by John Ringo
“I could give you the doctrinal answer,” Barb said. “But I don’t think it would make you any happier. Probably upset you more. So…You may feel as you feel, believe as you believe, and I’ll believe as I believe. Suits?”
“Not really,” Randell said. “But I don’t think I’m going to sway you, either.”
“I’m interested,” Attie said. “What is the doctrinal answer?”
“Most people say ‘free will,’ but that’s the children’s Sunday School answer,” Barb said. “Are we anywhere near out of this stuff?”
“Nope,” Attie said, shining a light ahead. “Still a couple of hundred feet, minimum.”
“Sugar,” Barb said. “The actual doctrinal answer goes back to the Fall of Man. The Garden of Eden thing. Part of the separation after the Fall of Angels was that they weren’t confined to Hell, they were confined to Earth. One of the reasons for the fall, according to some pretty good Apocrypha, was that God had created Man ‘in his own image,’ which was what caused that particular rebellion. There were three or four Falls, depending on which texts you believe. But there’s a lot of debate about what ‘in His own image’ means. The fundamental answer is, God is a great big fat guy with a beard. Or at least human looking. The more logical explanation, and the one that fits the translation of the word ‘image’ best, is probably sentience. That is, humans can think, plan and make decisions completely on their own. They can choose to do good or ill. Thus ‘free will.’”
“So what about angels?” Janea asked, fascinated.
“Angels seem to be more like AIs,” Barb said. “Same with demons. They’re programmed to do certain things and that’s that. The more complex they are, the higher in the hierarchy, the more things they can do. But they don’t have free will. If we ever get to the point of being able to actually study them, and I hope we never can, I think that’s what they’ll find. That angels are simply very complicated computer programs. Seen that way, the Fall was something like a corrupted program or a computer virus.”
“That’s not a very believer approach,” Attie said, surprised.
“Depends on how much of a thinking believer you are,” Barb said. “Nothing in that violates any of the Scriptures. It’s just a more advanced way of translating them. Possibly not advanced enough, but probably closer to the truth of the reality. The people who were first trying to understand the Fall didn’t have our level of technology. They couldn’t conceive of a thinking engine like a computer. The point is that both demons and Man were put on earth. God’s apparent intent was to let Man rule the earth, possibly even over demons. Maybe get them back in shape or something.”
“Okay, now,” Janea said. “That’s very weird.”
“Fits with the scriptures,” Barb said. “Angels are not a higher form. Neither are demons, which are simply corrupted angels. Man is the next highest form after God. Angels are lesser than we, because we have souls. We have sentience. They don’t. The Creation in the Sistine Chapel got that just right. Angels are lower in the mural than Man. Man is the next creation after God.”
“So what happened?” Attie asked.
“Well, the apple thing,” Barb said, laughing slightly. “Women messed it up, according to the accepted texts. Basically, humans rebelled. God said, ‘This is your paradise and all you have to do is not eat of the fruit.’ There’s big debate about what ‘eating of the fruit’ really means. Did we invent agriculture? Writing? Philosophy that rejected the notion of God? But, whatever we did, we upset Him. To the point where he threw us out of the Garden and onto the Earth. Which was the province of demons. So we’re stuck here with the other rebels. This is our Guantanamo.”
“So I was right,” Randell said. “This is Hell.”
“If it were hell, there would be no chance for redemption,” Barb said.
“The thing being that, by our actions, by our faith, and through the intercession of his Son Jesus, we’ve got a chance to get off of this plane of sorrow and bask in His light for eternity. Through love and good works by some choices of faith. Simply by being and not being terrible by determinism. Through confession and being in a state of Grace, according to Jordan. I’m of the informed opinion that if you sufficiently worship your weapons, keep them well, protect the innocent, do not let fear overtake you and die well in battle you’re okay, too. For that matter, ‘an firstly do ye no harm’ seems to work, as does Buddhism, which isn’t even a religion, and the more positive aspects of Hinduism. I have met people that God clearly has touched who come from faiths so divergent from, well, Primitive Baptist, it’s hard to see the connection. Janea is the priestess of a goddess of sex, and God has given her power through my connection to Him. God is love. All the rest is dross. And to find Him all you need to do is truly love. And whenever two or more are gathered in the name of Love, which is His name, then He is there. Janea could probably argue that two people having loving, joyous sex are worshipping God.”
