'I'm certain that Mr. Cayen would be happy to make a transcript for you,' Lieutenant Dunsinane said so confidently that Michael had a sneaking suspicion that she had already arranged for this.
In fact, for the first time Michael had the feeling the ATO was working with him rather than against him, and he was determined not to be a disappointment.
One of
I guess, he thought, that a planet that's made a career out of attacking its closest neighbor would be nervous about getting similar treatment from its tougher neighbors. Maybe not, though. The Faithful really do seem to believe that God is on their side and nothing else makes much of a difference. Maybe they just figure they're keeping us out of sensor range.
He smiled a bit at this last thought. If that were indeed the case, then the Faithful must not realize how sophisticated
The pinnace came down at what Michael knew was the largest and most modern facility of its type on Masada. Numerous elements in its design and construction showed the concentration the Faithful had dedicated toward building their fleet. He knew from his briefings that their navy swallowed a staggeringly large amount of their gross planetary product. Despite all of this, to Manticoran eyes, the facility was rather primitive.
Nothing he saw at the spaceport prepared him for the City of God itself. The number of people on foot was staggering. Men and women alike were bundled against the harsh weather, walking with bent heads and resigned postures against a biting wind.
Vehicle traffic was minimal and seemed restricted to transport trucks. Indeed, their guide did not take them to a private vehicle, but instead directed them toward a stair leading to a dimly lit, rather forbidding tunnel.
'The Faithful,' John Hill said in a neutral tour guide's tone, 'do their best to prosper without undue technological interference. This means that even their most important men do not keep private vehicles in a city. Everyone uses mass transport.'
'Right,' said Lawler. 'Forgot that for a moment.'
When they had descended into the mass transit tunnels, Michael quickly realized that although all the Faithful might travel on the same rails, the accommodations were not equal. Women, clad from head to foot in all enveloping robes, their faces veiled so that only their modestly downcast eyes were visible at all, were further sequestered in private carriages. These, Michael saw, had very few seats. He supposed it was some sort of mortification for the flesh.
Women traveling with children were permitted seats so that they might hold their children safely strapped on their laps. Carriages for men were always equipped with seats. This, apparently, was to make it possible for them to read or work, for Michael spotted few heads that were not bent attentively over some text or other.
He noticed that not all the carriages were equipped with equal degrees of luxury. The majority seemed to be furnished with simple benches of shaped plastic crowded tightly together, an aisle left down the middle. Some carriages, however, had padded seating, spaced further apart and aligned front to back. The carriage into which their guide waved them not only had padded seats, but curtained windows, and better lighting.
But then, Michael thought, the Faithful believe that temporal success is a reflection of God's favor. Therefore, if someone has earned the right to travel in style, that's not an indulgence, because God favors him and so would want him to travel better than his more sinful fellows.
As he settled into his own comfortable seat, the padding subtly conforming to his body to absorb the worst of the shocks and jolts, Michael couldn't help but think of the women he'd seen crammed into the standing carriages. It had been hard to tell, what with the heavy robes and winter cloaks they all wore, but some of those women had walked as if they were pregnant. Surely that alone was sufficient mortification of the flesh!
The curtains were drawn as soon as they were aboard the carriage, but Michael managed to peek out and get some feeling for the various stations as they flashed by. There were no advertisements, at least not in the sense there were on aggressively capitalist Manticore. Here the posters and streamers exhorted the Faithful to remember their responsibilities to God, and to those whom God had appointed to lead them on the path of righteousness. Printed in red or green against black backgrounds, the texts shouted at the eye.
Serve the Lord with fear and rejoice with trembling. Psalms 1:4.
Blessed are all they that put their trust in Him. Psalms 2:12.
The memory of the just is blessed: but the name of the wicked shall rot. Proverbs 9:7.
The way of transgressors is hard. Proverbs 13:15.
Nor were these sayings repeated only once or twice. Michael counted the piece about transgressors at least twenty different times. He thought there had been more, but apparently their train had switched onto an express track. They gained speed, slowing less and less frequently until, with a great squealing of brakes and a bone-jarring jolt, they came to a halt in a brightly lit, cleanly tiled station.
'The Palace of the Just,' their guide announced, a thrill of pride entering his voice. 'Follow me.'
Michael did so, finding himself sandwiched neatly between Lawler and Cayen, Hill bringing up the rear. The steps they climbed were carpeted, the handrails gilded. Soft droning chants, like the voices of depressed angels came from hidden speakers.
Their guide stopped before an enormous door barred in gold.
'Your ambassador will meet you within. You will be given some time to pray and prepare for your meeting with the Elders.'
Without a further word, he turned away, and Michael couldn't help but feel he was eager to be away from the contamination of their very presence.
At the appointed time, Judith began her deception. The usual attire for a Masadan woman was a long robe that covered the wearer from head to foot. In public, a veil was also worn, though in the shelter of the women's quarters this was not deemed necessary in any but the strictest households.
The advantage of this was that disguise as other than a woman was very easy. No one glimpsing someone in trousers and tunic saw anything but a male. To make matters even easier, Masada's planetary climate in general was cold. Ephraim's holdings were in one of the northerly reaches. A bulky coat and boots, both of which added to the concealment of a female form and manner of moving, were routine.
Needless to say, this disguise would not work for every woman. Judith, naturally neat and small-figured, could pass for a young man even without the coat. Although she had borne two children, the widow Mahalia had nearly died from the same illness that had killed her husband. Her emaciated form and the doubt that she would ever bear healthy children again was why she had been returned to her father's house after her husband's death. Even after she had recovered from her illness, Mahalia remained gaunt, hardly feminine any longer.
Rena's figure was distinctly maternal, or would have been had she not been also quite fat. As it was, her size was such that—at least when in coat and trousers—she made a large and convincing man.
The first stage of their deception was cutting their hair to the shorter style favored by spacefaring men, and never worn by women. The danger involved in this simple act was tremendous, for the three of them would be marked out for notice, even if Exodus was called off. Dinah had come up with several excuses to explain the oddity, but Judith still felt a thrill of fear when she felt cool air against her bare neck.
