look of gothic terror and epic undertaking.
Stoneworthy was still getting his bearings. He and Updike had just returned from their visit with the mayor of The City of Light. A little more than twenty hours had passed since they first met.
Their trip from the airport had been uneventful. While the limousine threaded its way over the busy Skyways, Updike radioed ahead. They exited the City and some ninety miles into the countryside they reached the glass towers of the Rebirth Foundation. Updike left him in the care of doctors with the assurance that he would return for him. The living and dead physicians began Stoneworthy’s treatment immediately.
He soaked in chemical baths while being probed with questions by technicians before being transferred to an operating theatre. A repair team set to work. Broken ribs were inspected, trimmed and screwed into place on a plastic sternum; his skin was cleaned; the wound site was filled with a flesh-colored caulking and heated; and the ragged edges were heat-sealed with a flesh-toned plastic. After four hours under the knife his chest looked “healed” despite some discoloration.
Stoneworthy was awake during the procedure but felt no anxiety. His pain-free state allowed him clarity of thought and calm that he had yearned for his entire life. He was not displeased with the “afterlife” he still had in him.
After the treatment, Stoneworthy experienced tremors of sensation ranging from a mild tickling at the small of his back to prickly heat over his left arm. He felt strangely energized. A doctor assured him that the sensations would vary randomly until his body got used to its new state.
“Afterlife requires no sleep, for reasons we do not yet understand. We do recommend an enforced period of relaxation. Your mind will not wear out, but your body will.” He also reassured Stoneworthy that the psychiatric tests performed indicated that he had lost none of his higher brain function.
Updike had arrived in his room after midnight. The man’s big frame and powerful features were electric with purpose. He wore a tight-fitting uniform of military cut with clerical collar: it was dark green, with brown boots and a peaked hat over his stiff gray brush cut.
“My brother,” he said. “You look better.”
“Thank you,” Stoneworthy had replied. “I’m ready to serve the Lord.”
“And you shall.” Updike grinned. “In fact, I need you this night. Do you feel up to ministering? It is late, but time moves past us. We must make our declaration of purpose to the evil that controls this city. Now, is the time that the meek shall inherit the earth.”
“I am ready.” Stoneworthy took his hand.
A black suit was brought to him, with clerical collar and shirt. They took an elevator down to the waiting limousine, this one bearing the Rebirth Foundation logo on its doors. A dead man dressed in blue held the door for them. They were soon speeding toward the City.
Stoneworthy knew that Mayor Gregory Barnstable had ruled the City uncontested for fifty years. He was an employee of the International Credit Co., as was the rest of City Council after they determined it was insensible to waste valuable resources on the electoral process. A company would be foolhardy to invest millions in a candidate and then throw the entire selection process to the unstable whim of the voters. A state of undeclared martial law had been effect for years.
International Credit Co. held mortgages on the City of Light and most of the populated property left in Westprime. The man who held the office of Prime, Oscar Del, was the company’s Chief Executive Officer and owner. Politicians, local Authority Enforcement Services and the Westprime Defense Command were his property. The Prime had appointed Mayor Barnstable many decades before.
“The City donated money toward the construction of Archangel Tower.” Stoneworthy pointed out. “Not all things are corrupt.”
“The City bought a piece of the Tower.” Updike frowned. “And I fear that Archangel has been poisoned by drinking from such a wellspring. Does not the Prime use many Sunsight floors?”
“How shall we strike at the heart of this evil?” Stoneworthy’s mood had darkened.
“By striking where it lives.” A vein bulged on the preacher’s forehead. “What is more evil than loaning the poor money, only to charge interest on it? What is more evil than the rich controlling what is God’s to control?”
“The moneylenders,” Stoneworthy replied.
“Indeed.” Updike’s face had become dark with passion. “Gold is a God they will worship no more. They can’t refuse!”
“Is it too late, brother,” Stoneworthy wondered, realizing the time.
“We’re expected.” Updike smiled. “I have an amicable relationship with the moneylenders. They know whose interests I represent and fear them. The mayor awaits.”
They took the Skyway to Level Four and arrived at City Hall at three. Updike pushed past the security guards sent to deflect his purpose. “Away! God’s word needs no invitation. The mayor expects me!”
Stoneworthy hurried in his wake, noticing the reaction of living people to his state. The technicians and doctors at the Rebirth Foundation were used to the dead through constant exposure-many of them were dead as well. But Stoneworthy was appalled. His repaired body was in good enough condition to be mistaken for the living at first glance. When they realized he was dead, people turned away in disgust.
It was a recurring theme in all of earth’s Babylons. People dismissed charity and compassion as weaknesses as they strove for individual fulfillment. With passion building in his heart, he followed Updike through a heavy oak door into the mayor’s office.
Mayor Gregory Barnstable looked up from his massive desk. A quick emotion of petulance flitted behind his features before a cunning smile of greeting appeared. He got to his feet. Barnstable stood about average height, and was very wide in the shoulder and waist. He wore a pinstripe suit of purple and gray. His smile sat on a face creased and lined by expression. There was dark skin around shifting eyes that twinkled when they met Stoneworthy’s.
“Gentlemen, I am glad I could break my engagement to meet with you.” His voice was practiced, expressions deliberate. “What can I do for you at this late hour?” He held out a welcoming hand that Updike ignored.
“We come for the Lord.” Updike’s voice boomed in the spacious office. “The day of reckoning approaches.”
“Reckoning?” The mayor’s mind whirred beneath feigned humor. “But taxes aren’t due for another two months.” He laughed.
“Hold your tongue.” Updike glared over the desk. “We’re here to deliver a message.”
The mayor’s facade cracked when his eyes focused on the dead minister. “You’re Able Stoneworthy! Christ!” He looked Stoneworthy up and down. “They’re looking for you!”
“Do not speak the Lord’s name in vain!” Stoneworthy said with as much strength as he could muster. The politician was dismayed.
“Forgive me. I was surprised to see you,” Barnstable said quietly. “Gentlemen, I am writing a speech that I will be delivering tomorrow to the City Chamber of Commerce. Perhaps we could…”
“Commerce?” Updike barked. “Chamber of Horrors! Do you meet to discuss the redistribution of wealth?” He slammed a fist on the desk.
“Seriously, gentlemen.” The mayor sat back in his chair, crossed his legs and toyed absently with the heel of a shoe. “I object to your method.” He cleared his throat. “We at City Hall pride ourselves on the relationship we have nurtured with Archangel Tower and those who use it. The City contributed many millions to its construction.”
“Oh that I could tear each brick from it that was purchased with the profits of this usury!” Updike turned to look at Stoneworthy. Something apologetic passed across his eyes.
The mayor sighed and shifted in his chair. “Could we do without the fire and brimstone?”
“Your moneylenders will be stopped.” Updike’s face was a snarl.
“Gentlemen, no disrespect, but you’re just telling me what to do.” He smirked. “I can’t negotiate from there.”
“We are not negotiating.” Updike’s voice dropped an octave. “God’s commands must be obeyed.”
“Commands?” Barnstable frowned. “I prefer a discussion.”
“We do not have time to discuss anything with an overseer. Speak to your master the Prime, and tell him this: The Lord thy God knows thee Pharaoh in whatever disguise you wear. Tell the moneylenders, that all their wealth and power must be transferred to Archangel Tower Ministries Accounts to be divided amongst the religions
