Pascale's Wager: Homelands of Heaven

by Anthony Bartlett

  But this time luck was on his side and as he struggled on, counting down the fan relays, he saw no one. At last he could hear the more powerful thrum of the condenser hall fan and he increased his pace one more time. The gaping hole came into view, the huge fan sweeping round inside it. As he limped by the fan and the condenser hall door next to it he felt the throb of the motors and heard what he thought were voices. He hurried on by and within a few paces there was the familiar sealed entrance of the buffer room with its control box beside it. He stumbled up to it and threw the switch. The door released and he entered the room, hitting the control to return the seal.

  He leaned against the wall and struggled to get his coat on. His breath still felt like molten steel in his chest and his body was shaking. He got the coat buttoned and pulled up the hood, but he had lost one of his gloves. As he paused to recover his strength he realized he was still holding on to the steel rod in his ungloved hand. After a moment he opened the door on the far side of the room. Immediately the bone-snapping cold hit him but it also seemed to give him a jolt of life. He found the shaft with its vertical ladder and grabbing the frozen rungs with his gloved hand, he worked his way up.

  He emerged into the housing at the top of the shaft and saw no one. He poked his head out the door and at once instinctively ducked back as he felt the deadly bite of the wind. He pulled his hood over to its full extent and stuck his head out once more. He could see the dark bulk of a turbine building but then, parked right next to it, there was an ice-tractor, its engine running. Immediately he had a surge of hope. It seemed to be the end of the work day and someone had been sent up to start the tractor and wait for the squad of men below. He slipped the rod under his coat and held it there with the ungloved hand thrust under the flap. He walked across to the tractor, mounted the step-up onto the track and swung open the driver’s hatch. There was a gray-haired man sitting there, half asleep. Poll had pulled out the rod from his coat and he poked the man sharply in the side. The man grunted, blinked to attention and saw the rod leveled in his face.

  “What the hell!”

  “Get out of the tractor or I’ll stick this in your face.”

  The man stared in disbelief. “Who the fuck are you?”

  Poll lowered the rod and jabbed it very hard into the man’s chest, leaving a sharp ding in his coat. “I won’t be asking again.”

  The man gulped in pain and dove for the other hatch. Poll got in, closed the hatch behind him and reached across and yanked the other one shut. He had never driven a tractor but in his trips back and forth from the hut to work he had almost automatically got himself into positions where he could watch the tractor drivers and memorize their actions. He’d even once had the chance to sit up front and ask about the controls. Now he did his best to repeat the motions he’d seen. He pushed down on the clutch and maneuvered the gear stick into first. He lifted his foot and the clutch sprang back. The great machine shuddered and labored into motion. He pumped the power and there was a smell of burning pressure plates, but little by little the vehicle picked up speed. He went through the actions again, ramming the lever into second gear and letting the clutch leap up. Again the tractor bucked and nearly stalled, but still it ground forward, and again it gathered speed. He was safe, at least for the moment.

  ***

  Just before sun-up Cal arrived at the men’s camp. She was very tired. It felt like there was a gap in the middle of her head where her brain should be and she was unable to think what she should do next. She had followed the road until the going became so rough she lost the markers. But she kept the direction of travel, using the angle to the line of the beacon, figuring she was bound to come across some sign of the camps. She had endured anxious moments but eventually she’d found the perimeter road and knew she had to be close. Judging from the ruts in the ice most of the traffic seemed to turn right so she also followed in that direction. It wasn’t long before she caught the unearthly glow of the orange surveillance lights above the rows of discolored huts and the grim existence of the camps hit her squarely. She rolled to a stop as a smudge of skyline was shivering into daybreak.

  It was all so strange and different. She was surprised to see the east lay back in the direction she’d come from. The line of dawn, which she had watched so often from her TEP, was way to the other side of the Sector, while the camps were out here to the west. She began to orient herself accurately and there in her first daybreak outside the Sector she felt real and strangely happy. As the ice-tractor hummed quietly and the wind rattled its metal frame it even felt possible to embrace this world. She could perhaps love the circle of storms and the wretched land beneath it.

