But the three new draftees did not eat dinner with the others, and there was no time to be wasted with games. They were sent to the showers and then to the barracks. As he bathed, Johnsmith surreptitiously watched Felicia soap her slender body. In spite of his exhaustion, he was aroused. Turning away out of embarrassment, he was dismayed to discover that Alderdice was staring at
him
.
Turning the cold water on himself at full force, Johnsmith felt himself wilting. It seemed as though the infernal frigidity of Mars seeped into his bones instantaneously. He shook the soapsuds out of his hair as the freezing water engulfed him, reminding him of that first onee experience once again. But the illusion passed quickly, spoiled by the odor of Mars streaming over him, its minerals carried in the water. Would he ever get used to it?
He shut off the shower valve and got a towel, immediately wrapping it around his waist even before drying his back and arms. As he grabbed another towel to dry his hair, he caught a glimpse of the forlorn Alderdice, whose brown bulk emerged from the steaming shower room.
As soon as he was dressed, Johnsmith retired to the barracks and turned down the covers of his bunk. He heard footsteps and, assuming it was Alderdice, did not look up.
"Got you on curfew, huh?" It was a woman's voice, but not Felicia's.
He raised his head to see her, a wiry woman in her early thirties whom he had noticed in passing during the morning exercises. "Yes," he said, "Mr. Torquemada says we have to go to bed early."
"It'll only be a few weeks before they let you socialize with the rest of us."
Johnsmith wondered why she was talking to him, since nobody besides Angel Torquemada and Sergeant Daiv had shown any interest in him or his companions in the forty-eight hours since they touched down at Elysium. Only Captain Hi and his taciturn crewmate had spoken to them at all; and Co-pilot Prudy, just barely.
"I was on my way to my locker to get something," the woman said, almost as if she was apologizing for stopping to talk to him. Perhaps she had mistaken his reticence for unfriendliness.
"Oh, don't go so soon," Johnsmith said, feeling a little embarrassed at the speed with which this gentle admonition popped out of him. "I mean, it's really very nice of you to stop and talk."
She grinned, which made her plain face sunny and attractive, seeming to take some of the chill out of the Martian air. "My name's Frankie," she said, extending her right hand. "Frankie Lee Wisbar."
"I'm Johnsmith Biberkopf."
Her handshake was firm, matching her straightforward manner. "Every few months a new batch of draftees arrives," she said, almost apologetically. "After a while, you hardly even notice anymore."
"I guess you wouldn't," Johnsmith said. "What I've been wondering, though, is . . ." He hesitated, seeing someone entering the barracks.
It was Felicia, followed by the doleful Alderdice. Could that have been a look of jealousy on her thin face? Or was it merely surprise, that one of the old timers would deign to talk to the lowly Johnsmith?
A third person entered the barracks, through the entrance on the far end, where Captain Hi and Prudy lounged about. It was Angel Torquemada. He walked straight through. As he approached them, Frankie walked off without a word.
"Tomorrow morning," Torquemada said, stopping for a moment, "you three cut your first training period off after a half hour and come to the briefing room. I've got a few things to tell you. Any questions?"
There was an awkward moment, and then Felicia said: "Yeah, where
is
the briefing room?"
"Sergeant Daiv will take you there at the appointed time. That'll be all for now. Get a good night's rest." Torquemada continued on his way through the barracks, toward the recreation area.
"What do you suppose that was all about?" Alderdice said, pulling a pair of paper pajamas over his enormous buttocks.
"I don't know." But Johnsmith had his suspicions.
They took light exercise in the morning, as they had been instructed, and then Sergeant Daiv led them through a passageway that curved deep underground. They were soon moving through a honeycomb of rooms cut into the solid rock. Air had been pumped in, and it was all heated more or less comfortably.
Sergeant Daiv stopped in front of a doorway and gestured for them to enter. As soon as they were seated in the meeting room, he left them. Inside were folding chairs, a podium, and a recent model projectogram. There was nobody waiting for them.
Johnsmith took a seat, grateful to be relaxing instead of running endless laps in the training cavern. He could almost have fallen asleep, had he not been wary of Angel Torquemada's imminent arrival. Felicia sat glumly to one side of him, and the heavily perspiring Alderdice sat on the other.
