Judgment Day (49 page)

"Everyone respects you, Christy. They might argue with your theology occasionally, but you would be part of the community."

"I'd be a heretic."

"It's different there. Here Christians—real believing Christians—are the minority. On planet America believers are the majority. We can tolerate a heretic or two."

He meant it as a joke but she wasn't smiling.

"No one wants to be just tolerated, Mark. People want to be valued, to have their views respected."

Against his will he found himself being sucked into an argument.

"How can you respect those who have no respect for your views? It was tolerance for other views that lost our country. Instead of a nation of Christians we became a nation of hedonists pursuing personal pleasure, and when Christians objected to the depravity we were called narrow-minded and bigots. Now the streets belong to the criminals and our children can't play in the parks because they belong to the gangs and the drug dealers."

"Yes, there are problems—" Christy said, but Mark cut her off.

"Television is a cesspool, Christy. Nudity, profanity, violence. It permeates every hour of every day."

"It makes me uncomfortable too," Christy said, "but we must accept we live in a diverse world."

"There's no such thing as moral diversity. Either it's sin or it's not."

Then Christy's face relaxed and she smiled.

"So what you're saying, Mark, is that you could accept someone into your community who was different than you as long as they shared your religious beliefs."

"We're not bigots, Christy," Mark said, relieved they seemed to be moving toward common ground. "All we've ever wanted is to be left alone to

worship God, to live a moral life, and to be free to raise our children to share our beliefs."

"There are other people who would like that chance for their children too. When will you give them a chance to share that dream?"

"We've already taken some who weren't part of the Fellowship, but we have to be selective if we're going to maintain Christian community."

"I know of a group that would like to join you on planet America. Would you be willing to meet their leader."

"Of course."

Smiling now she said, "Good, I thought you would."

Then Christy stood and waved at someone across the room. An old black woman holding a cup of coffee stood and waved back, then walked toward them.

"You set me up," Mark said, hurt that Christy had lured him to the cafe with ulterior motives.

"You'll only be here a few weeks. I had to get you two together."

"I thought you came to see me?"

Taking his hand she said, "I did want to see you, I just wasn't sure you would want to see me."

Before he could assure her of his feelings, the woman was there, hugging Christy.

"Mark Shepherd, this is Selma Jones."

"I'm so glad to meet you, Mark Shepherd," the woman said loudly. "Thank you, sweet Jesus, for making this possible."

"I'm pleased to meet you too, Mrs. Jones."

"Call me Grandma. Everyone does."

Inviting her to sit down, Mark could see she wasn't as old as he first thought and her face nearly glowed from her obvious joy.

"Grandma Jones is the leader of a group of people who want to move to planet America," Christy said.

"That's right, Mark Shepherd. God has called me to gather some of his flock and take them to a place where the wolves can't prey on them."

Mark didn't know what to make of the woman. Hair halfway to gray, overweight, and her skin well wrinkled, she had aged beyond her years, but she had the energy of a young woman.

"We're God-fearing people, Reverend. We love Jesus, every one of us."

"I'm sure you do, but—"

"Our children are dying, Reverend. If the drug dealers aren't hooking

them on poison, they run with the gangs or run from the gangs. A boy a week dies on my street, Reverend. And the girls, what choice do they have? There's lots of babies born, but I haven't been to a wedding in three years. There just ain't no choice—no good choices."

"They want a better life, Mark. Isn't that why you wanted to leave too?" Christy asked, keeping Mark on the defensive.

"Yes, but—"

"You got to save my grandchildren, Reverend. I already lost one of my boys and my girl. . . well. . . she's as good as dead."

"Grandma was in the theater that burned, Mark," Christy explained. "She was one of the few survivors."

"I took that as a sign that God still had some use for me," Grandma said. Mark found himself warming to Grandma Jones. He could feel her love for the Lord. Still, he worried about the impact of adding inner-city families to their community.

"Tell me about your group," he said.

"We're all black folk if that's what you're asking," she said.

"I was asking that," he said honestly. "What kind of skills do the people in your church have?"

"They're working-class people, good with their hands. Carpenters, machinists, plumbers, electricians, all kinds of laborers. We got one doctor, two lawyers, and a dozen or more teachers, but mostly we're just poor working people."

"Any farmers in your group?"

"We've got farmers, of course they're ten years off the land. It'll come back quick though."

"Don't take this wrong," Mark said, "but do you have many intact families? It takes a mother and father working hard to support a family in the wilderness."

"We're missing some daddies, I'll admit that, but it won't be that way in the next generation. Give our sons work to do, some way to make their children proud of them, and they'll stick around." Then with a smile she said, "Besides, where would they
go?."

