Webster City

CHAPTER EIGHT

  Davidson usually disliked attending dinner parties his wife organized because he disliked her friends. That night's dinner party was no exception. She had invited two couples: Bishop James Harding and his shrill wife, Megan, and Principal Francis Barnard and his shrill wife, Robyn.

  Bishop Harding was a senior cleric of the New World Church and presided over the temple the Davidsons attended every Sunday morning. Principal Barnard ran the elementary school where Barbara taught and was presently trying to choose a new Deputy Principal. So, while Davidson wasn't sure why his wife invited the Bishop, he was very sure why she invited the Principal.

  As usual, she had spent days rushing around getting fine food from her black-market contacts or the Scavengers who snuck out into the Badlands for produce. This time, she had snared a large salmon, truffles and several bottles of fine wine made at an Outlaw vineyard in California.

  When everyone was seated at the table, the Bishop said a prayer. "Beloved Father, thank you for sending Alexander Webster to save humanity from the Great Plague, and sending the Chancellors who have, for many generations, protected and guided our City and beloved Church. We ask that you bless this food and make us worthy of your love."

  Everyone said: "Amen."

  His mousey wife, Megan, popped some salmon into her mouth and smiled. "Barbara, where on earth did you get this salmon from? It's divine."

  Barbara cackled. "I wish I could tell you. But, if I did, my husband would have to arrest me."

  Everyone laughed.

  Davidson turned to the Bishop. "Tell me, James, where do you stand in the Divinity Controversy."

  Alexander Webster was a devout Christian for his entire life. He believed that God sent the Great Plague to punish human wickedness, and that God chose him to save a small portion of mankind and establish Webster City as an ark of humanity. He founded the New World Church to preach those dogmas and banned all other religious organizations. After he died, each new Chancellor automatically became the spiritual head of the Church with the power to make binding and infallible theological decrees.

  Recently, several bishops had proclaimed that, instead of being just a special servant of God, Alexander Webster was a divine being, like Jesus. They demanded that his autobiography, Saving Mankind, be made the final book of the New Testament. So far, the Chancellor had kept quiet about the controversy.

  Now, Bishop Harding popped some bread into his mouth, stroked his magnificent gray hair and spoke sonorously. "I'm a religious conservative, as you know, and I was brought up to believe that Alexander Webster was a flesh-and-blood man who God chose to carry out a divine task. So I guess that's my position right now." A chuckle. "However, I'm a lousy theologian. My marks in theology at college were terrible. So, if the Chancellor decides that Alexander Webster was one in essence with God, I will meekly bow to his superior wisdom."

  "You mean, you're going to sit on the fence?"

  A cawing laugh. "Yes, and hope I don't get splinters."

  Everybody laughed.

  Principal Barnard rubbed his bald head. "I think Alexander Webster should be treated as a divine being, but not for theological reasons. These days, lots of kids are adrift and alienated. They don't listen to the authorities, their parents or their teachers. Something has to be done. The Church must inspire them. It should create some excitement and boost its message. One way is to making Alexander Webster a divine being."

  Davidson seriously doubted that disaffected youth were interested in whether Alexander Webster should join the Godhead. However, the Bishop nodded. "Good point. I think you're right."

  Robyn Barnard was a spindly woman with a nervous expression. "Frank's right about kids these days. I've even heard lots of them don't want to fight the Freedom Alliance." She turned to Davidson. "Is that true?"

  All young Websterites were conscripted into the military for two years. Davidson said: "I've heard new conscripts are very apathetic. There are few warriors among them."

  "If they won't fight, how can we beat the Alliance?"

  "We've still got a lot more troops and firepower than the Alliance."

  "But the Alliance seems to be getting stronger; there are a lot more attacks. I've heard that places like Old New York and Old Boston are now no-go zones for our troops. We just don't have the resources to police the Badlands anymore."

  Davidson trotted out the Government's standard response to that sort of pessimism. "Don't worry, the attacks are really a sign of desperation. We're methodically hollowing out the Alliance's command structure. It will soon collapse." He was rather proud of the glib way he delivered the official line. "And don't forget, the Alliance isn't a monolith. It has divisions. It claims to be fighting for democracy and a secular state. But many troops come from warrior clans or religious sects fighting a holy war against our church. Right now, they all hate the City and the Church more than they hate each other. That could change."

  A sour expression. "I bet it won't change until after they capture the City."

  Barbara patted Robyn Barnard on the back of the hand. "Don't worry, Robyn, Carl and the rest of the military know what they're doing. I have tremendous faith in them."

  Megan Harding leaned forward. "I've also heard a rumor that Commander Solon is black. Is that true?"

  The inner workings of the Freedom Alliance were shrouded in mystery. The most important civilian leader seemed to be a man called Secretary Monroe who headed a governing council of nine. Commander Solon was the military leader. Davidson had heard rumors he had Afro-American blood, but had seen no evidence of that.

