, cuticles bleeding. Accepting no comfort, she was a psychological mess and the only person on board refused medication when she requested it.

"She's got to get through this sometime," Grandma Jones said. "This is as good a time as any."

Fancy's misery infected whatever part of the ship she occupied, dampening even Teresa's spirits when she was around. But by the fourth week Fancy was improving, smiling occasionally, joining in card games, helping with school. Slowly a new Fancy emerged, intelligent, attentive to detail, artistic. Fancy's skills were crude, undeveloped, so Christy sought out an art group and they adopted Fancy. Two of the men in the art group were single and became very attentive. When they asked her to model for the class one day, she beamed, posing for three sessions while the class immortalized her in chalk on the walls of the ship. The young men created near caricatures of her face, highly fanciful etchings showing high cheekbones and glowing skin—she loved them for it.

Grandma Jones's granddaughter, Jasmine, was halfway through puberty and unsure of her body and her self. A pretty girl, lithe in form, athletic and with high energy, she played with boys as easily as the girls. Her changing form was affecting her relationships though, older boys noticing the woman emerging from the girl and vying for her attention. Enjoying her new status, Jasmine played one suitor against another. She would never be lonely.

Meaghan Slater spent the voyage evangelizing, showing up wherever young women were gathered, preaching feminist philosophy and promoting gender warfare. Many listened respectfully, there was little else to do, but "equal pay for equal work" meant little where they were going, and the concept of a "glass ceiling," even less. Warning the women on the ship to be self-sufficient and not dependent on men, to not become slaves to their families, fell on deaf ears, since the women had self-selected a life where family would be their primary focus.

Knowing she was merely humored infuriated the radical feminist, spurring her on, redoubling her efforts to convert someone. Using feminist theology, and quoting scripture, she referred to God as "Goddess," and suggested the Bible was a culture-bound anachronism. In her rewrite of Scriptures, the Bible was gender neutral. References to "father" were replaced by "parent," and instead of "son of God," it was "child of God."

One day, Meaghan gathered together some of the more patient women for worship, but when she opened with the Lord's Prayer, saying, "Our Parent who art in heaven," the women began giggling and never recovered their composure.

After her religions period, Meaghan withdrew briefly, then reemerged, once again trumpeting her theology but with a new tactic. Now, instead of meeting with small groups of women she concentrated on cornering one at a time, whispering with them in shadows.

One day Christy returned to her compartment to see a young woman crying, head in the lap of Grandma Jones. Their conversation ended abruptly and the girl hurried out. That night the compartment was cleared and Ms. Slater met with Grandma Jones alone. When Christy was allowed back in, Meaghan was in her bunk, privacy curtain drawn. After that Meaghan was never left alone with any of the young people, male or female.

Senator Peng moved easily among various groups and was often invited into card games, discussion groups, and Bible studies. Archie Cox, the representative from NASA, spent his time with the crew, pumping them for as much information as he could, or wandering the ship, peeking into everything that wasn't locked. He kept a journal and spent hours in his bunk, recording information. Tobias was nearly a ghost, unseen during the days, wandering the ship at night when most of the others were asleep. Roland and Congresswoman Swanson struck up a friendship, spending hours talking, the congresswoman a rich source of insider political stories. Roland filled a notebook with her stories.

The third month of the voyage found Grandma Jones busy settling arguments, breaking up fights, and encouraging reconciliation. Children still played in the corridors but they were also affected by the growing depression of the adults, and quarreled over rules and turns. The fourth month found the voice of the ship angry. When two fistfights broke out in a single day, Grandma Jones called the congregation to ten days of prayer, asking the Holy Spirit to cleanse the ship of the discontent that now permeated her people. After the evening prayer hour on the tenth day Mark made a ship-wide announcement.

"We are pleased to announce that
Crucifixion's
transit to planet America will set a new record. We will arrive in three weeks and two days, nearly two weeks ahead of schedule. We will begin deceleration in thirty minutes.

Everyone is to be strapped into their bunks."

"It's a miracle," Grandma Jones said as they prepared their bunks. "God heard our prayers and made this miracle."

It wasn't a miracle, Christy knew, each ship making the transit took less time than previous ships. Christy let her believe what she wanted to believe. There were weeks of deceleration ahead, but Christy knew they would be joyous ones, the tensions of the last month forgotten. Grandma's people were almost home.

