Ed said, “I see you brought your Bible. It’s been well used.”
“It kept me alive for two years, whenever I felt depressed, frustrated, lost.”
“Excellent. I’m glad it worked for you.”
“Are you Christian?”
Twine said, “None of us are, but we’ve read and studied the major religions of your era. Christianity does still exist, if you are curious. There is much philosophy and lifestyle now, but not many people practice actual religions.”
“Okay. Then what can I tell you?”
“What does it mean to you?”
He thought for a moment. Obviously Christ had not returned in their time, or they wouldn’t need him.
He chose several passages, and found them in seconds from familiarity, he’d thumbed this book so often.
He decided to start with the basics, of Isaiah 53:3-7.
He was despised and rejected by mankind,
a man of suffering, and familiar with pain.
Like one from whom people hide their faces
he was despised, and we held him in low esteem.
4 Surely he took up our pain
and bore our suffering,
yet we considered him punished by God,
stricken by him, and afflicted.
5 But he was pierced for our transgressions,
he was crushed for our iniquities;
the punishment that brought us peace was on him,
and by his wounds we are healed.
6 We all, like sheep, have gone astray,
each of us has turned to our own way;
and the Lord has laid on him
the iniquity of us all.
7 He was oppressed and afflicted,
yet he did not open his mouth;
he was led like a lamb to the slaughter,
and as a sheep before its shearers is silent,
so he did not open his mouth.
He continued with John 3:16, Corinthians 1:15. They paid attention, their faces showing interest, but they weren’t moved.
That was fine. Not every seed found soil.
Seed! Matthew 17:20.
He quoted it. “He replied, ‘Because you have so little faith. Truly I tell you, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you.’”
Xing asked, “What does that mean to you?”
He took a deep breath.
“We had no idea what had happened, or where we were. Then we found we were lost, with no way home at all.
“The Word of God kept me calm. I knew that with faith, I would find first comfort, then the solution God wanted me to have. It might not be my solution, but it would be one I could handle. God only gives us what we can survive, as a challenge to our spirit. I embraced it and accepted it. I sang His praises, and trusted for an outcome. And it was better than I could have hoped. I learned to appreciate the plants, the animals, the weather as I never had. And then I was brought here.”
Twine asked, “Did you speak to God or Christ?”
“Not directly,” he said. “God moves one through clues, hints, in the dead silence. Late night on watch was a time to meditate, and I knew what was intended, and followed.”
They all stared at each other for a moment.
“Interesting,” Xing said. “That’s different from now.”
He’d gathered that.
“Can you tell me what’s changed?” he asked.
“No one here is so literal,” she said. “It’s und—taken to be metaphor. Parables and motivation.”
“Metaphor? God is real, and Christ will return.”
They said nothing, only blinked.
A moment later, Twine said, “That will be fascinating when or if it happens. Certainly worth studying.”
She obviously had no idea what to say and was trying to be polite, in her detached, scientific manner.
Xing said, “So you’re expecting Christ to return.”
“Yes.”
“Do you know when?”
Sigh. These were such basic, aggravating questions, but he must have patience.
“I don’t. No one does. The point is to live every day as if judgment will be upon you, to strive to be better.”
“That makes sense. But do you need Christ to do that? Can’t you just make the decision to be your best?”
“Of course,” he said. “But Christ isn’t the reason. Christ is the cause and the reward.”
Ruj said, “The reward is everlasting life and peace.”
“Yes!”
They sat for a moment, swapping glances and expressions, obviously communicating. He suspected the house or their glasses or both were almost telepathic.
Xing asked, “What date do you assign to the beginning of things?”
“One researcher estimated four thousand and four BC, by our calendar.”
She said, “But you were thousands of years before that. The Gadorth were before that, and you were twice as far back.”
“I’m told that’s true, but it contradicts what I know.”
“What you know . . .” she was silent.
He shrugged. “All I can do is pray for guidance. Obviously we’ve misinterpreted in my time. But it was created. God told us so.”
“I respect your determination,” she said, with a serious face. “Thank you very much for sharing your beliefs.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, but he wasn’t sure he felt it.
He was escorted to the edge of the area, almost like a prisoner, even though he was in the same room and had nowhere to go otherwise. He wanted to be alone for the walk.
Back near the table, the others greeted him.
“How was it, Rich?” Barker asked.
“Interesting?” asked Caswell.
“They were laughing at me,” he blurted.
Elliott asked, “They don’t have religion at all?”
“Nothing like ours. They say they have Christians, but they don’t accept Genesis, or the Gospels, the Resurrection. It’s some watered down philosophy.”
Gina said, “Ah, like fluffy bunny pagans.”
“How’s that?”
“Some, a lot, of pagans pick and choose what is convenient so they never actually have to work.”
