by Eric Brown
She told him where the Church was situated, half a kilometre away, and gave him directions. “I’d better not be seen with you near the place.”
He gave Tiana his wrist-com code and they arranged to meet at a café in the centre of town at midday.
THREE
HENDRICK HAD NEVER LOOKED UPON A CHURCH building without a feeling of revulsion, and he experienced this again as he gazed at the spruce, white-painted weatherboard façade of the Church of the Ultimate Redemption.
He’d once tried to tell his mother what he thought of her Christianity: “It doesn’t make sense. Your God is supposedly all-powerful, knows everything, and lives outside time and space. He is one and indivisible—the Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost—and yet, in full knowledge of the consequences, he sent his son to Earth to be crucified and resurrected so that humanity might be forgiven their sins, and this was called a sacrifice? But what was sacrificed by this tripartite, omnipotent being, Mother?”
To which she had merely replied, “You don’t understand, Matthias. It is all about faith.”
And he had given up attempting to talk to her about her belief, and had never looked upon a church—any church—in quite the same way again.
He wondered what corrupted form of belief this particular Church might practise—and if indeed Maatje had been drawn to this cult.
He walked up the pathway to an open timber door and passed over the threshold from bright sunlight to cool shadow. When his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he made out an interior much like every other church the Expansion over, with a central aisle and pews to either side. At the far end was the altar, and on the wall above it a vast timber cross, though the horizontal bar was lower than on the crucifixes of Earth.
The church was deserted. He moved down the aisle and passed through a small door to the right of the altar. This room was empty too. He made out a half-open door that led outside, crossed to it, and stepped out into the sunlight. He found himself in a well-ordered vegetable garden that backed onto the jungle.
A tall, elderly European man in a grey habit was tending a vine at the far end of the garden. He turned and shielded his eyes from the sun as Hendrick emerged.
“I’m sorry to interrupt you,” Hendrick said. “I’m looking for Father Jacobius.”
The man smiled. He was thin and ascetic-looking, with a hatchet face and piercing grey eyes. His skin was tanned, his cropped hair silver.
“And you have found him,” Jacobius said, advancing and taking his hand in a firm shake. “How might I be of assistance?”
Hendrick was surprised; he had expected Jacobius to be an Avoelian of Madagascan descent. He had also expected the pastor to be stern, suspicious—not this overtly friendly, easy-going, smiling man. So much for his prejudices.
He introduced himself, giving a fictitious name and stating that he was a xeno-biologist from the Sorbonne, Earth. “My current studies involve alien cultures and their interaction with human societies,” he finished.
“Ah, then you have come to the right place,” Jacobius laughed. “Come, would you care for a drink?”
“I’m not keeping you from your work?”
“To be honest, I was rather hoping for a distraction.” Jacobius led the way to a shed across the garden, indicated a bench, and disappeared into the shed. He emerged a minute later with two bottles of ice-cold beer.
“I always think that one’s labour should be rewarded, Dr Hennessy,” he said.
Hendrick drank and asked Jacobius about the Avoel. “I understand the natives of this world are hunter-gatherers with their own animist belief system. I hope to do a little field-work in the jungle north of here.”
“You have obtained the requisite permits, I take it?”
Hendrick temporised. “The matter is in hand.”
“As far as I know, no academic has come to Avoeli to study the aliens,” Jacobius said. “The original exploration team categorised them as preindustrial sentients and left it at that, which of course meant that our colonisation of the planet met with certain restrictions. We are not allowed to develop the jungle any further than the present limits, for instance, and must respect the Avoel’s boundaries, customs, and beliefs.”
“Ah, their beliefs . . .”
“They are animists, as you say, Dr Hennessy. They believe that every living thing possesses, for want of a better word, a soul—a spiritual life force, be that insect, animal, or man. It’s a very rudimentary belief system that has its analogue in many so-called primitive societies on Earth.”
