The Dark Design

Greystock was about 1.8 meters, a very tall height during the medieval period. His hair was black, long, and straight; his eyes, large and grey; his eyebrows, thick; his nose, slightly aquiline. His features harmonized into a ruggedly good-looking face. His shoul­ders were broad; his waist, narrow; his legs, thickly packed with muscle but long.

At the moment, he was speaking to Samuelo, his grin and his tone both sarcastic. Piscator had said that Greystock hated priests, though he had been very devout during his Terrestrial existence. Apparently, he had never forgiven the clergy for falsely claiming to know the truth about the afterlife.

Using Esperanto, Greystock said, "But surely you must have some idea of who and what La Viro was on Earth? What race was he? What nationality? When was he born, when died? Was he prehistoric, ancient, medieval, or what the later peoples called modern? What had he been on Earth, a religionist, agnostic, or atheist? What was his trade or profession? His education? Was he married? Did he have children? Was he a homosexual?

"Was he unknown during his time? Or was he, perhaps, Christ? And is that why He is remaining anonymous, knowing that no one is going to believe His lies a second time?"

Samuelo scowled, but he said, "I know little of this Christ; only what has been told me and that is not much. All I know of La Viro is what I have heard through word of mouth. They say that he is very tall, white ski

"But all this is irrelevant. It is not his background or his physical appearance that matters. What does matter is his message."

"Which I have heard from many preachers of your Church many times!'' Greystock said. "And which I believe no more than I do the stinking falsehoods the stinking priests offered me as God's own truths in my own time!"

"That is your privilege, though not your right," Samuelo said.

Grey stock looked puzzled. Jill did not understand what he meant either.

Greystock said loudly, "All you priests talk mumbo-jumbo!" and he walked away scowling.

Piscator, watching him, smiled. "A dangerous man. But inter­esting. You should get him to tell the story of his journey with an Arcturan."

Jill's eyebrows went up.

"Yes, he knew a being who came to Earth from a planet of the star Arcturus. Apparently, this being came with some others in a spaceship in 2002 A.D. But he was forced to kill almost all human beings. He died, too, though. It's a horrible story, but true.

"Firebrass can give you the details. He was on Earth when it happened."

16

Eager to talk to Greystock, Jill made her way through the crowd toward him. But she was stopped by Firebrass before she could reach the Englishman.

"A messenger just told me that radio contact's been made with the Mark Twain. Want to come along and get in on the pow-wow? You might get to talk to the great Sam Clemens himself."

"Too right I would!" she said. "And thanks for the invitation."

Jill followed Firebrass to the jeep, which was near the foot of the staircase. It was made of steel and aluminum and had pneumatic nylon tires. Its six-cylinder motor was fueled by wood alcohol.

There were five passengers: Firebrass, Gulbirra, de Bergerac, Schwartz, and Hardy. The jeep took off swiftly, following the narrow valleys among the hills. Its bright beams showed the grass, closely cut by machines, huts here and there, stands of the incred­ibly quick-growing bamboo, some 31 meters or over 100 feet high. Leaving the hills, it sped over the plain gently sloping to The River.

Jill could see the lights of the aluminum-processing factory, the steel mill, the distillery, the welding shop, the armory, the arms factory, the cement mill, and the government building. The latter housed the newspaper and radio station offices, and the top govern­ment officials had residences there.

The colossal hangar was down-River and hence downwind of the other buildings. Up in the mountains to the west were strings of lights. These were on the dam constructed to replace the one that Clemens had blown up.

The jeep passed the hangar. A steam locomotive, burning al­cohol, chuff chuffed by, hauling three flatbed cars piled with aluminum girders. It entered the blazing interior of the hangar, stopped, and a crane hook swung down to the rear car. Workers gathered around it to co

"City Hall" was the northernmost building. The jeep stopped before its porch. The riders got out and went between two massive Doric columns. Jill thought that the building was an abomination, architecturally speaking. Nor did it fit in with the surroundings. Seen from a distance, this area looked as if both the Parthenon and a section of the Ruhr had been teleported to a remote section of Tahiti.

Firebrass' suite of offices was to the left of the entrance to the immense lobby. Six men stood guard before its entrance, each armed with a single-shot rifle firing .80-caliber plastic bullets. They also carried cutlasses and daggers. The radio "shack" was a large room next to the conference hall and Firebrass' sanctum sanctorum. They entered the former to find several men standing around the operator. He was adjusting dials on the big panel before him. On hearing the door slam open under his commander's overvigorous shove, he looked up.

"I've been talking to Sam," he said. "But I lost him about thirty seconds ago. Hold on. I think I got him."

A series of squeals and crackles issued from the loudspeaker. Suddenly, the interference eased off, and a voice could be heard above the noise. The operator made a final adjustment and gave up his chair to Firebrass.

"Firebrass speaking. Is that you, Sam?"

"No. Just a moment."

"Sam here," a pleasant drawling voice said. "Is that you, Milt?"

"Sure is. How are you, Sam? And what's doing?"

"As of today, Milt, the electronic log says we've traveled 792,014 miles. You can convert that into kilometers if you wish. I prefer the old system, and that's what we're... well, you know that. Not bad for three years' travel, heh? But downright aggravat­ing. A snail could go to the North Pole faster than we can, if it could go on a straight line. Or, pardon me, a great curve. It would have time to build a hotel for us and make an enormous fortune renting rooms to the walruses until we arrived. Even if the snail was traveling only a mile every twenty-four hours and we're averaging about eight hundred miles a day.

"As of..." sputter, crackle "... little trouble."

Firebrass waited until reception was clear before speaking again. "Is everything all-go, Sam?"

"Copacetic," Sam said. "Nothing unusual has happened. Which means that there are always emergencies, always trouble, but not mutinies, among the crew. I've had to boot a few out now and then. If this keeps up, by the time we get to our million-mile mark, I'll be the only person who was on the boat when it left Parolando."

More crackles. Then Jill heard a voice that was so deep, so bottom-of-the-well, that cold ran over her neck.

Sam said, "Yeah? Oh, all right, I forgot you, though that's not easy with you breathing booze down my neck. Joe says he'll still be here, too. He wants to say hellow to you. Joe, say hello."

"Hello, Milt."

Thunder in a barrel.

"How're thingth going? Thwell, I hope. Tham here, he'th kinda thad becauthe hith girl friend left him. Thye'll be back, though, I think. He'th been havingk bad dreamth about that Erik Bloodakthe again. I told him if he'd lay off the boo the, he'd be okay. He hathn't got any ekthcyuthe to drink, thinthe he hath me ath a thyining ekthample of thobriety."