Judgment Day (46 page)

CHAPTER 94 DEPARTURE

Mercury is too near the sun, the atmosphere of Venus is poisonous, Mars is too dry and nearly airless, the gas giants are incompatible with any form of life, and the frozen outer planets of our solar system inhospitable to humans. Unless humanity is willing to radically alter its lifestyle, it will have to look elsewhere for a second home.

—
THE NEXT GIANT LEAP
, ROGER CORNHILL

T
he departure of the colonists for a new world was carried by all the major broadcast and cable networks. The broadcasters described the adventure with a mix of awe and contempt—awe over the technology, contempt for right-wing Christians. Wyatt Powder jumped from comparisons of the Fellowship pioneers to the Pilgrims, to thinly veiled accusations of racism, sexism, and religious intolerance. What should have been humankind's next great adventure was described to the world with a mixture of fear, revulsion, and suspicion.

When it came time for the departure of the star ship,
Covenant
, virtually every television in the world tuned in. The Fellowship fed the planet extensive footage of the exterior of
Covenant
, but only small portions of the interior, since the living conditions were cramped and they didn't want allegations of inhumane treatment. Pioneers were interviewed, all of them thanking God for making the voyage to the new planet possible. Commentators followed these interviews by asking, "If God were really behind this, wouldn't there be some Catholics on board? Or Jews? Buddhists? Is God's flock really an exclusive club?"

Then it was time for departure and Mark appeared on-screen, broadcasting from the bridge of the
Covenant
. The Fellowship had promised the networks that Mark would announce the name of the planet they would inhabit. The anticipation for Mark's announcement was so great that even Wyatt Powder stopped his voice-over. Mark faced the camera, his tone earnest, his comments half prayer, half farewell.

"We leave you now, people of Earth, to become the people of a new planet. It's a virgin world, prepared by the creator of the universe, held in trust for His people from the beginning of time until this moment. We accept this gift from God and pledge ourselves to live lives that will glorify His name.

"We've been asked many times what the name of the new world will be, since the right to name something belongs to the discoverers. What would you call a world of promise, a world where people are free to live their lives as they see fit, to worship God in their own fashion? What would you call a place of unlimited potential, where the only limits on men and women are those they place on themselves, and the government serves the people, not the other way around. There once was such a place, a brief shining moment in Earth's history that we hope to rekindle. Our new world will share the name of that place—America."

With that dramatic moment, the broadcast from inside
Covenant
was replaced with a shot of the outside of the ship. The name "Covenant" was seen, painted on the side of the great ship. Below it was painted the Christian flag. Next to it were the remains of the American flag, just recently scraped from the hull. As the converted submarine pulled away from the station, the name rotated slowly out of sight. Soon, the bulk of the ship could be seen, the drive end rotating toward the camera. Then, picking up speed,
Covenant
, packed with people, supplies, and hope, sped off into space.

"Push, Ruth."

With the next contraction Ruth bore down, the pain making it hard to maintain her concentration. When the contraction ended her breathing was out of control.

"Easy, Ruth," Evelyn said. "The baby's almost here."

"I can't help it," Ruth said. "It hurts."

Evelyn sponged Ruth's face, concerned about her color. Ruth wasn't the oldest woman to ever have a baby, but she was nearing the end of her childbearing years. The abuse she had suffered before the pregnancy had done nothing to prepare her body for the ordeal it was going through.

"When the next contraction comes, push hard, Ruth," Dr. Sutter said.

"It's coming," Ruth said.

The contraction gripped her and she squeezed her eyes tight, her face nearly purple with the effort.

"Good, Ruth. I can see the baby's head. If you push hard, you might do it with the next contraction."

Pushing again, the baby's head appeared, then while Dr. Sutter rotated the head, one shoulder emerged, then an arm popped free, and the baby slid partially out in a gush of red fluid. With the baby free to its waist, Dr. Sutter sucked the baby's nasal passages and mouth clean of fluid. Then holding the baby up so Ruth could see it between her legs, she said, "Look, Ruth. Look down here."