Perhaps the Holy Spirit was leading him, perhaps he felt guilt since she had nearly been killed in the terror bombing of the theater. Whatever was moving him, he found himself considering taking her and her people to planet America.

"We're being crushed by this world, Reverend Mark. We want a better life for our children, a chance for them to live."

Christy was watching him intently and he suspected she was looking for signs of racism, but was it racism to know that diversity created factions, and factions become suspicious and eventually hostile? Homogenous communities were stable, and flooding their new world with inner-city poor of any color could destroy the harmony.

"I'd like to help, but I don't think it would work out," he said.

"It's because they're black, isn't it?" Christy accused.

Hurt because she should have known better, Mark's face fell.

"It's not that, Christy," Grandma said. "Reverend Mark's not a racist. He's thinking a bunch of welfare mamas and their babies aren't going to fit in too good."

There was no anger, shame, or apology in her voice.

"But we don't want to fit in. We want our own land, our own town, our own community. We'd always be second class compared to your people—I told you we're not educated folk. Our children would grow up feeling inferior just like happens here and it would start all over. Our children need to know what it's like to be on top for a change. It's an entire planet, surely there's got to be room for a few people like us."

Grandma Jones had tasted life as a minority and had seen the harm it caused. She and her people had learned the lessons of history. Feeling the Lord tug at his heart, he knew it was right to take them to America.

"All right, we'll transport you to America."

Christy squeezed his hand, then held it firmly, sending warm waves through his body.

"We'll pay you everything we have," Grandma Jones said.

"You'll need your money to buy supplies," he said, knowing they would have to heavily subsidize Grandma Jones and her people if they were to survive. Thinking of the costs he realized he had never asked how many people were in her flock.

"Grandma, how many people will be going to America with you?"

"Three thousand," she said.

Stunned by the number and feeling foolish for making a blind commitment, he stared straight ahead, wondering how he would explain to Ira and Floyd that they would be transporting three thousand black people who couldn't pay but a fraction of the cost. Then Christy hugged him and nothing else mattered.

The Fellowship Council was meeting again on New Hope station. Sally Roper and Stephen O'Malley had nearly fainted when Mark had announced his decision to transport Grandma Jones and her people to planet America. Floyd was dismayed as well, worried about the reaction of the Fellowship members who would have to be bumped to make room.

After Mark's surprise, Stephen had one of his own. Simon Ash had called on behalf of the president with an offer. If the Fellowship would agree to a fact-finding mission to America, Crow would support lifting the National Restitution Act. Representatives of the United States government would visit the planet to assess environmental impact, and the condition of its citizens—the media were reporting that many were being held against their will. There was no mention of having the charges against Mark and the other leaders dropped. Still, it was tempting. It would cost so little to transport the fact-finders and it could result in significant gain.

"You can't trust him," Floyd argued. "After what he did to Ruth—he killed her."

"I'm not suggesting we trust him, I'm saying we should use him,"

Stephen said. "If we can get the National Restitution Act repealed, cash flow will improve."

"We can do without," Floyd said.

"Maybe we can sweeten the deal," Sally said. "They've frozen half of the social security accounts of our people on America and some pensions. They're demanding we prove the recipients are alive. If they agreed to free those accounts . . ."

Argument continued and Mark listened, wary of Crow's offer. George Proctor had filled Mark in on details of Crow's activities and his belief that Crow was supported by a demon. Whether Mark believed in the demon or not didn't matter. It was clear that Crow would do anything to destroy the Fellowship. Was this offer part of a trap? If it was, he couldn't see it.

"We won't do it under his conditions," Mark began.

"Under no conditions" Floyd cut in.

"Under the following conditions," Mark said firmly. "The National Restitution Act is to be repealed pending the outcome of the investigation. All social security accounts, pensions, and other frozen assets are to be freed and transferred to escrow before we leave, to be released upon proof that the beneficiaries are still alive. Charges against Fellowship members are to be dropped."

Clearly unhappy, Floyd mumbled to Sally but offered no more public protests. Stephen and Sally looked thoughtful, neither willing to be the first

to put the Fellowship into the hands of Manuel Crow. Meditating in silence now, they waited on the Lord, listening for the still small voice. When Floyd could see they were nearing consensus he spoke.

"If we're going to walk into the lair of the beast we should be sure the door doesn't lock behind us."

"What are you suggesting, Floyd?" Mark asked.

"If Crow double-crosses us, then we need to be prepared with a response. A way to protect our people. I think Scripture shows us a way."

Then Floyd explained his plan and they were horrified by it. Heated discussion followed and then prayer and meditation. Four hours later the "Daniel Option" had been devised.