  Suddenly there was a hammering on the passenger window. An unshaven man in a huge hood was shouting to her. She pulled up her own hood and cracked open the door. He leaned in and stuck his nose and mouth close to the space.

  “What are you doing here? Is it something to do with the guy from hut nine?”

  An alert went off in Cal’s head. “Hut nine, yes, which one is it? I’m looking for it.”

  The man pointed. Then, despite the crippling cold, he held onto the door and yelled another question, “How come they send someone young as you?”

  “I’m older than I look.”

  She yanked the door shut and slipped the tractor into gear, heading to where he’d pointed. Driving slowly she found the hut with a faded number “9” on it, zipped up her hood and pulled on her mittens. The wind hit her the moment she got out, an unrelenting enemy, and she buckled before it. Bent double she made her way to the hatch and banged on it with her fist and forearm. After a moment a shadowy figure opened the door, beckoning her in over the step and slamming the hatch behind her. She was in some kind of boot room and a voice from inside yelled, “Who is it?”

  “Dunno.”

  A man who looked as if he was in charge came through the inner door, harassed and angry. Right behind him, slipping through the space, was another figure, little more than a boy. The man walked up to her.

  “What is it?”

  “I’m looking for Poll Sidak.”

  The man was beside himself. “What the fuck! I’ve told everyone over and over, he’s not here, and they’ve searched twice. Anyway who the hell are you?

  Before she had a chance to say anything the boy interrupted, “Are you his friend?”

  The man was about to turn on the boy, but she spoke quickly. “Don’t worry, sir, I’m from the Sector. We’re looking for information.” Turning to face the boy, she smiled. “Yes, I’m his friend.”

  Again before anyone could stop him the boy blurted out, “Me too; the name’s Finn. Poll disappeared into the tunnels and then he shot a guy and stole a tractor at the next camp.”

  Cal was caught off balance. “What?”

  The man saw her confusion. “Wait, you don’t know that? Where did you say you were from?”

  Cal felt the danger. “Sir, we were not informed of all these incidents. Your superiors probably wanted to sort things out themselves. I am going at once to investigate.

  It was the man’s turn to appear confused. He swore at the boy. “Finn, get your punk ass back inside, now.” Then turning to the visitor, “Look I think you need talk to my boss. He doesn’t like things happening he doesn’t know about. We’ll be going down to his place shortly and you can come with us.”

  “Sir, I’m sorry, I do not know you’re name. I’m Cal.”

  The man grunted, “It’s Cato.”

  “Cato I would love to meet your boss, but there’s a prisoner on the loose who seems desperate. If we can resolve this situation without any more bloodshed then that’s in everyone’s interest, don’t you think? I really should go now.”

  Cato decided he didn’t care. This woman was not his responsibility. He had no procedure, no orders.

  “Well, get the hell out then.”

  Cal unhooked the external door herself and ducked out. It remained open to the merciless wind while Cato stood looking with Fin
n still behind him. Someone inside was yelling, “Shut the goddam door!” but the two continued to watch as Cal jumped up into the tractor and reversed back down the road, the tracks churning up ice and snow as she weaved dangerously between the buildings. She got to the end and swung the vehicle round to face south: Poll wouldn’t have been going anywhere except where her beacon was pointing, the place where there was transport to the other world. She shunted the stick to forward and lurched into motion, racing up through the gears along the highway. Poll had escaped and now he was on the run. She had to find him before anyone else did, and the only escape would be all the way, to the sunshine world. As she went as fast as she could down the ice road she foraged in her bag for the last of the energy bars. Her mind was awake again, but her body desperately needed something to keep going.

  8. PHILOSOPHY

  It was now several days that Charlize and Danny had been guests at the villa of the philosopher couple, Zeno and Xanthippe. They had fallen into a routine, rising late in the morning when their hosts or a volunteer couple from the neighboring dwellings would come into their room laughing and carrying trays of fresh fruit and cakes. They would then go and wander the beautiful lanes and gardens surrounding the villa. As they strolled they would bump into different people, exchange pleasantries, and little by little they got to know the members of the philosophers’ village.