  Barbara said: "How can he be black? Alexander Webster didn't have a chance to vaccinate any black people. That must be wrong."

  "Maybe. Or maybe some black people survived the Great Plague without being vaccinated. Maybe he's descended from them."

  Barbara snorted. "I don't believe stories that unvaccinated people survived the plague and their descendants are wandering around the Badlands. That's hokum. There's no evidence. Everyone in the Badlands came from this city."

  "The Badlands is a huge place. They could be anywhere - even underground."

  Once again, Barbara's desire to be a good host conflicted with her stubbornness. She frowned. "I disagree."

  Megan Harding turned to look at Davidson. "Is it true that Commander Solon is black?"

  Davidson shrugged. "I've heard that rumor too, but don't know if it's true. We've never captured anyone who's admitted meeting him. In fact, he might not exist: he's a myth the Alliance created to protect its true military leader."

  Megan Harding leaned forward and raised an eyebrow. "Really? How can you be hollowing out its command structure when you don't even know whether its commander is a myth?"

  Davidson was impressed with her acuity and smiled. "Good question. My bureau should use you as an interrogator. Don't worry. We may not know who's in charge, just yet, but we're getting closer to him every day."

  "Mmm, I'm not convinced."

  Bishop Harding nervously fingered a salt shaker. "But, umm, tell me this: if the Freedom Alliance is victorious, what will it do?"

  Davidson shrugged. "According to Alliance propaganda, it will establish a democratic government."

  Barbara interjected. "A democratic government? How disgusting. Mankind spent 300 years experimenting with democracy, and all it got were the Dark Years and the Great Plague. The Alliance is made up of fools. Every society needs a strong leader, chosen by God, like the Chancellor."

  Davidson said: "Like I said, it's hard to know what will happen if the Alliance wins. It could easily fall apart into warring factions."

  The Bishop frowned. "I agree. But I was really asking whether there will be any reprisals."

  Davidson knew he had the most to fear from a Freedom Alliance victory, because the Alliance would not forgive or forget that he killed, captured and interrogated many of its fighters. Indeed, if he was caught wearing an ISB uniform, he would probably be shot out of hand. However, the Bishop also
had a lot to fear, because his church was an integral cog in the repressive machinery of Webster City.

  Davidson said: "You mean, will they put us against a wall and shoot us?"

  "Well, umm, yes."

  "It's not clear what the Alliance will do. It claims there will be no retribution. But all insurgency movements say that until they grab power, don't they? I mean, it's hard to believe the Chancellor would survive a takeover. Then it's a question of how far down the chain of command their reprisals go."

  "What will you do if the Freedom Alliance wins?"

  "Hah. Like I said, the Alliance won't win. But, if I'm wrong, I'll put on a pair of snowshoes and head north."

  The Bishop turned to Barbara and smiled. "What about you, Barbara: will you go with him?"

  A tight smile. "And live like an Eskimo? No, it's much too cold up there. I'll stay here and make do."

  Nobody laughed and everyone returned to eating their food. Eventually, Principal Barnard frowned and shook his head. "Why are the Outlaws treating us like this? We extended the hand of friendship to them and they spurned it. They started this fight, not us."

  Davidson recalled how his Air Cavalry unit choppered into Outlaw communities to destroy them before they grew too large. "Who says that?"

  "The Chancellor often says it and he's right. The Freedom Alliance's attacks are totally immoral."

  After their guests had left, the Davidsons stood over the sink, washing the dishes. He tried to be emollient. "That was fun. They were good company."

  "Yes, except for their pessimism. They're all worried the Freedom Alliance will win. That sort of attitude saps morale and ends up bringing about what everyone fears."

  "I said we would win."

  "You did, but you didn't sound confident."

  "I am confident."

  "Really? If you were, you wouldn't have talked about putting on snowshoes and heading north."

  "That was a joke."

  "It didn't sound like one."

  As he toweled off the last few plates and put them away, he wondered what would happen to their marriage if the Freedom Alliance did breach the City wall. If he survived the assault, he would have to flee the City to avoid retribution. Would Barbara go with him? Probably not. She was young and attractive, and would survive under a new regime. Why make a big sacrifice for a failing marriage? He certainly wouldn't try to persuade her to join him.

  She said: "The Hardings have bought a house in Sector A. They're moving in next week."

  Sector A was the most exclusive residential area in Webster City, a walled community full of mansions and bungalows, where the rich and powerful lived.

  "Really? That's good."

  "I hope we can move there one day."

  "We can't on my salary."

  "Isn't it time you got a promotion?"

  "The only person I can replace is Colonel Prentice. But when he retires, I probably won't get his job."

  "That's too bad," she said cryptically.

  When they got into bed, he turned off the light and, to his surprise, thought about Helen Watkins. He didn't know much about her. But he liked her directness and bold laugh. And he liked the fact that she wasn't his wife.