He remembered her saying that before. “I don’t think it’s that. I think they use it as a guiding principle. But they don’t believe it as real, only as philosophy.”
“That must be hard on you,” Caswell said. “I don’t like that myself.”
He shrugged, shook his head, went to the table and said, “Attendant, can I get a roast beef and cheese with horseradish?”
“Is that a sandwich?”
“Yes, on French bread, please.”
“Medium rare for the beef?”
“Thanks.”
The others left him alone, with sound screens set up while they gamed or watched movies. He chewed his sandwich and thought.
It was undisputable that God had created the world, made it, put them here, sent them back, and brought them forward. He’d learned much about people and himself.
It seemed that the farther one was from nature, the harder it was to accept and believe. That made sense. The Amish worked with that.
While he pondered, Spencer came over, and entered the area. He saw, then heard as the bubble was breeched.
“Hey, Rich.”
“Sergeant.”
“I need to give you some advice.”
“Okay.” He wondered what this was going to be.
“Son, you’ve just had a fight with your beliefs and the real world. You know I don’t believe anything of what you do.”
“I know. Neither do they. Are you going to tell me you told me so and to give up?”
Spencer shook his head and pointed a finger.
“No. I’m going to tell you you must not do that. That faith kept you strong. It kept you sane. It helped your friends and compat
riots. No matter what you hear from me, from the Cogi, or from anyone else, I’m telling you you must hang onto that faith. It’s part of what you are.
“Over time you’ll probably refine and change your beliefs, but I’ll be very unhappy if you abandon them. If your god is real, this is yet another test of your faith, character and strength.
“I have every confidence in you.”
Ripples and chills went down his spine.
“Thank you . . . Martin.”
“You’re welcome. It’s a privilege to serve with someone of your character.”
He hoped Spencer would leave before he teared up.
“Thanks. I need to be alone to think.”
“Certainly. And well done.”
Spencer rose and walked back out to his couch.
Damn.
God truly did work in awesome ways.
CHAPTER 46
Sean Elliott still couldn’t get away from briefings. Every day was consumed with briefings. They were the ultimate TOCroaches here, rising, exercising, showering, holding formation, taking turns talking to the researchers, eating lunch, repeating, then bullshitting around an indoor campfire at night.
The campfire helped. The two main fires at COB Bedrock had burned nonstop. It was as much a cultural icon as generator hum had been before that. It was on a hearth between the end of the table and the viewing wall. They had a large, neat pile of seasoned cut wood to feed it. The ash was whisked away by some cleaning process through the floor or once it spilled off the hearth tiles, which looked like very pretty gold-veined marble.
Every day he received a short update on status, and was thanked by the Cogi for providing yet more historical information.
They’d been here a month, and even with House’s help balancing food, they’d all gained weight and softened.
“Is there an update on returning home?” he asked again. He sat on a couch, in one of the privacy bubbles, watching the troops around him.
On a couch across from him, Twine told him, “We have found the exact location and time of your disappearance. We are attempting to refine the point.”
“I assume that’s hard.”
“Since we have done this only once on purpose, once by accident, yes. Several factors and controls come into precise play.”
He visualized an old 1950s Bridgeport mill with manual feed and indexing, no digital readout, and out of calibration. Could one drill a hole in the proper location and plane?
He said, “We do hope it’s soon. I know I keep asking, but we’re getting antsy.”
He said that every day.
“Very understandable. I am sorry it’s so slow,” Twine replied, her mouth twisting. And she was eternally gorgeous, even when wearing a coverall, though it was fairly form fitting. He almost wanted to ask if they had people the soldiers could socialize with. But he didn’t ask. They had each other, movies, privacy as needed, and the shower.
“Additionally,” she said, “We are still discussing the practicality, secondary effects, feedback effects and risk factors of doing so. Those are part scientific, part economic and part political. There is an ethicist assigned to your case.”
“Can we speak to this ethicist? So we can make our needs known better?”
“You do already. One of the regular researchers here handles that. I can say no more. The intent is to keep hands off for neutrality.”
“Neutrality is great, except for the fact that I really want to get back to my own world.” He realized he’d raised his voice.
She nodded. “Your tension is valid and I’m very sorry I can’t do more. If it were solely my choice, I’d send you home at once, and regret the loss of your presence. It’s very informative, and you are complex and amazing people.”
“Thanks. I do appreciate your support, but gah, it’s . . . frustrating.” He put his head in his hands.
“I understand and we are doing what we can.”
“I appreciate the regular reassurances. They do help.” He meant it, but it was also an attempt at persuasion.
“You’re welcome. We do have potential good news on another matter.”
“Oh?” he asked, twitching.
“No matter the outcome, we would like to improve your health.”
“How so?”