  There was Heloise and Abelard, a willowy couple who dressed in medieval costume and discoursed on logic, ancient and modern. In contrast, Friedrich and Hannah were intense and passionate, with expansive chests and big hair. They talked in aphorisms and hinted at things other people didn’t or couldn’t grasp. Hypatia and Bacchus believed Greek thought was the only thought there was and with infinite patience would quote and explain what its philosophers had actually said. It was here also that they encountered their first gay couples, Andre and Alex, Lara and Colette. Back in the Homeland the possibility of such relationships had been whispered about, but it was a matter of hints and suspicions, and always controlled by the overriding rule of family and children. Here everything was totally different and, after an initial shock, homosexual partners seemed as natural as the food and the weather. Andre and Alex’s stock in trade was the constructed nature of truth—much to the annoyance of Heloise and Abelard. Meanwhile Lara and Colette kept up a constant banter about women and men and the latter’s very limited understanding of anything.

  At one o’clock a long wooden table would be laid in a courtyard shaded by ancient walnut trees. People would gather to snack on focaccia bread, chilled soup and olives, or slivers of grilled chicken and filo pastries of strawberry and brie. The news would be shared of the lectures and seminars to be held that afternoon and after an hour or so beneath the boughs they would disperse to the venues in different villas. Those who didn’t attend would spend the time reading classical texts or preparing pieces of their own. In the late afternoon there would be the meditative chanting of ancient hymns or fragments and afterward everyone would return home to dress for that evening’s banquet.

  Charlize and Danny experienced the giddy whirl of these social occasions. Each night they went to bed their heads were swimming with fine wine and words they couldn’t understand. There were several philosophers who took it in turn to host the symposia, depending on interests and personality. It worked well that way, as conversation would run in unique directions, and then people could quote an argument or aphorism from that occasion at a later separate gathering. But always the most glittering event was at Zeno and Xanthippe’s and with the newcomers’ arrival the invitation had been issued at once. Neophytes in heaven were a unique opportunity. To have their mouths hanging open at table, but not for the food, told the philosophers that their thoughts were truly worth thinking. And Zeno and Xanthippe naturally claimed first blood.

  “What a glorious thing is youth!” declared Xanthippe. “Of course we have so much youth here—are we not all forever young!—but there is something truly exquisite about these faces, so recently bloomed from their chromosomal springtime!”

  “Oh Xanthippe,” retorted Andre, “So easily seduced by the random products of nature. Why is that a true springtime? Why are the results of our science not just as true? Is that not just a prejudice on your part?”

  Heloise had her head at an angle, carefully considering the argument, which provoked Friedrich at once to exclaim, gesturing to the Northerners. “Ah, but how can you replicate the perfect cleanness of those faces? That animal veracity? Do you not secretly covet it?

  “Of course we are seduced by these nymphs, these fawns. Why not!” It was Abelard waving his hand across the top of his wine glass in only the slightest imitation of Friedrich “But what is it that stirs our blood? Is it the music of the spheres? Or something much more banal, an insatiable desire for the new? What does the predicate “youth” mean among a set of immortals?”

  “All things come to be in accordance with the Logos, but most people fail to notice what they do when awake, just as they forget what they do while asleep.” Hypatia was intoning and Zeno was roused from his rapture contemplating his guests.

  “Aye yes, Heraclitus, the weeping philosopher, that dear man! There was one who suffered for his thought. Not like us pampered dilettantes. But wait, let us hear from our new arrivals. What is it that they perceive” And turning his luminous gaze he looked at Danny and Charlize.

  “What does it seem like to you, sweet friends, to be so newly young and yet also young forever?”

  Danny blinked into the candlelight, grinning and trying to think of something, anything, to say. But Charlize responded with poise.

  “Well, ladies and gentlemen, we are very grateful to have been chosen as Immortals. As far as being young, most people we have met seem about the same age as ourselves. So I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Enjoy the moment!” And she raised her glass.

  “Remarkable, truly, there speaks the voice of genuine thought,” Zeno rhapsodized, clapping his hands. “Live in the flow of the moment, even though the moment is forever frozen!” And he looked around for approval of his own pithy paradox. Sure enough a cascade of poignant sighs washed over the table.

