Night of Light

“The top level is for those worshipers of Yess who successfully dare the Night. These are supposed to enjoy eternal ecstasy, a mystical ecstasy. The experience, you might say, is like that which the saved of the Christian religion have. They see God face to face, only in this case it’s the mystical face of Yess, the glory behind the fleshy mask of Yess. No one sees Boonta, not even Her son.”

“What about their Hell?” Abdu said.

“There are two Hells, also. The lower level is for the religiously indifferent, the lukewarms, the hypocrites, the self-deceived. And also for those who dared the Night but failed. You see, that’s one of the reasons why so few Yessites stay Awake. It’s true that the rewards of success are worth the ordeal. But failure casts you down into Hell. And there are always so many failures. It’s safer not to take a chance and so go to Heaven’s lower level.

“The top layer of Hell is reserved for the true Algulists. And these have their own ecstasy, analogous to that which the high-level Yessites enjoy. Only it’s a dark joy, the orgasm of evil. Inferior to that of Heaven’s, but, if you’re a genuine Algulist, you prefer it. Evil craves evil, wants nothing but evil.”

“It’s a crazy religion,” Lieftin said.

“The Kareenans say the same thing about ours.”

Carmody excused himself, leaving Gilson to his own devices, and went back to his room. He had Gilson called to the phone.

“I’m going out for a while. I want to see an old friend of mine, a Kareenan. And I also want to give Fratt a chance to strike. Maybe that way I can get hold of him, either neutralize him or talk him into some sense. Certainly I can find out then who he is and what I did that makes him so bent on revenge.”

“He might get you first.”

“I’m well aware of that. Oh, another thing. I’m going to call Tand and see if he can use his influence again. I want him to release you from restriction. Not for the Fratt case. You should watch our prime suspect, Lieftin. If he makes a break, as I strongly believe he will, I don’t want you hampered in trailing him.”

“Thanks,” Gilson said. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Carmody cut the operative off, and he spoke Tand’s number to the receiver. Tand’s face appeared on the screen.

“You’re lucky,” he said. “I was just leaving. What can I do for you?”

Carmody told him what he wanted. Tand replied that there would be no difficulty. He would put the order through immediately.

“Actually, we can use extra help. We don’t have anybody to shadow Lieftin if he does get loose, as he can, if he’s ingenious enough.”

“The old Lieftin could do it,” the priest said.

“I’ll tell you the truth. It’s not only Earth assassins we’re worried about. The Algulists will be making their moves before the Night begins. When I say Algulist, I’m not only talking about those who’ve gotten through the Night. I’m talking about the entire secret society, which is largely composed of those who have not chanced the Night. Our government is honeycombed with them, and I say this knowing that our conversation may be monitored.”

“There’s something I don’t understand,” Carmody said. “Why are those Algulists who passed the Night during the reign of Yess still living? You remember when I’d been caught by the statue and had not made up my mind which way I was going, whether I’d choose the six of Yess or the six of Algul? Well, when I did make my choice, and it was definitely ascertained that Mary’s baby would be Yess, the would-be Fathers of Algul tried to run away. But they died.

“Now, I had always thought that Algulists survived the Night only if Algul won. Yet I’ve heard from you and others that successfully beNighted Algulists survive, are living right now. Why?”

“Those you saw die did so because we six Fathers, consciously, and you unconsciously, willed them to die. But there were other Algulists, not Fathers, who survived. They did not die because we did not know about them.

“It’s illegal to be an Algulist, you know. The penalty is death. Of course, if Algul should ever win—Boonta forbid—then you may be sure that any Yessite who’s caught will be executed. And much more painfully than an Algulist now dies.”

“Thank you, Tand. I’m going now to visit Mrs. Kri. I presume she’s still living at the old place?”

“I really couldn’t say. I haven’t seen or heard of her for many years.”

Carmody ordered a costume sent up to him, one with a large mask, that of a trogur bird. He put it on and then left the hotel, after having presented his credentials to the guards stationed at the main doorway. Before leaving, he looked into the dining room and saw that Gilson, Lieftin, and Abdu had left. However, about a dozen non-Kareenans were dining. They, too, looked depressed.

Outside, the tomb-like silence of the hotel gave way to a storm of music, shouts, screams, tootling of horns, whistles, firecrackers, drums, and bull-roarers. The streets were jammed with a noisy chaos of costume-clad merrymakers.

Carmody slowly made his much-jostled way through the mob. After about fifteen minutes, he managed to get to a side street which was much less populated. He walked for another fifteen minutes before he saw a taxi. The cabbie was not very eager to take a fare, but Carmody insisted. Grumbling beneath his breath, the driver eased the car through the crowds, and presently they were in a district through which they could drive with reasonable speed. Even so, the taxi had to stop now and then to nudge through clots of masquers walking toward the main streets.

It was a half-hour before the taxi halted in front of Mrs. Kri’s house. By then, the huge moon of Kareen was up, shedding its silver confetti on the black and gray stones of the massive houses. Carmody got out, paid the driver, and asked him to wait. The driver, who had apparently resigned himself to missing the fun, agreed.

Carmody strode up the walk, then stopped to look at the tree that had once been Mr. Kri. It had grown much larger since he had last seen it. It towered at least thirty-five meters high, and its branches spread out across the yard.

“Hello, Mr. Kri,” the priest said.

He went on by the unresponding man-plant to clang the huge knocker on the big iron door. There were no lights in the windows, and he began to wonder if he had been too hasty. He should have phoned first. But Mrs. Kri would be old by now, since the geriatrics of Earth was available only to wealthy Kareenans. He had taken it for granted that she would be staying home.

He clanged the knocker again. Silence. He turned to walk away, and as he did so he heard the door creak open behind him. A voice called, “Who is it?”

Carmody returned, taking off his mask.

“John Carmody, Earthman,” he said. Light streamed out of the doorway. In it stood an old female. But it was not Mrs. Kri.

“I lived here at one time,” he said. “Long ago. I thought I’d drop by to see Mrs. Kri.”

The shriveled-up old woman seemed frightened at confronting an alien from interstellar space. She closed the door until only part of her face showed, and said in a quavering voice, “Mrs. Kri doesn’t live here any more.”

“Would you mind telling me where I might find her?” Carmody asked gently.

“I don’t know. She decided to go through the last Night, and that’s the last anyone ever heard of her.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Carmody said, and meant it. Despite her testiness and flightiness, he had been fond of Mrs. Kri.

He returned to the taxi. As he drew near, the headbeams of another car swung around the nearby corner, and a car sped toward him. Carmody dived under the taxi, thinking, as he did so, that he was probably making a fool of himself. But he did not usually argue with his hunches.

Nor was he wrong this time. Gunfire exploded; glass shattered. The taxi driver screamed. Then the car was gone down the street, gathering speed as it went. Its tires screeched going around a corner, and it disappeared.