Evelyn helped support her head so she could see her baby. Ruth had trouble focusing but when she did she smiled. Then Ruth gently lowered her head to the pillow. Sponging her forehead again, Evelyn noticed Ruth was breathing easier now as if she were asleep. With a final contraction the baby came free, the umbilical cord trailing inside Ruth. Laying the baby on her stomach, Dr. Sutter clamped and cut the cord.

"It's a boy, Ruth," Dr. Sutter said.

"He's beautiful," Evelyn said.

No one addressed Ira, who had been silent since Ruth's water had broken. No one was sure how he felt about the baby. He'd been irritable and sulky the entire voyage, but then he always was. During the pregnancy the baby had been carefully referred to as "Ruth's baby," since that was biologically true. Ira had been attentive to Ruth's needs but never talked of the coming birth with any excitement. Now he removed the mask covering his face and looked at the small form lying on his wife's stomach. Reaching out he took its tiny hand between his thumb and finger. Reflexively, the baby gripped his finger and Ira smiled.

"We have another baby, Ruth," he said.

Ruth didn't respond, her face drained of all color. Evelyn shook her gently, but her eyes didn't open. Dr. Suffer hurried to the head of the bed, checking Ruth's heartbeat with her stethoscope. A few seconds later she shook her head.

Eyes tearing, Ira reached for the baby, cradling it in his arms.

"His name is Luke Majors Breitling," he said. "Evelyn, would you take the baby? I want to pray for Ruth."

Evelyn left with the baby, meeting Shelly, Mark, and Micah in the corridor. Evelyn's face told them something terrible had happened. Then she smiled and held out the baby.

"This is Luke," she said, holding out the newborn. "The first baby born in space."

CHAPTER 95 ALONE

If any of you has a dispute with another, dare he take it before the ungodly for judgment instead of before the saints? Do you not know that the saints will judge the world?

— I CORINTHIANS 6 : i -2

T
he shuttle angled down into the atmosphere of planet America, a white streak across the sky from west to east. Nameless animals looked up at the unfamiliar sight, then sensing no danger, returned to foraging or hunting. Beneath the shuttle the pristine wilderness flashed by, nothing but splotchy landscape at first, but as the shuttle lost altitude, details emerged. The gray of a desert crescent cutting deep into the continent behind a mountain range. Sparse vegetation bordering the desert, spreading across a plateau that ended in sheer cliffs that dropped away to lush vegetation below. The mismatched continental plates met at that ridge, a half-mile drop between the arid plateau and the fertile land below. Now it was thick forest spreading into the distance, occasional rivers cutting through verdant lands. The east coast of the continent appeared, the sea a deep gray under the overcast sky. The shuttle banked, flying north along the coast until it found a clearing; then coming around it settled gently into the middle of the grassy meadow, the rear cargo hatch opening slowly.

Rifle in hand Micah climbed out, standing guard. When he was sure there was no animal threat he shouted to Mark, who pushed a hand truck loaded with boxes down the ramp into the meadow. Two other men followed with more hand trucks, rifles over their shoulders. The unloading continued for fifteen minutes until there was a sizable mound in the meadow. Then the men returned one last time to the shuttle leading out a blindfolded man, hands tied behind his back. They sat him on a crate, then untied his hands, backing away, rifles trained on him. He ripped off the blindfold, his eyes darting around, taking in the situation. Four men faced him, only Mark was unarmed.

"Don't try anything," Mark warned.

"Where's Proctor?" the man demanded. "I want to see George Proctor."

Micah and the men laughed, but Mark answered honestly.

"George Proctor is on Earth."

"But we had a deal. He swore on a Bible if I helped him he'd let me go!"

"He kept his part of the bargain. You are free now."

Looking around at the wilderness surrounding him, the man said, "Free? Free to go where? To do what?"

"There are enough supplies to keep you comfortable for a year. By then you should be living off the land."

"I want to see Proctor. This wasn't the deal!"

"He agreed to set you free but he couldn't let you go on hurting people—hurting us."

"I'll give you my word. Don't leave me here."

"You're too dangerous. We have no way to protect ourselves from you."

"This is a death sentence."

"There's a pistol and rifle in there. You'll be able to protect yourself."

"A man has to have hope. Food and water aren't enough. Come back for me. Come back in a few months. You'll see you can trust me."

"There is a cabin, that way," Mark said, pointing.

"You can't leave me."