Hendrick sipped his beer. “I heard before I came here that your church’s beliefs and the Avoel’s share a certain common ground.”
Jacobius’s hatchet face split in a wide smile. “I think that is stating the case rather too forcefully.”
Hendrick glanced at Jacobius for any sign of suspicion, maybe irritation, but only saw the man’s ready, good-humoured smile.
“What does your church believe?”
“We are pantheists. We believe that there is more than one divine being that holds sway over this physical realm. While the Avoel believe that each living being is equal—hence their animism—we, on the other hand, believe that our gods created a . . . a hierarchy, if you like.”
Hendrick tried to hide his smile. “With humankind at the top?”
“With humankind and all other sentient beings at the summit of this hierarchy, yes. We are there by divine legislature, as it were, but with this elevated position comes a grave responsibility to all creatures in our gods’ universe.”
Hendrick nodded “I see. So . . . you would say that we and the Avoel are equal?”
“Indubitably.”
He took another mouthful of beer, considering his next question. “And does the Church of the Ultimate Redemption worship its ancestors, Father?” He stared at the man, gauging his reaction.
Did he see a hesitation, a shadow cross the holy man’s eyes? “The Church’s regard for those who have gone before is complex, Doctor. We hold that while our ancestors are dead on a physical plain, their spirits live on in the . . . in the weft and weave, if you like, of the universe. This is beyond time and space, so is, as it were, congruent with our reality and time. While we do not actively worship those that have gone before, we hold them in reverence.”
Hendrick nodded, as if comprehending the man’s belief system. “And I take that as regards an afterlife . . . ?”
Jacobius smiled. “The afterlife is the weft and weave, which we call the Hallalla.”
“And to attain this plain?”
Jacobius smiled. “Everyone attains Hallalla, Doctor.”
Hendrick frowned. “Then, I don’t quite see . . . What inducement is there, in your belief system, to follow the right way, to lead a virtuous life? If we all attain Hallalla, then we might as well all lead hedonistic, vice-laden lives.”
“And that is the beauty, the surpassing beauty of our church, my friend; it is one of the reasons why the Church of the Ultimate Redemption is right, while all the other religions of the Expansion are mere figments . . . There is no inducement to lead morally just lives—the choice is ours. We choose to follow the ways of the Church and worship the sanctity of all life. In this,” he went on, “our creed is analogous to Humanism. Followers of that philosophy too believe that there is no spiritual inducement to lead a just life: they do so for the joy of experiencing the simple, unalloyed miracle of existence in the here and now.”
Hendrick stared across at the orderly rows of vegetables, wondering if in Father Jacobius’s philosophy he had come across a belief system a little more palatable than the carrot-and-stick inducement of Christianity and similar cults.
He drank his beer, and talk turned to other matters. Jacobius asked him about his work, and Hendrick made up some story about field-work on Chalcedony and his study of the native Ashentay there.
Perhaps an hour later, as he was about to take his leave, a thought occurred to him. “While I’m here, I hope to compare notes with a fel
low xeno-biologist,” he said, “a student named Lalla Vaugines.”
He watched Jacobius for any adverse reaction, but none came. He went on. “I understand she’s a member of your church?”
Jacobius smiled. “Not Lalla, but her mother is a valued members of my congregation, yes.”
“Lalla is doing some interesting work with the Avoel,” Hendrick said, “and I’m looking forward to working with her.”
But Jacobius merely smiled and inclined his head politely.
Hendrick hesitated then asked, “I don’t suppose a friend of mine from Earth, Maatje Vanderbilt, has contacted you or anyone in your church? She’s a fellow academic with an interest in colonial religions, and I thought she’d be on Avoeli . . . but we seem to have missed each other.”
There was no reaction on Jacobius’s tanned face, not a flicker of recognition in his bright blue eyes. “I’m afraid not, Dr Hennessy.”
Hendrick drained his beer. “I’ve taken up enough of your time, Father Jacobius. You’ve been most kind. I’ll let you get back to work.”