“I was just about to point that out,” Janea said.
“God is on my side,” Randell sang sarcastically. “Still doesn’t explain the demons.”
“But free will does,” Barb said. “Demons, or these Old Ones that I will admit have some non-demonic aspects, need the intercession of humans. God gives us that choice. We can choose to be good, we can choose to be evil or we can do what most of us do, which is muddle along in the middle. But the reason that God does not strike these things down from on high is that He expects His followers to take care of things. Which is exactly why we are here. Humans brought these things into being, and humans, with the help of God—as the evil humans had the help of demonic agencies—are to set things to rights. God helps those that help themselves, if you will. Or would you rather a God who held your hand while you sucked your thumb in a corner?”
“Point,” Randell said.
“The actual point is, Special Agent, that even if you reject God, God does not reject you. If you love and do not hate, if you live by His basic precepts, the Golden Rule, if you will, then you are good. His forgiveness, even for rejecting Him, is infinite.”
“So you’re saying that if I live a good life I’m doomed to play a harp for all eternity?” Randell said. “No, thank you.”
“The harp motif is so fourteenth century,” Janea said. “Back then most people worked hard from sun to sun and died young. Sitting around all the time and not having to work for their food was the only thing they could imagine as paradise. Valhalla isn’t playing a harp. We Asatru are called to battle. I mean, like I told Barb, I tried out Astari, which is all nonviolent and whole-grain goodness, and got really bored. Which is why I’m Asatru. Give us a harp and we’ll try to eat it. Give us a battle and stand back. The afterlife is what you are called to. I know a person who’s pretty certain it’s the chance to meet and talk with people like Da Vinci. Although I think the line of geeks is going to be sort of long.”
“So all I’ve got to do is live a blameless life and I’m in?” Attie asked. “No church, no singing?”
“In my opinion?” Barb said. “Yes. Love and do not hate. Treat other people with love and respect unless they have clearly given themselves to evil. And even then, understand and forgive them if you can. But that doesn’t mean you have to let them live, mind you.”
“Hmm,” Attie said. “So what if you’ve sinned?”
“Sin is such a big word,” Barb said. “And it’s a really narrow concept. I’m not saying that it’s all shades of gray; it’s not. But there’s a really easy way to define sin. Do you have any sort of conscience? I know some very good warriors who don’t. They have to just fake it.”
“I know the kind of guys you’re talking about,” Attie said. “But, yeah, I’ve got a conscience.”
“Anything you’ve ever done you really wish you hadn’t?” Barb asked.
“Couple,” Attie admitted.
“Can you forgive yourself?” Barb asked.
“That’s a tough one,” the master sergeant admitted.
“God ca
n,” Barb said. “But it helps if you can. People seek forgiveness for that sort of thing in a lot of ways. The doctrine of Confession is the traditional Catholic method. I…know someone who has a lot of forgiveness to seek. He’s seeking it through…good works. I, frankly, wish he was with us now.”
“I thought you said good works,” Randell said.
“By certain definitions of good,” Barb said, chuckling slightly. “Killing demons? Good. Counts for a bunch of rosaries, or so I’m told.”
“Oh.”
“Others seek it through self-examination,” Barb continued. “Mostly, though, people seek it through the normal sort of absolutions. Owning up to it to the people that they’ve hurt. Seeking to redress the damage. Doing things that counteract the evil they have done. My friend’s approach is…idiosyncratic. But sincere. And, again, unquestionably in there with God. He had some actual demons to throw off of his soul. But once he did, he’s pretty much in as much of a state of grace as anyone I’ve met. And what he does is kill demons. And their worshippers.”