"There's a Bible."

"I'll use it to start my fires."

"It's the only book you have—use it any way you see fit."

His face red with anger, the man studied the rifles, estimating his chances.

Mark backed away, the men with rifles covering their retreat up the shuttle ramp.

"Learn to live off the land. Don't be in a hurry, don't take unnecessary risks. In time, God will reveal Himself to you."

"Proctor lied to me. You all lied to me."

As the hatch closed Mark said, "God be with you."

The last Mark saw of the man, he was frantically digging through the pile of supplies looking for a weapon. As they flew away he could see the man hastily assembling his rifle. The shuffle was long gone before the rifle was loaded. With no one to kill he fired randomly into the forest, emptying the magazine. When the last echo died the forest was silent. Slowly the animal sounds returned. Standing in the middle of that clearing, on a planet not of his birth, he knew no man had ever been as alone as he.

CHAPTER 96 PREPARATIONS

In the 1990s the media suddenly discovered that black churches burn down. Charges of racism hit the headlines, President Clinton jumped on the bandwagon, proclaiming that racists were attacking black churches. When the hysteria died down, insurance statistics proved that white and black churches burned equally often and that the "far right" was not using fire as a terror weapon. No apologies were offered by the President, no corrections were run in the newspapers.

—
SOCIAL PSYCHOLOGY
, RAYMOND JAMES

T
he only movie theater in Grandma Jones's Chicago neighborhood showed adult films now. The audience was all men, who came and went at odd hours by themselves. Thirty years ago the theater was called the "Chief," decorated in an Indian motif. She remembered two large, gilded Indian heads with full headdresses that decorated opposite walls. She often wondered if the heads were still there but was too embarrassed to go inside to see.

Grandma had to travel fifty minutes by bus to a white neighborhood where the Fellowship's film was showing. It was cold the night she went, her old coat so thin it offered little warmth. Grandma Jones hurried along, watching for patches of ice on the sidewalk. It was five blocks to the theater from the bus stop and she passed many people, but never once did she fear being mugged, or cross the street to avoid dark doorways and alleys. It wasn't like a walk in her neighborhood.

The Fellowship film was being shown in an old theater called the "Aladdin," the theater decorated with flying carpets carrying young men wearing turbans. There was a fresh coat of paint over the exterior and the flying carpets had been touched up and outlined in red neon. The major chains wouldn't run the films and risk offending the Hollywood community that was virtually unanimous in opposition to the Fellowship.

A long line trailed down the block from the ticket booth and she fell in at the end. It was a mostly white crowd, middle class, a mix of young and old. No one said anything to her, nor did they stare, but she saw the sidelong glances as she passed. This was their neighborhood, not hers.

The smell of popcorn greeted her as she came to the ticket window, bringing back memories of sitting in the Chief with her friends, sharing a box of popcorn, giggling and flirting with boys.

The interior of the Aladdin retained a semblance of what once had been splendor. A towering genie emanating from a lamp dominated the lobby, filling one wall. It too wore a fresh coat of paint but it made the genie look cheap instead of awesome. There was a balcony but the theater had been divided to make it a duplex; the balcony now showed a separate film.

The only seats left were down in front and Grandma feared getting a crick in her neck from sitting too close to the screen. She found an empty seat on the right aisle two rows from the front. A few latecomers hurried in as the lights went down, the curtain drawn dramatically. One last man came down the aisle in the dark, taking the empty seat next to her. He was all arms and legs and fit poorly into the seat. It was too dark to see him well but his face was gaunt. She knew the type, nervous and high-strung, he probably didn't eat well. In dogs they blamed that type on too much inbreeding, but in people she knew it was a sickness of the spirit. The man needed to make peace with God so his stomach would start working properly.

Planet America filled the screen as seen from space and the crowd quieted. Classical music filled the background. This was the fifth film from the Fellowship and titled
Settling Down
. Planet America faded, replaced by a flock of birds flying across the crown of a forest. The birds were huge with wingspans of five or six feet. Golden feathers shimmered as if each were gilded, so bright it was almost blinding.

