Borders of Infinity

Oliver's mouth twisted sardonically; he did not comment aloud. He didn't need to.

'I'm going to change them,' Miles added.

'Shit,' said Oliver, and rolled back over.

'Starting here and now.'

After a moment's silence Oliver added, 'Go away or I'll pound you.'

Suegar started to get up; Miles irritably motioned him back down.

'He was a commando,' Suegar whispered worriedly. 'He can break you in half.'

'Nine-tenths of the people in this camp can break me in half, including the girls,' Miles whispered back. 'It's not a significant consideration.'

Miles leaned forward, grasped Oliver's chin, and twisted his face back toward him. Suegar sucked his breath through his teeth with a whistle at this dangerous tactic.

'Now, there's this about cynicism, Sergeant. It's the universe's most supine moral position. Real comfortable. If nothing can be done, then you're not some kind of shit for not doing it, and you can lie there and stink to yourself in perfect peace.'

Oliver batted Miles's hand down, but did not turn away again. Rage flared in his eyes. 'Suegar tell you I was a sergeant?' he hissed.

'No, it's written on your forehead in letters of fire. Listen up, Oliver—'

Oliver rolled over and up as far as supporting his upper body with his knuckles on his sleeping mat. Suegar flinched, but did not flee.

'You listen up, mutant,' Oliver snarled. 'We've done it all already. We've done drill, and games, and clean living, exercise, and cold showers, except there ain't no cold showers. We've done group sings and floor shows. We've done it by the numbers, by the book, by candlelight. We've done it by force, and made real war on each other. After that we did sin and sex and sadism till we were ready to puke. We've done it all at least ten times. You think you're the first reformer to come through here?'

'No, Oliver,' Miles leaned into his face, his eyes boring into Oliver's burning eyes unscorched. His voice fell to a whisper. 'I think I'm the last.'

Oliver was silent a moment, then barked a laugh. 'By God, Suegar has found his soul-mate at last. Two loonies together, just like his scripture says.'

Miles paused thoughtfully, sat up as straight as his spine would allow. 'Read me your scripture, again, Suegar. The full text.' He closed his eyes for total concentration, also to discourage interruptions from Oliver.

Suegar rustled around and cleared his throat nervously. 'For those that shall be the heirs of salvation,' ' he began. ' Thus they went along toward the gate. Now you must note that the city stood upon a mighty hill, but the pilgrims went up that hill with ease, because they had these two men to lead them by the arms; also they had left their mortal garments behind them in the river, for though they went in with them, they came out without them. They therefore went up here with much agility and speed, through the foundation upon which the city was framed higher than the clouds. They therefore went up through the regions of the air . . .' ' He added apologetically, 'It breaks off there. That's where I tore the page. Not sure what that signifies.'

'Probably means that after that you're supposed to improvise for yourself,' Miles suggested, opening his eyes again. So, that was the raw material he was building on. He had to admit the last line in particular gave him a turn, a chill like a bellyfull of cold worms. So be it. Forward.

'There you are, Oliver. That's what I'm offering. The only hope worth breathing for. Salvation itself.'

'Very uplifting,' sneered Oliver.

' 'Uplifted' is just what I intend you all to be. You've got to understand, Oliver, I'm a fundamentalist. I take my scriptures very literally.'

Oliver opened his mouth, then closed it with a snap. Miles had his utter attention.

Communication at last, Miles breathed inwardly. We have connected.

'It would take a miracle,' said Oliver at last, 'to uplift this whole place.'

'Mine is not a theology of the elect. I intend to preach to the masses. Even,' he was definitely getting into the swing of this, 'the sinners. Heaven is for everyone.'

'But miracles, by their very nature, must break in from outside. We don't carry them in our pockets—'

'You don't, that's for sure,' muttered Oliver with a glance at Miles's undress.

'—we can only pray, and prepare ourselves for a better world. But miracles come only to the prepared. Are you prepared, Oliver?' Miles leaned forward, his voice vibrating with energy.

'Sh– . .' Oliver's voice trailed off. He glanced for confirmation, oddly enough, at Suegar. 'Is this guy for real?'

'He thinks he's faking it,' said Suegar blandly, 'but he's not. He's the One, all right and tight.'

The cold worms writhed again. Dealing with Suegar, Miles decided, was like fencing in a hall of mirrors. Your target, though real, was never quite where it looked like it should be.

Oliver inhaled. Hope and fear, belief and doubt, intermingled in his face. 'How shall we be saved, Rev'rend?'

'Ah—call me Brother Miles, I think. Yes. Tell me—how many converts can you deliver on your own naked, unsupported authority?'

Oliver looked extremely thoughtful. 'Just let them see that light, and they'll follow it anywhere.'

'Well . . . well . . . salvation is for all, to be sure, but there may be certain temporary practical advantages to maintaining a priesthood. I mean, blessed also are they who do not see, and yet believe.'

'It's true,' agreed Oliver, 'that if your religion failed to deliver a miracle, that a human sacrifice would certainly follow.'

'Ah . . . quite,' Miles gulped. 'You are a man of acute insight.'

'That's not an insight,' said Oliver. 'That's a personal guarantee.'

'Yes, well … to return to my question. How many followers can you raise? I'm talking bodies here, not souls.'

Oliver frowned, cautious still. 'Maybe twenty.'

'Can any of them bring in others? Branch out, hook in more?'

'Maybe.'

'Make them your corporals, then. I think we had better disregard any previous ranks here. Call it, ah, the Army of the Reborn. No. The Reformation Army. That scans better. We shall be re-formed. The body has disintegrated like the caterpillar in its chrysalis, into nasty green gook, but we shall re-form into the butterfly and fly away.'

Oliver sniffed again. 'Just what reforms you planning?'

'Just one, I think. The food.'

Oliver gave him a disbelieving stare. 'You sure this isn't just a scam to get yourself a free meal?'

'True, I am getting hungry . . .' Miles backed off from the joke as Oliver remained icily unimpressed. 'But so are a lot of other people. By tomorrow, we can have them all eating out of our hands.'

'When would you want these twenty guys?'

'By the next chow call.' Good, he'd startled the man.

'That soon?'

'You understand, Oliver, the belief that you have all the time in the world is an illusion this place fosters on purpose. Resist it.'

'You're sure in a hurry.'

'So, you got a dental appointment? I think not. Besides, I'm only half your mass. I gotta move twice as fast just to keep up the momentum. Twenty, plus. By next chow call.'

'What the hell do you think you're gonna be able to do with twenty guys?'

'We're going to take the food pile.'

Oliver's lips tightened in disgust. 'Not with twenty guys, you're not. No go. Besides, it's been done. I told you we'd made real war in here. It'd be a quick massacre.'