CHAPTER 102 PROTOHUMAN

Perhaps there is some evolutionary flaw that makes all intelligent species seek self-destruction. The very basis of evolutionary advance is competition, the struggle for survival, but to an intelligent being competition is more than a battle for the next scrap of food; it is also a fight for long-term advantage, which inevitably provokes confrontation.

—
UNEXPLAINED:

MYSTERIES OF MIND, SPACE AND TIME
, PETER BROOKESMITH (ED.)

T
obias Stoop's pirated copy of the Fellowship film
Alien Predators
was of poor quality, since one of his minions had secretly recorded the film during a showing in Los Angeles. Stoop was in the living quarters of the White House, his copy projected on President Crow's wall screen.

"Here it comes," Stoop said, intently watching the screen. "Watch the tree behind the lion."

What Stoop called a lion had little resemblance to its earthly counterpart. It had fur but its chest was thicker and its front legs longer than a lion's. The creature's back was humped and sloped down to a tailless rump perched on two short legs. With a thick tawny mane and whiskered snout, only its face resembled a lion. It moved like a gorilla, although it never made an effort to stand on its back legs.

The lion-thing was crouched in tall grass, watching a small clearing in a jungle. Two dozen dog-sized animals crowded around a pond. Hornless, with plump brown bodies and short legs, they looked like hairless sheep and just as defenseless.

The camera focused again on the lion-thing, ready to pounce. Then in

the tree behind it Crow saw what Stoop was excited about. Peeking around the trunk of the tree was a brown face. Suddenly the lion-thing bounded forward, the camera following the action as it pounced on one of the little animals, clamping powerful jaws on the neck of one beast, the others scattering in all directions—showing no herd instinct.

"I'll run it back so you can see it better," Stoop said. "It looks human."

They watched the scene again, this time Stoop freezing the face on the screen. Details were fuzzy, but the furry face had two bulging eyes, a nose, and a mouth and lips. To Crow, it looked like a peculiar monkey. But something about the creature had intrigued Stoop.

"It's a protohuman," Stoop said.

"It's hard to see," Crow said. "You know this film is available in digital, don't you?"

Crow was needling Stoop, btit the ecoterrorist ignored the jab.

"Those cultists won't ever get a dime of my money," Stoop said angrily.

"They had to resort to DVD sales after that unfortunate fire."

Crow watched Stoop's face for reaction but he stared back blankly. Crow knew Stoop's people were behind the fire, but Stoop was smart enough not to admit it, even to him.

"If you can't see that being in the tree, then I'll steal a better copy for you."

"I can see it. What's your point?"

"The planet the cultists have invaded belongs to that creature in the tree and his or her descendants."

"You think the creature is intelligent?"

"It doesn't matter what it is now, there's every reason to believe it's following the same evolutionary path as humans. In a few million years it will have as much intelligence as human beings—maybe more. Those Fellowship settlers are interrupting their evolution, stealing their future."

"I see," Crow said, playing dumb. "That monkey-thing will someday discover oil, invent the car, and then pave the planet so they have somewhere to drive those cars."

"It might be smarter than that," Stoop said. "It might choose instead to live in harmony with nature, balancing the needs of the plant and animal world with their own. The point is it has to have the right to make its own choices."

"I understand and sympathize, Tobias, but I'm not sure what I can do."

"You're the president. You've got every imaginable resource including the military. You can stop them."

"I could attack them here, but how would I reach them on planet America?"

Red-faced with anger, Tobias stammered; having no plan of his own to stop the cult he had no focus for his rage.

"But there is something . . . " Crow said, letting his words trail off, teasing Stoop.

Now Stoop's eyes brightened, the ecoterrorist desperate for some way to act.

"What is it?" Stoop said anxiously.

"Mark Shepherd has agreed to transport a fact-finding committee to planet America. Part of that mission will be to assess environmental damage. Perhaps you would be willing to join the mission?"

"Go to the planet? Yes, that's perfect. How many of my people can go with me?"

"None. Only you."

Disappointed, Stoop hesitated. "That limits my ability to act."

"It's a fact-finding mission, not a military operation."

"Then what's the point?"

"Bring back your own recordings—evidence of the damage the Fellowship is doing to planet America. Find those protohumans and demonstrate that they are intelligent. A majority of Americans distrust the cult now. You could add to that consensus."

"I don't care about what most people think. I act on what is right."

"Yes, but if a president is to use those resources you were talking about, he needs to have the country behind him."

"Will the cult accept me as one of the committee members?"

"As part of the agreement I select the fact-finding team. I'm selecting a range of people from openly hostile to openly sympathetic. To get the sympathetic ones they'll have to accept those they see as hostile. They won't like it, but they'll take you."

"Then I'll go to planet America," Stoop said, "and I'll find the native species that rightfully owns that planet."