“Your teeth need repair, and your previous reconstructions are crude by our standards. Three of you have innate medical problems. We offer to fix those.”
That was a hell of an offer. With no strings? He was leery.
“What are the negatives of doing so?”
She said, “It may make you harder to recognize back home, on detailed examination.”
“Will our DNA and fingerprints remain unchanged?”
“Yes,” she said with a nod.
“Then that and fingerprints will ID us. Anything else supports our story.” He hoped. Damn. He needed to think about this.
“Do you concur, then?”
“It’s up to each individual, after we decide if we should proceed.”
That evening he raised the issue after dinner. And wasn’t it great to choose anything you wanted? He chose spaghetti, with tomato sauce and fresh bell peppers. God, he’d missed it.
“Ms. Twine says they can restore our health.”
“To what?” Barker asked.
“To whatever we want. Apparently, joint, hormone and other problems.”
There were nervous looks back and forth, especially between Alexander and Spencer.
“What’s the catch?” Alexander asked.
“No catch. Apparently it’s easy for them.”
Spencer shrugged and said, “Ah, hell, I’ll be the test case. My guts and shoulder aren’t getting any better.” They’d given him an analog to his Zantac at his request, and he’d been much better, but Sean understood that not taking pills daily was something the man desired. He didn’t blame him. Getting old scared him, and Spencer really wasn’t old.
Ortiz asked, “Any word on when we get home? Do we?”
“They said they’ve narrowed down when. They’re discussing details of how, and potential problems. They don’t want another cascade of groups displacing.” That latter was speculation on his part, but if it happened the last time . . .
Actually, he had no idea who, how or why it had happened. They were completely obtuse about such details.
Alexander said, “The irony is that once they can work it out, they can send us anywhere. We won’t have been missing. Except that we’re getting older here.” She had damp eyes. “I want to see my kids.”
Gina Alexander watched as Martin came back from the doctors with no obvious side effects. They’d chosen a distant part of the dome and sat down, talked a bit, and handed him something. She watched while petting Cal, who seemed to have adapted to this strange place by nesting in an open dog bed that House had provided. In between, he demanded food, and got both raw animal and human table scraps.
Ten minutes later Martin was back.
“How do you feel?” Gina asked anxiously. She cared about him, and she wanted to be next. She hugged Cal until he growled at the restraint.
“Well, I can’t tell much that soon, but I’m not hurting anymore. That happened fast. I’m tingling all over. I do feel better overall. It could be placebo effect, though.”
Nothing had happened by dinner time, so she decided to risk it. She let Cal down to the ground, and he headed under the table for safety.
“Go ahead,” Elliott said. “Good luck.”
Lar, the assistant, escorted her over. She recognized the doctor from their first day, when they’d overeaten. She didn’t recognize the second one, a man. They wore what were probably lab coats, but slicker. They had almost normal looking hairdos, with just an odd feathering that made them look light and fluffy. One actually had brown hair, not blond.
The doctor asked, “Hello. Who are you?”
“Regina Alexander. I go by Gina.”
“Good to see you, Gina. Just relax and we’ll do analysis
in a few moments. It won’t hurt.”
“I’d assumed you’d use remote telemetry,” she said with a hint of snark.
The doctor smiled. “Please accept apology. Other groups are less experienced and feared probing.”
She said, “They might be, but there are few medical devices that would scare me. I’ve been worked on by quite a few. Knees. Ankles. Wrists. Hormone meds. I’ve delivered two babies the natural way.”
The second doctor looked at a clear HUD screen in front of him with graphs and images glowing from it.
“You mentioned hormone imbalance. In fact, your thyroid is suboptimal.”
“Yes, by about two thirds.”
He said, “It ranges from twenty-six percent to sixty percent functional, depending on process and input. Your approximation is close. What treatment have you had?”
Damn, they were wordy.
“I was taking Synthroid, and vitamin D and iodine supplements.”
He scanned whatever he had access to, and nodded.
“We can regeneratively restore your thyroid to proper function, if you wish.”
“What side effects would there be?” She now knew how the Urushu felt when presented with modern technology. For a decade she’d suffered with weight, attention, mood, memory, and lately she’d been a slug. To have it fixed . . . but what would that lead to?
“None. It should last the rest of your life.”
“Please do. Oh, yes, please.”
“A scan shows trauma to your reproductive system.”
“Yes, my tubes were surgically plugged and I had endometrial ablation. Another pregnancy with the thyroid issues would have been very bad.”
“We can restore that.”
“Please don’t.”
“No?”
“It’s fine as it is.”
“Certainly. Though with the thyroid damage repaired, you would be perfectly fertile again.”
Gods, no.
“No, I’m forty-four. I’m not up to more kids. Two is sufficient.” And she wanted to see them.