Mark invited Christy to the flight deck as they approached orbit. Planet

America resembled Earth—hues of blue and green, white clouds. Orbiting nearby was a smaller version of New Hope, and beyond that Christy could see rafts of cargo modules circling America like the rings of Saturn.

"What's all this?" she asked.

"Our future," Mark said. "Every ship that comes to America brings more than it needs to supply its settlers—most of it pushed ahead of the ship."

Christy had seen the cargo modules parked on the nose of
Crucifixion
.

"We don't need everything on the surface right now and it's easier to handle and store the modules in space. As we build the infrastructure of our society we'll bring down the appropriate materials."

Looking at the orbital storehouse, Christy realized how committed Mark and his people were to making America their new home. Every asset they owned on Earth was being liquidated, the money used to purchase a future for themselves and their children.

A day after orbiting planet America, Christy was seated in a shuttle, headed for her first look at an alien world.

CHAPTER 104 PLANET AMERICA

They crossed the wide desert, they climbed the tall peaks. They camped on the prairie for weeks upon weeks. They fought off the Indians with musket and ball. And reached California in spite of it all.

— "SWEET BETSY FROM PIKE,"

AMERICAN FOLK SONG

C
hristy studied the frost that framed the cabin window, the ice crystals as intricate on this world as they were on Earth. Did Jack Frost have a cousin, Christy wondered, or did he frost every window in the universe? Scratching at the frost, she discovered that it curled up under her fingernail just like on Earth.

The sun was a bright crescent on the horizon now and she could see a few people outside, most heading toward the outhouses. Slipping out from the layers of blankets, she dressed quietly, shivering in the chill room. Moving through the bunks she was careful in the dim light not to trip over shoes and boxes of belongings. The beds were filled with strangers, Grandma's group delivered to another settlement. She missed them. Becoming intimate with another group was draining. Pausing at the cold stove she remembered that the custom was the first person up in the morning built the fire.

"I'll do the fire," a voice said.

A middle-aged woman smiled at her from under a pile of blankets.

"You get out to the privy before a line forms."

"You're kind," Christy said, then left, closing the door quickly, keeping as much of the chill air out as she could. Her step disturbed the dogs asleep under the porch and two heads poked out, studying her. One was big and black like a Labrador, but huskier, the other a golden retriever. Neither dog looked anxious to be up and about yet. She left the privy shaking with cold, finding the golden retriever waiting for her. It looked pleased to see her although she couldn't remember it from the day before when they landed. There had been many dogs—dogs and children—everywhere in the town.

With the retriever following along, Christy left the privy and walked between the buildings to the front of the barracks and strolled toward the church, hands buried deep in the pockets of her fleece-lined coat. The dining hall was next to the church and she hoped there would be coffee.

A dozen people were gathered in the hall, all with steaming mugs of coffee. The kitchen was bustling with activity, the air smelling of fresh bread and frying bacon. Greeting those gathered near the coffee urn, she poured herself a cup, not bothering to look for sugar or creamer—everyone drank it black. The hall was filled with round picnic tables, centered on each were salt and pepper shakers. Four wood-burning stoves heated the hall and Christy picked an empty table near a stove, sitting with her back to the heat. Soon her chills were gone and her coat hot against her skin. Moving to the other side of the table, she took out her New Testament, turning to Second Corinthians. Other early risers were also engaged in devotionals, sitting by themselves at tables.

"Come here often?" Mark asked a few minutes later.

"Excuse me, do I know you?" Christy replied. "You look familiar but I can't place the face."

"We spent nearly five months together," Mark said, sitting across from her.

"And I haven't seen you since."

Christy was only mildly irritated by Mark's absence. Mostly she enjoyed his discomfort and the advantage it gave her.

"Arrivals are always a busy time, but I'm ready to make it up to you. Tomorrow's the Sabbath. After church we can picnic by the lake. Some early flowers are already blooming."

It was the equivalent of March on planet America with frost in the mornings but warm afternoons. Rain was typical in this latitude at this time of year, but they had arrived during fair weather.

"If I don't get a better offer between now and then I'll go."

"I'll tell the kitchen to pack us a lunch. Sorry, but I'll be in meetings the rest of the day."

Mark looked worried she might be angry about being left again.

"I've got a whole new world to explore," she said. "I'll keep busy."