Leaving the birds the camera dove toward the forest, rolling left, revealing a sparkling lake in the distance and beyond that a village. Dropping low the camera skimmed the surface of the lake, the shore looming ahead. A dock with a rowboat passed beneath them and then it was up over a grassy knoll into a meadow to the village on the other side. People dressed in work clothes waved as they passed over. Two dozen buildings sprinkled one end of the meadow, most set on either side of a road that continued through the meadow and into the woods on the far side. All of the buildings looked like log cabins with shake roofs. The roofs were a deep red, the logs a greenish tint, making the pioneer village a colorful sight set in the lush green meadow. Continuing to the far end the camera slowed, zeroing in on one structure set at the end of the street. The steeple marked it clearly as the church. Coming closer they could see a bell hanging in the steeple. Now the image moved into the meadow toward a group of children at play. Climbing, they could see the clear outlines of a baseball diamond cut in the meadow. As they passed a boy got a hit and ran for first base, a girl on second racing toward third.

After a short expanse of forest they came to another clearing, this one filled with stumps. As they passed a tree was felled, dropping silently to the forest floor as cymbals clashed over the theater sound system. In Grandma Jones's mind she heard the sounds of breaking limbs and snapping twigs as the forest giant smashed smaller trees in its path. A man with a chain saw stood at the new stump waving at the camera. A deep sigh came from the man sitting next to Grandma Jones and his hand began thumping his knee. She ignored the man, turning sideways in her seat.

At one edge of the clearing stood a large structure with no sides, this one built of cut lumber. Coming in low they could see a sawmill operating inside. Lumber was stacked ceiling high at one end.

Another turn of the camera and they were off to another clearing, this one under cultivation. Half of the clearing was filled with shoulder-high corn, the rest of the clearing split among several crops, none of which she could identify. A tractor lumbered down one side of the field toward a barn, a man in a straw hat waving, a little girl in his lap. Passing the tractor they came to another set of buildings, a half dozen along the edge of the clearing. Four long tables sat in front of the buildings. Women came from one of the buildings carrying food, reminding Grandma of Thanksgiving. Children played to one side, and others swung from ropes hung in the trees.

Now the camera skimmed over the buildings to the other side, where there were corrals and two more barns. Animals milled around in the corrals, horses, cows, goats, and chickens that scurried everywhere, but the camera focused in on a pen of animals resembling sheep—but they weren't. Covered with thick wool, the animals had long spindly legs like a horse, and a noticeable hump on their backs. Their heads were larger than a sheep's, the face flat, the eyes round and protruding.

The animals kicked up their heels as the camera came down, prancing around the enclosure, then finally huddling in the corner. Several babies were mixed in the herd, one small enough to stand beneath its mother, peeking out around her spindly legs, its head pushing through the hanging wool. "Ooohs," erupted from the crowd. The animals of planet America were what the crowds came to see and that is what the films of the Fellowship delivered.

Suddenly the man next to her jumped up, pushing past her to the aisle.

His manner was brusque, angry.

Now the film centered on the animals, showing children playing with the sheeplike creatures, trying to ride them, and clipping the wool of the protesting animals. None of the animals in the herd carried horns, but the film showed another pen of similar animals, bigger and more powerful-looking, with two sharp spikes protruding from their heads.

The focus of this film was the domestication of animals, the previous films focusing on the exotic wildlife. Glimpses of life on the planet were seen through the interaction with the native animal life that they were trying to domesticate. The theme of the film was how hard work paid off in crops, better shelter, churches to worship in, and schools for their children. The Fellowship settlers who were interviewed spoke of working twelve hours a day, six days a week, then in the next breath spoke of the deep satisfaction with their lives. They were building their own society from the ground up. Every building, every law, and every social structure would be their creation, designed to complement their beliefs and values. There was no need to compromise your own values in order to make room for someone else's, since everyone shared the same beliefs. It wasn't Eden and the colonists laughed when the the interviewer suggested it. There were squabbles, debates, and minor conflicts, but no more than back on Earth and counterbalanced by the quality of life they were living.

Grandma knew that some of that quality of life depended on support from Earth. The colony didn't build the tractor she saw being used or even the simple tools like saws and hammers. All the manufactured goods were brought in from Earth and it would take tons of imports before the colony could produce their own. Still, life there was everything she hoped it would be. She was convinced that this is where her people needed to
go
.