"I don't like this," Alderdice said. "I was just getting used to the daily routine, and now this."
Nothing more was said until Angel Torquemada stepped briskly into the room. "Good morning," he said, taking his place at the podium. "I hope you slept well, because today is when your mission on Mars really begins."
Their mission on Mars? What was he talking about?
"You may have wondered from time to time why you were sent to Mars."
"I thought we were going to help build the new sections of the compound," Alderdice said.
"That order has been rescinded. The message came from Earth only a few hours ago. Let me explain what your purpose here is, from now on."
"Don't bother," Felicia said sharply.
"Ms. Burst," Torquemada said, staring her down with his unblinking brown eyes, "you were sent to Elysium because of your family's immense influence. They were not quite able to get you off the hook, and so you're stuck here under my tutelage. You're one of the few at this outpost who may someday go free. Your fellow prisoners must envy you for that, but they will not envy you if you get on my wrong side while you are here. Do we understand each other?"
Johnsmith tried not to look at Felicia, but he couldn't help himself. She was red-faced, astonished. Nobody had ever spoken to her like that before; he was certain of that much. Johnsmith felt a certain perverse satisfaction at seeing her so discomfited.
"I asked you if we understand each other?" Torquemada demanded. His face was completely expressionless.
Felicia did not submit to his will, however. She sat staring down at the stone floor, her jaw set, in silence.
Torquemada did not press the issue. Johnsmith, whose heart beat faster as a result of the exchange he had just witnessed, was sure that it was not over yet, however.
"These two gentlemen," Torquemada said, still looking at Felicia, "do not have your connections. They will remain here for the rest of their lives. But the three of you will assist the Conglom for the time being, by participating in a controlled experiment."
Johnsmith was beginning to regret that they had been sent to the briefing room. Why couldn't some of the old timers have been called in here instead of him and his two friends?
"Don't be alarmed," Torquemada said, as if he had read Johnsmith's mind. "You won't be harmed in any way. You might even enjoy yourselves."
Somehow, Johnsmith was not reassured by their supervisor's blandishments. They had not been sent to Mars for a picnic, after all. He felt ashamed for even thinking that Felicia's presence might spare them the worst. He wished that she would not continue to antagonize Angel Torquemada, who was clearly not a man to be trifled with.
"So what do you want us to do?" Felicia said, lifting her head and glaring at Torquemada.
Their master smiled for the first time in Johnsmith's memory. "I simply want you to use onees."
"MY LIFE SEEMS kind of empty," Ryan Effner confided to Madame Psychosis as he knelt in his pew. "I don't know what to do with myself. And Ronindella isn't very happy, either."
"Have you thought about bringing her in to see me?" Madame Psychosis said, without a trace of sarcasm. She always sounded so caring that Ryan felt as though he were floating in a warm bath of love while he consulted her. Therapy was something everyone should have, he decided,
especially
Ronindella. After all, how could she truly understand him if she didn't see Madame Psychosis? The trouble was, Ronnie was being very stubborn about not seeing his cybershrink.
"She says it's against her religion," Ryan said. "That's her latest excuse for not wanting therapy."
"What religion does she belong to?" Madame Psychosis asked.
"V.C.O.G."
There was a slight pause as Madame Psychosis tapped into her memory droplets for information about the Video Church.
"There is a fairly reliable method of weaning people away from the Video Church of God," Madame Psychosis said after a few seconds.
"Oh? What's that?"
"Ronindella's religion teaches that therapy is incompatible with the church's tenets, but not that it is strictly forbidden. If she is threatened with an alternative that is forbidden, then she might consent to therapy."
"I don't understand."
"The alternative must be the No-God Sect."
"Huh? That's no alternative. Ronindella would never hang out with that No-God bunch."
"Perhaps not," Madame Psychosis said in a motherly tone, "but wouldn't
you?
"
"Me?"
"Yes, you."
"Join the No-God Sect . . .? I don't know, Madame."
"If you want her to seek therapy, this is a tried and true method."