Mark left and a half hour later Christy joined the line to get breakfast. There wasn't a low-fat option on planet America. Fried potatoes, bacon, scrambled eggs, and fresh bread were the only offerings. There was apple juice, coffee, or milk, Christy refilling her coffee mug. Taking her tray back to her table she whispered a blessing, then smeared a thick slice of bread with the freshly churned butter. A bran muffin and orange juice were Christy's breakfast at home.

Evelyn slid in next to her, Floyd taking the seat nearest the fire. Holding hands they prayed together, then Floyd reached for the salt and pepper, generously spicing his potatoes.

"Take it easy, Floyd," Evelyn scolded. "The nearest heart surgeon is five months away."

"I wouldn't need as much salt if there was ketchup," Floyd complained. "Who eats eggs without ketchup?"

"Everyone," Evelyn said. "I brought something for you, Christy."

Evelyn pulled a small jar from her coat pocket.

"It's jam," Evelyn said. "It's made from local berries—something like blackberries but easier to pick—they don't have thorns. It's not poisonous or anything. We've been eating it since last fall."

There was a purplish paste in the jar and Christy spread a small amount on the corner of her bread, then took a tiny bite. The sweet fruity flavor was nothing she had ever experienced. Truly alien, but similar enough to the berries of Earth to be palatable.

"It's good," Christy said, surprised.

"It makes a good cobbler too," Evelyn said.

"You could sell this on Earth," Christy said. "Fellowship Jams."

"You know we can't bring anything organic to Earth," Evelyn said.

"Those laws aren't about public health," Floyd said, his mouth half full of potatoes. "They're trying to strangle us financially. But Mark's too smart for them."

A young woman took the seat next to Floyd, bowing her head in prayer. It took a minute to recognize Faith Remple. She was a teenager now, caught in the awkward stage between childhood and adulthood. An inch taller than her mother, long brown hair, brown eyes, cheeks rosy from the cold. Like most of the Fellowship children, she had a rugged outdoors look.

"Hello, Faith. Do you remember me?"

"Sure. You're Reverend Maitland."

"Christy."

Faith's plate was filled with the calorie-loaded foods but she looked fit, not fat. The active lifestyle of the colonists allowed them to eat like longshoremen.

"How do you like living on planet America?" Christy asked.

Washing a mouthful down with a swig of whole milk, Faith said, "It's pretty neat. I miss TV, I guess, but they show movies on Saturday nights."

"We've got a radio station too," Floyd said. "We've been running old radio shows—Fibber Magee, The Lone Ranger, Jack Benny. Everyone listens."

"I'd like to be on radio," Faith said. "My friends and I are putting a show together. Pastor Shepherd said if we were good enough he'd put us on."

"Sounds like fun. I hope I'm here when you do your show."

Faith looked confused and said, "I thought you were gonna stay forever."

Evelyn and Floyd looked startled, then quickly stared into their food.

"I'm only here for a visit, Faith. Why did you think I would stay forever?"

Evelyn cut Faith off before she could answer.

"You better check over your algebra before class starts, Faith."

"I'm still hungry," Faith protested.

"Take some bread with you," Evelyn said, shooing her daughter from the table, glass of milk in one hand, slice of bread in the other.

Christy made a mental note to catch Faith alone sometime for a talk.

"How is Daniel doing?" Christy asked.

Both Remples frowned, then Floyd left to get seconds.

"He hates it here, Christy," Evelyn said when Floyd was gone. "He skips school, never shows up for work detail—we don't know where he is half the time. He's been called in front of the community three times."

"Is that like going to court?"

"Yes. When someone is a problem, a community meeting is called and they must come and explain their behavior. I'm afraid of what will happen if he gets called up again."

"He could be punished?"

"He has been punished. For not showing up for work detail he was put on rations for a month—that means he can't come into the dining hall and has to pick up his meals at the kitchen window. It didn't do any good so they cut him to half rations. He showed up for work after that, but was

nothing but trouble and they stopped caring if he showed up at all. They've been lenient because he's our boy, but they can't keep looking the other way."

Floyd came back with another heaping plate, salting heavily.

"What will happen to him if he doesn't cooperate?" Christy asked.

"We don't have much of a range of punishments," Evelyn said.

"They ought to introduce public whipping," Floyd said, then shoveled another forkful of eggs into his mouth.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Floyd. No boy ought to be whipped, especially not your own son."