  “But seriously,” he continued, “this is not a trivial matter. One of the reasons you have been sent to our little colony is because sooner or later these questions impose themselves on all citizens of Heaven. We want to show you, right from the start, that we are mindful of them. As you can hear, we discuss them all the time, and in the most enlightened fashion.'

  “But you should know also that the Heavenly Homeland has not left things simply to the consolation of mere talk. The holy secret of Heaven has yet to be revealed, and when it is you will be brought at once to a place which only long training in philosophy may otherwise provide. Nevertheless, one step at a time!” And he broke off his wordy musing. “My task at the moment is simply to promise you a rare treat. Not too long now, at another dinner just such as this, we will have a very special visitor who will prepare your minds and souls for the wondrous revelation. His name is Sarobindo and he is a legend among us. When you meet Sarobindo, and later experience the epiphany itself, you will finally become united with the soul of immortality. But now, enough already! A toast, a toast! Who will raise a toast to our glorious novices?”

  Colette rose to the occasion. She was a lithe, imposing figure with short hair and a warm generous mouth. She flashed a smile around the table and commanded, “Charge your glasses!” There was a busy flutter while people reached for the bottles and topped up their glasses, then they all held them aloft. Colette continued.

  “Once a goddess always a goddess. (Who can be sure about the guys? But we’re always hoping!) To Charlize and Danny, the newest among the gods! We don’t say ‘may you live forever’ because that’s a given. But we do say ‘may you live forever!’ May you never waste a moment of eternity.” And she finished her toast with the standard cry, “We all say, ‘Forever!’”

  And everyone joined in a
full-throated chorus, “Forever!”

  After that there was no longer a single conversation at table. Sat next to Danny was Friedrich and on the other side of Charlize, Colette and Lara. Friedrich turned to Danny. “Really, Sarobindo is one of the most significant people in the Heavenly Homeland. He is quite extraordinary. We are always thrilled to have him as our guest. You will be astonished at what this man has given us.”

  Colette was listening from the other side, a twinkle in her eye. “Don’t think too hard for them Friedrich. Didn’t you hear what Charlize said? Enjoy the moment!”

  Bacchus leaned forward from across the table, giving a sensuous pout to his lips, “And yes, there is Doblepoble to look forward to. I hope you’ll enjoy that every bit as much as the august Sarobindo! You know the Greeks invented the lifestyle of the body?”

  Danny wasn’t thinking about the Greeks. He recognized the exotic name of Doblepoble. “Yes, we already heard about that. Do you guys go?”

  “Well I and Hypatia certainly attend. Not sure about some of the others, maybe a little too bumpy for their tastes. But Colette and Lara here, I’m pretty sure I’ve seen them there more than once.”

  Charlize looked curiously at Colette and Lara. “Do you…attend the Doblepoble?”

  Colette grinned at the recent inductee to Heaven. “My dear Charlize, you will have to come and find out, won’t you?”

  9. BORDERLANDS

  As Poll set out in the hijacked ice-tractor he had no clear idea of where he was going. He was struggling to recover both his strength and wits as he steered unsteadily between the huts and then out on a much larger road. There was a horrible pain in his chest, his heart was beating like a hammer, and his limbs felt like putty. He was still crashing gears and making the motor labor badly but he was getting better at it and the tractor was still moving forward. He was trying to think rationally about his situation, but a blank exhausted mood was overtaking him, matching the dark slew of clouds above. He had gained a means of transport but he had lost the route to guide him to his destination. He could see the day was almost gone, the light leaching from the sky. Snow had begun to fall, single flakes bouncing against the windshield in the bullying wind. He was fascinated by their delicate structure, something he had never properly seen before; he wanted to examine them as they flew by. With difficulty he pulled himself back to the present, recalling that the prisoners said there was a road connecting the camps. He thought in all probability this was it. From the glimmer of the setting sun he figured he was heading south, more or less the same direction he’d been taking down in the tunnel. It struck him the road might very well follow the line of the tunnel or the ring of turbines all the way round the Homeland.