“That gets back around to where I have issues,” Randell said.
“I wasn’t planning on getting Jesus in a cave,” Attie said. “But you’re a very good missionary, Mrs. Everette. And you can shoot. That’s a benefit.”
“Think about what you just said,” Barb said. “‘Getting Jesus.’ Getting has several connotations in English. It means ‘receiving,’ which is the meaning I think you meant. But it also means ‘understanding.’ Which is equally the case. This is how to ‘get’ Jesus.
“All that Jesus really asked is that we love our fellow man and care about him. Why on earth are you in this cave if not for that, Master Sergeant Attie? Adventure? You’re far too experienced a warrior. You’re here to save lives. Jesus dragged a cross up a long hill while stones and food and spit were hurled at Him, was nailed to that cross, suffered, and died a most painful and horrible death to prove to His Father that we poor humans were worthy of being forgiven for whatever Adam and Eve did to tick God off. He died so that we might live in eternity, period. If you die in this cave, open-eyed and willing to die to save others, do you really think that Jesus is going to reject you? He’s a guy who got nailed to a cross to save our souls. Yeah, He has enough forgiveness for you, Master Sergeant. And He is going to appreciate someone who’s willing to die to save others. Been there, done that.”
“You know,” Attie said, thoughtfully. “If you’d been my preacher when I was growing up I might have stayed with the church. Baptist, too, by the way.”
“I know a few very good Baptist ministers,” Barb said. “I also know more who are total pricks, pardon my French.”
“You’re making me think about converting,” Janea said with a laugh. “But I love sex too much.”
“Mary Magdalene was a prostitute,” Barb said. “There’s no other way to interpret Matthew. So was her sister, Martha. Which made Lazarus, who Jesus raised from the dead, their pimp. God may be a little down on it, but Jesus has no issues.”
“Speaking of whom,” Janea said. “Where is Laz?”
“Probably finding a drier route,” Barb said with a chuckle. “He took one look at this passage and clear as day said ‘Blow that!’”
“Well, we’ve got an open area up ahead,” Attie said. “Finally.”
“Might want to let me go through first,” Barb said. “The last time I let somebody else take point it didn’t turn out well.”
“I think it’s okay,” Attie said. “Unless your Old Ones have green cat eyes. He apparently found a drier route. Little bastard.”
“Language, Master Sergeant.”
CHAPTER NINE
“Well now, this is interesting,” Barb said as she emerged from the mudhole.
The immediate area around the opening to the mudhole was more or less triangular and about thirty feet high. The room continued onwards into the cave through a very odd passage.
The passage was high but narrow with a smooth, flat floor. It opened outwards, broadly at the top and again, slightly, near the floor. And it clearly twisted like a snake. The walls were irregular with spines of limestone sticking out. As she shone her light on the wall she could pick out the outlines of fossilized sea creatures from ancient aeons.
“Keyhole passage,” Master Sergeant Attie said, pouring a bottle of water over the Kriss to get some of the mud off. They were both covered in the thick, sticky mud, as was all of their equipment. “Called that ’cause it looks sort of like an old-time skeleton keyhole.”
Barb did a rough clean on the weapon, ensured that it was still cycling well, then shone her gun-light up. She quickly realized that it didn’t reach all the way into the sides of the spread-out upper portion.
“There could be anything up there,” she noted, sweeping the Kriss around.
“Yep,” Attie replied as the rest of the team dragged themselves out. “I’ve been thinking on that.”
“That was just unpleasant as anything I’ve ever done,” Janea said. “Except this one guy in Los Angeles.…”
“Let’s do a gear check,” Attie said. “That could have been pretty rough on our systems.”
The team, in pairs, spent a couple of minutes checking out all their gear. Surprisingly, with the exception of having to change a battery in Randell’s radio, it was all functioning.
“Good stuff,” Barb said, happily. “I do so appreciate good gear.”