“Not at all. I have enjoyed our conversation, and please feel free to drop by at any time.”
He showed Hendrick through the church and said farewell on the steps. They shook hands, and Hendrick retraced his steps to the centre of town.
• • •
I really want to tell him that I met Maatje, tell him what I agreed to do for her. But I can’t bring myself to do that: I fear his reaction, his anger. But most of all, I fear that he’ll hate me for what I did. The guilt is almost unbearable.
I’ve never felt this way about a man before. I wonder if it’s because . . . No, that’s rubbish! Dad walked out when I was five, and I hardly remember him, so I refuse to admit that I’m looking for a substitute figure.
And now Matt has agreed to try to help me find Lalla!
If only I could bring myself to be honest with him.
FOUR
THEY SAT ON THE PATIO OF A CAFÉ ON THE escarpment overlooking the jungle.
“Father Jacobius seemed entirely reasonable,” he told Tiana. “And I’ve come across worse belief systems.”
She looked at him over the process of blowing her coffee. “He didn’t give anything away about Lalla?”
Hendrick shook his head. “I mentioned Lalla and that I was in professional contact with her.”
“How did he react?”
“I didn’t detect anything untoward in his manner. As I said, he seemed reasonable, very friendly.” He hesitated. “He didn’t seem like the kind of man who would issue threats. Which doesn’t mean that he didn’t.”
“Did you ask him about the Avoel?”
“He told me about their belief system, and he distanced his church’s beliefs from theirs. He was, as the saying goes, playing his cards close to his chest.”
“What I’d like to know is why the Church doesn’t want Lalla, or anyone else, investigating the Avoel.”
“He said that no academics had ever studied the aliens, to the best of his knowledge.”
“And he wants to keep it that way.” She shrugged. “Perhaps we’ll find out more when we get to Allay.”
“I said that I hoped to do some field-work, and Jacobius mentioned that I’d need a permit.”
“If we were to enter the jungle around Allay, yes.” She waved this away. “But no one ever checks.”
He considered the journey ahead and the aliens. “We could meet with the Avoel? They wouldn’t be hostile?”
She smiled. “Hostile? The Avoel? Despite their teeth, they’re gentle, passive.”
“Could we communicate with them?”
“Some of them do speak a little Malagasy, yes.”
“Have you ever met one?”
“Never. They keep themselves to themselves. They come nowhere near the town, but I’ve glimpsed them from the train from time to time in the jungle. They’re small, quick creatures.”
“And you think Lalla has gone to Allay?”
She stared at her coffee and murmured, “If the Church hasn’t carried out its threat of violence.”
He contrasted that idea with the peaceable Father Jacobius; the two didn’t sit side by side that easily.
Tiana smiled at him. “But when we get to Allay, Matt, we might find her working away as if nothing has happened.”
“I hope so. Do you know where she worked?”
“She was interested in an old Avoel temple in the jungle to the north of the town. We could start there.”
He sipped his coffee—dark and rich and, according to Tiana, grown locally on the terraces that stepped down to the jungle below. He watched the locals on the patio: the men in shorts and bright shirts, the women in flowing gowns and turban-like headgear. The predominant colours were red, green, and white, which matched the planetary flag of Avoeli and that of the old Malagasy nation.
Tiana’s wrist-com chimed. Hendrick watched her as she took the call.
“Yes . . . Yes, I do. Of course.” Her eyes widened. “That’s an odd coincidence. Lalla is too. No, I don’t.”
She listened to what the caller was saying, her face pulled into a frown.
“I could, yes. I’m not leaving until two. I have someone with me, a . . . a detective from Earth. Would it be okay if he came along?” She nodded. “Good. We’ll be there in five minutes.”
She cut the connection and looked up at him. “Very strange. That was an old colleague of Lalla’s mother, a retired professor from the university.”
“What did she want?”