"But it seems so . . ." He almost said "sneaky," but at the last instant amended it to: " . . .risky."
"We must deal with risk, just as we must deal with our feelings," Madame Psychosis said in portentous tones. "Nothing ventured, nothing gained."
Ryan felt sticky with perspiration, though the room was quite comfortable. He had to do what she suggested, obviously. Madame Psychosis would persist until he carried this thing out. Since he was paying for these sessions, he might as well agree to do it sooner, rather than later.
"All right," he said, his voice squeaking a little in submission. "How do I convert?"
"The No-God Sect requires no conversion as such. An acceptance of the central tenet is all that's necessary."
"And what is the central tenet?"
"That there is not, never has been, never will be, and
can
never be a supreme being."
Ryan mulled that over for a few seconds. "How do they know?"
"That's irrelevant," Madame Psychosis said. "Besides, discussion of such matters will give you something to do at the Sect meetings. Something that is not sybaritic, that is."
"Yeah, I suppose so." Ryan added resigned, "How long is this going to take?"
"The sooner you convince Ronindella that her reluctance to seek therapy is the cause of your involvement with the No-God Sect, the sooner she is likely to relent."
There was one thing that bothered Ryan, something that Madame Psychosis hadn't really touched on. "What if it doesn't work?" he said. "What if she just gets another guy?"
"Come now, Ryan," Madame said. "Haven't we learned to be more self-assured than that?" She smiled beatifically at him, and he knew that her strength would see him through the coming struggle.
Ronindella's credit swelled, the figures changing on the 'gram even as she watched. It was the result of the infusion from Johnsmith's government pay. But the figures didn't run up for long, she was disappointed to see. In the final analysis, it wasn't nearly as much as she had hoped for. It looked as if she would be stuck with Ryan, at least until something better came along. He was already getting on her nerves, she thought, as she lit a cigarette.
"Smitty," she called out, "what are you doing?" This question was almost ritualistic, as was Smitty's reply.
"Nothing." Smitty emerged from the bedroom with his dinosaur in hand. "This doesn't work anymore, Mom."
"We'll get some batteries for it later, honey." She patted his dark hair. "Which is about the only thing we can afford at the moment."
Smitty didn't know what she was talking about. He had only started playing with the dinosaur again a few days ago. Every time he'd started to take it out of its box, he'd thought of his Dad, that last time they saw each other on the phone. But then his Mom had received this letter saying that Dad's pay was coming, and it almost seemed as if Smitty had heard from him personally. After that, he'd wanted to play with the dinosaur again, but the batteries had soon worn out. Well, maybe his Mom would remember to get him some new ones the next time she went out.
"Get your jacket on," she said after a few seconds.
"Huh?" This was unexpected. They were going out already. But somehow Smitty didn't think they would be shopping for batteries. "Where are we going, Mom?"
"To church."
"Church?"
"You heard me. Now go put on your jacket."
Smitty did as he was told, and in a moment was struggling to find the armholes in his yellow, plastic jacket. His Mom was pulling him out the door before he had it completely on. By this time he was sure that batteries were not the object of their quest. At least, he'd never noticed that they sold them in church before, but he wasn't absolutely sure. They did have a lot of concession stands at the Video Church.
They rushed down to the basement, where Ryan's flyby was parked. Ryan had started taking the bus a lot, because Ronindella had told him she needed it during the day. But Ryan kept staying out later and later every evening. As they zoomed up the ramp and out of the parking lot, the sun was setting. The city's towers were almost in silhouette, and the pastel sky behind them ranged from azure to damask.
Smitty had never been to church so late in the day. In fact, his Mom usually just watched the services on the projectogram. It was just like being there, she always said, except that Smitty could never help but notice how the people on the fringes of the congregation were sort of unfocused and distorted. But the ones in the middle looked pretty natural. And they were the ones who seemed to be sitting right next to you, of course. If you didn't pay close attention or think about it too much, it was okay. That was what Mom did; she just sat there with her eyes half-closed and rocked rhythmically while the preacher stalked back and forth, screaming about God and Hell and all the rest of that stuff that Dad had never cared much for.