Floyd said nothing, concentrating on his eating.

"We're afraid they'll banish him, Christy," Evelyn said.

"Banish?"

"They had to do it once already. Ian Castles kept beating his wife and kids. He wouldn't stop no matter what the community did so they flew him to an island somewhere. He can't come back for at least five years."

"Would they do that to Daniel?" Christy asked.

"There has been talk," she said.

After breakfast Evelyn guided her to her work assignment, the golden retriever that had followed her from the privy trailing after her. A knot of people was gathered in front of the church by a tractor and a trailer, a pack of dogs milling about. Gus was there giving orders, a cup of coffee in his hand, his breath steaming with each word. Hands buried in her pockets, Christy shuffled her feet keeping warm. Sylvia and Meaghan joined them, Meaghan finishing her bread as she came up the street. Suddenly Gus called Christy's name and told her to get on the trailer. Evelyn joined her and they sat on bales of hay. Someone passed a blanket and they spread it over their laps. Meaghan climbed on with the last group, but Sylvia left with a group heading back into town. Then Gus climbed on the tractor and with a jerk they were off, taking the road out of town, the pack of dogs following—Christy's golden retriever with them.

The road was nothing but graded dirt, the bulldozer that created it parked at the edge of the clearing, ready to bulldoze more of the forest into submission. Once into the forest the road was lined with stumps and debris pushed out of the way by the brute force of the Earth-built machine.

The forest was wild like few places on Earth. American forests were second or third growth for the most part, cultivated and harvested like a farmer's crops. Experiencing planet America's forests was like traveling back in time. Leaving the clearing they plunged into a tangle of growth

where new trees fought for light, spindly trunks stretching toward the life-giving orb in the sky. The trees resembled evergreens, but the hues were wrong, the trees often splotchy as if they were camouflaged. Plants that could pass for ferns were thick wherever larger trees cast shadows. Unidentifiable bushes filled every other space, just now beginning to bloom. Vines tied the whole mass together, as if the forest would fall apart without the encircling ropes. The forest was nearly impenetrable, and after a few more weeks of spring, traveling the road would be like passing through a green tunnel.

After a short bumpy ride the forest changed, the undergrowth thinning, the trees now towering. Soon the average tree matched the largest old-growth Douglas firs. Some matched the girth of the giant redwoods, their tops lost in the crown far above where tiny shards of blue were the only sky to be seen.

"Look at the size of those trees," Evelyn said. "Half of them are too big for our mills. Can you imagine that, trees too big to be cut down?"

North America had been like that. Christy had seen pictures of loggers perched on boards, high up on the trunks of trees where their saws could manage the diameter of the girth. Those trees were gone now. Would the same thing happen to planet America? Was it wrong to harvest these magnificent giants even for a good purpose?

They passed through two more clearings, one with a small lake, both prepared for crops, men and women busy in the fields or near the buildings built along the forest's edge. After they rocked an hour in the back of the trailer, the forest thinned again and they entered another clearing and cut across the meadow grasses toward two buildings on the far end. A gully ran along one side, the growth thick along the sides indicating a stream in the bottom. Abruptly the tractor stopped and they all scrambled off, stretching to wake sleeping muscles. Christy walked away from the others into the meadow, studying the early blooming flowers—small, purple, with white centers, tiny bits of yellow sprinkling the core.

"They're going to plow all this beauty under, you know?" Meaghan said.

Meaghan and Evelyn stood behind her, Christy's golden retriever and two other dogs trailing behind them.

"We've got to have farmland and the meadows are ready-made for farming," Evelyn said. "Even with chain saws, bulldozers, and dynamite it would take months to clear this much acreage."

Meaghan picked one of the purple flowers and asked, "How do you know that this isn't the only meadow on the planet where this particular species grows? If you plow it under it could be lost forever. Your children's children will never see it."

"It grows in every meadow I've ever seen," Evelyn said evenly. "Besides, if it's that fragile a species, then it would be wiped out by fire or disease sooner or later anyway, leaving a niche for something else to evolve."

Christy was amused by the way the Fellowship used evolution to defend their actions. Every one of them was a creationist.

"If given the chance even the most fragile species can adapt, find a way to survive," Meaghan argued. "But adaptation takes generations—your plows won't wait for that."