Tiana shrugged. “Lalla’s mother is missing and she’s concerned. She’s tried contacting Lalla but couldn’t reach her.”
“Where does she live?”
Tiana pointed along the escarpment. “Not far from the station. We could drop by before we take the train.”
“I’ll just settle the bill and then we’ll get off.”
At the bar, he looked back at Tiana, her bare feet drawn up on her chair, murmuring into her wrist-com. She looked incredibly beautiful.
• • •
That thing about people’s differing perceptions again . . .
Lalla never had a good word to say about Father Jacobius. She said he was an evil, scheming, manipulative charlatan who was using the credulity of the faithful to line his own pockets. She went on about all his shady business dealings, and I must admit that they sounded corrupt. According to Lalla, he had the police and the politicians in his pocket, paying huge bribes out of church funds.
And yet Matt says he appeared entirely reasonable . . .
And now this. Lalla’s mother has gone missing too.
• • •
The exclusive residences of Appallassy, according to Tiana, were owned by rich business-people and staff of the university—sprawling, multilevel villas that clung to the incline of the escarpment with spectacular views over the lower plain.
“What do you know about this woman?” Hendrick asked as they paused on the zigzag path that led to the entrance of the professor’s villa.
The red tiles of the villa showed through a canopy of trees. Tropical birds called deafeningly and clattered through the branches. “Not a lot. She was an anthropologist who taught Lalla. She’s a close friend of Lalla’s mother.”
“A member of the Church?”
“Not that I’m aware, no.”
She led the way down the winding path and pushed open a swing gate. They batted their way through a riotous garden, which was almost indistinguishable from the jungle that began in earnest a little further down the incline, and came at last to a smart weatherboard villa.
A handsome woman in her sixties with a thin face and short, iron-grey hair sat at a table on the long veranda and stood as they approached.
Tiana made the introductions, and Professor Revere showed them to seats around the table and fetched a jug of iced juice.
“I take it, Mr Hendrick, that you’re here in a professional capacity?” she said as they seated themselves at the table.
>
“Not at all. I’m a friend of Tiana . . . and I’d like to assist her in locating Lalla Vaugines.”
“And now,” Professor Revere said, “Lalla’s mother too.”
“What makes you think that she’s—?”
“She never normally leaves her house, Mr Hendrick,” Revere interrupted, “other than to attend church. Cristiana is not that old—in her sixties now—but she’s suffered health problems of late. She just wouldn’t leave like this without telling me.” She indicated a neighbouring villa through the trees. “She lives there and I usually see her every day.”
“When did you last see her?”
“Two days ago, and she didn’t mention going away.” She paused. “When I went over yesterday, she didn’t answer the door. I was worried, so I went in. I have a pin, you see, for emergencies. The house was empty.”
“No signs of anything untoward? No break-in, evidence of a struggle?”
“No, nothing of the kind. But—and I found this odd—Cristiana kept her medicine in a cupboard in the bathroom. She showed me where it was so that, in an emergency, I might administer her daily injection. And the medicine was still there.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“She has leukaemia.”
“And without her injections?”
Revere looked from Hendrick to Tiana with a worried expression. “She won’t last very long at all. She would have taken it with her had she gone on a planned trip, you see.”
“Have you contacted the local police?”
“Of course, and they said they could do nothing until she’d been missing for a week. They told me not to worry. But I am worried. And now Lalla . . .”
Tiana said, “I haven’t seen her for three days.”
Hendrick said, “What do you know about Cristiana’s involvement with the Church?”
“Very little. She and I are close, but she knows my views on religion, and especially the tenets of her church, so she never mentions her beliefs to me.” Revere looked at Hendrick, her blue eyes forthright. “Why do you ask?”
“I’m just trying to put the pieces together. Cristiana was involved with the Church, against the better judgement of her daughter. Lalla vanished, and now her mother. It occurred to me that Cristiana might have tried to locate her. Or perhaps they’ve simply gone off together.”