“I got most of it off of Navy SPECWAR,” Attie admitted. “Salt water is worse than mud, and the SEALS can break anything. So their stuff has to be really robust. And the radios are designed with obstructions in mind. They’ve actually got about the best gear around for caving, just most cavers can’t afford it. Or don’t have the clearance to get it. Let’s stay sharp. There’s not only limited visibility at the top, there could be passages off of it.”
“Master Sergeant?” Struletz said. “I could probably chimbley to the top and work my way along through there. That way we’d have top cover.”
“And if you had to get down in the middle of a firefight you’d be vulnerable as hell,” Attie said.
“I’ll do it,” Barb said, releasing the Kriss to draw back on its three-point harness. She jumped up and got both feet onto small projections on the wall, and then started climbing the passage like a spread-out spider. Fast. She was rarely in even three points of contact, and it looked most of the time like she wasn’t in contact at all. She hardly used her hands.
“That was just…bizarre,” Attie said when she reached the top.
“Benefits of a lifetime of martial arts study, Master Sergeant,” Barb said, not even winded. “I had this instructor in…Malaysia? Yeah, Malaysia. He loved really bad martial arts movies. But he took some of the stuff from them, some of the stuff you’re looking at and going ‘Yeah, right,’ and added it to his art. Stuff like fighting off of balconies and walls. He believed that the essence of martial arts was grace. It wasn’t a really great combat art, unless you were fighting on a ledge, but it was good for learning balance.”
“Kung Pow?” Struletz asked.
“Oh, that was minor,” Barb said, laughing. “The original was worse. And there are much, much worse martial arts movies than that.”
She shone her light down the passage and was pleasantly surprised to find that from the top, she could see for nearly sixty feet. The passage, viewed from her lofty vantage, was a series of domes covering the serpentine lower portion. There were still bends, and there were spots that the light didn’t illuminate; indeed, there were small nooks and crannies that were going to be hard to check out, but she could cover the team very well from up here. The only problem being that the irregular oval top portion she currently was standing in was short enough she was having to bend nearly double. But she’d be able to stand up in the next dome. At least if she did the whole thing with her legs spread across the passage. That was going to be unpleasant.
“I won’t say what you look like from down here,” Janea said. “But you’d better b
e glad you’re not wearing a skirt.”
Barb pulled both legs to one side of the passage, bracing on the far side with one hand, and held out her right.
“Toss me Lazarus,” she said.
“You’re joking,” Janea said.
“He can make his way through up here,” Barb said. “And he’s better at spotting these things than we are.”
“Okay,” Janea said, coaxing the cat over then standing up with him in her arms. “I’m not very good at throwing.”
“Let me,” Randell said, taking the cat. Lazarus was looking notably worried but he allowed himself to be manhandled. “Catch.”
Randell tossed the cat vertically, eliciting a startled “Rrow?!” but he tossed him high enough and accurately enough that Barb was able to make a fair catch.
“You’ve got point,” she said, setting Lazarus on a more-or-less flat spot. “Head on out.”
Where the domes were, the passage became, from her position, an oval tube, slightly serpentine, with a very wide crevasse in the middle. Most of the time she could make her way along in a crouch to the side of the lower passage on the slightly slanted floor. Other times she braced with one hand and moved from one side of the lower passage to the other. Sometimes she had to spread and duck-walk, especially in the short lower portions between domed areas. Those would have been the unfun portions where she couldn’t see what was awaiting her in the dark nooks to either side. But then there was Lazarus.
In a similar way, but easier because he was shorter, four-legged, and, well, a cat, Lazarus was more or less trotting down the passage, his tail flicking from side to side for balance and occasionally jumping across the crevasse when one side or the other became nonnegotiable. He was, in fact, getting very near the limit of Barb’s light.
“Slow down, Laz,” Barb said.
“Tell him to slow down?” Attie said. “You slow down. We’re barely keeping up and we’re walking.”
“It’s clear,” Barb said, squatting on one foot and bracing across the passage with the other. She was in one of the narrower entries to a dome, and the crack to the lower passage was barely six inches wide. “This is a really strange formation.”