Peter’s mouth fell open as he realized that Bartholomew now had the body, with the requisite curves, of a woman. A woman with a bald head, except for a large ponytail in the back, and of course, a giant mustache.
“One does tend to fall into patterns, and tradition, young Master Eli. And, of course, in my case there is more than enough time to add a little bit of flair to any occasion.”
Bartholomew nodded his head, and the head of hair he now sported in a long ponytail bobbed behind him. “Greetings, Master Peter. Salutations, Mistress Jenny.”
Jenny turned to Peter, equally mystified by Bartholomew’s appearance. Peter shook his head, so she turned to Eli, who had never met Bartholomew but had seen plenty of his twin, Malcolm, during the trials of the Game.
Eli leaned over the back of his pew and whispered to her, “This is Malcolm’s sister?”
At that, Bartholomew burst into laughter. He slapped at his knee and then daintily picked a bit of fuzz that offended him, and he flicked it away. “You humans and your fixation on gender! I can assure you that my actual physical form is quite a bit different than what you see before you, but prior experience has taught me to mimic the physical qualities of the species involved in the Game to avoid any…unpleasantness.”
Jenny opened her mouth, bit her lip and then asked, “So you’re not female?”
Bartholomew stood, spun so that his long skirt billowed around him, then sat back down and again crossed his legs so that his right foot, clad in a sensible heel, dangled in the air. “I am neither male nor female, Mistress Jenny. My species evolved in a very different way.” He waved his arm down the length of his body, “This, what you see, is just for you—though I do very much enjoy the skirt. Almost as much as my mustache!”
He pulled at the long point of his mustache on the right side of his face and smiled broadly.
There was a long, awkward silence until Eli asked, “You do know that human females don’t have giant mustaches like Yosemite Sam, right?
Bartholomew’s face froze ever so briefly as if he was accessing an internal database, then he again laughed and slapped his knee. “An excellent reference, Master Eli, though I prefer gray to the red mustache of Mr. Sam. I’m also not a big fan of hats.” Bartholomew reached back and stroked his ponytail.
Peter smiled, shifted on the pew, and said, “I suppose we’ll get used to it. It’s just a little odd since Jenny and I knew you in the form that matched Malcolm.” He paused, then added, “and the mustache. It’s weird with the mustache.”
Bartholomew sighed, shook his head, and reverted to his male form with the same prominent mustache. “I can’t see why you’re so fixated on appearances, Master Peter. That form was no odder than the composition of what you refer to as a platypus.”
“It would be weird to have a conversation with a platypus too,” offered Eli.
Peter, sitting one pew behind Jenny and across the wide aisle from Bartholomew, could not help but smile a bit as he responded, “and I thought we’d already talked about the whole ‘master’ thing, Bartholomew.”
Bartholomew’s mustache twitched. “Yes, of course, Peter. And Jenny.”
“Bartholomew,” Peter prodded, “is this just between us, or should we assume that others can hear?”
“Very politely phrased, Peter. As before, as always, what happens in this space does not follow the normal rules of time and is shielded from anyone, and anything, not present.”
Peter nodded, relieved. “That’s why I came.”
“That’s why we all came,” Jenny added.
Eli, who was sitting in the pew in front of Jenny, had still said nothing about how he wished to be addressed and was instead focused on Bartholomew. “So, you sit around in a dark church all day? Jenny tried to explain your role in all of this to me, but I don’t think I get it.”
Eli’s curt manner did nothing to change Bartholomew’s mood. Without missing a beat, and with a grin betrayed by the raised corners of his mustache, he said, “What I do, how I do it and even where I physically reside is all in service to The Game of which you are a small part, Master Eli. I’m afraid that any detailed explanation would be difficult to convey, and likely not helpful.”
“If anyone else tells me I’m not smart enough to understand something, I’m going to develop a complex,” said Eli, his cheeks growing flushed even in the dim light.
Bartholomew slapped his knee, now clad in gray pants, and snorted. “My, Master Eli. Your temper is nearly as strong as your sense of pride.”
Before Eli could respond he continued, “Perhaps it’s easier if I were to use an analogy. You are, I believe, familiar with the animal known as a grizzly bear?”
Eli shot a look to Peter, who again shrugged, curious to see where this was going.
“Yes, I know what a grizzly bear is.”
“Good, Master Eli. Let us assume that, minus any unfortunate interactions with your species, a grizzly bear can live twenty to thirty years in the wild. This includes annual periods of hibernation in addition to the foraging, fighting and myriad of other functions a grizzly bear must perform to survive, and thrive.”
Eli nodded.
“Is it fair to say that you, Master Eli, believe yourself to be more intelligent than a bear?”
Eli again nodded, but with the reluctance of knowing that he was walking into a trap of his own making.
“That assumption of yours, Master Eli, is because bears cannot speak your language, solve mathematic equations, drive a car, etcetera?”
“Yes.”
“But by the same token you, Master Eli, can do very few of the things a bear must do to survive.”
Eli shook his head, “I could survive in the woods if I had to.”
“Perhaps, though with what degree of success, particularly in the harsh, northern climate I cannot say. It is true, however, that your odds of living a long life that started in the wild, without the benefit of clothing, shelter or tools, are poor. Even if you managed to survive you would make a poor bear and, no matter what, you could never teach yourself how to hibernate.”
Eli’s face reddened even further. Jenny, who had watched and listened to the exchange, took this opportunity to join in.
“So, Bartholomew, you’re saying that different species—different types of organisms—are difficult to compare and often cannot fully comprehend each other?”
“Yes, Jenny. You cannot hibernate. A bear, with rare exception, cannot ride a bicycle and could never, under any circumstance, write a book report. It is not a slight, or criticism of the bear, which excels at acts none of us here could perform.”
Bartholomew turned back to Eli. “I do not mean to frustrate you, Master Eli, but I cannot adequately explain my species or even my activities to you. We are not the same. This interaction we are having bridges the gaps between our species—like the odd bear that can actually ride a bicycle—but that is the extent of it.”
Jenny nodded, as did Peter, but Eli remained dark, angry. “So, our species can perform a few tricks but otherwise has nothing to offer?”
Bartholomew sighed and again pulled at the point of his mustache. “This is not personal, Master Eli, and your species has a staggering number of accomplishments in the realm of art, music, even science. Had the Game not shifted back to Orb, it is possible that your species would have achieved the colonization of space, which is a level of achievement reached by few species in this, or any universe.”
Eli finally calmed, a little. Jenny reached across the pew and patted his arm.
“Thank you, Bartholomew. And please call me Eli.”
“You are welcome, Eli.” Bartholomew shifted to stare at Peter. “All of you are, of course, always welcome here. On that note, Peter, why do I have the pleasure of your company today?”
Peter looked over to Jenny, who nodded. “You just mentioned, Bartholomew, that our species might have been able to colonize space had we, had Orb, not won this round of the Game.”
“Yes.”
&
nbsp; Peter took a deep breath, then asked, “Do you know that the population of our species just dropped by over four hundred million, and that Orb intends to reduce the number of us down to what he feels is a ‘better’ number?”
Bartholomew sat quietly and contemplated his response before standing and walking slowly towards the altar.
“Yes, I am aware. That is a standard aspect of Orb’s approach. There is no need for your species, or any other that lives under Orb’s rule, to have such large populations.”
“Because with our overpopulation we have polluted the planet and used up its resources?” Eli asked.
Bartholomew laughed and turned back towards them. “Ha! No. I would not describe Orb as an environmentalist. He finds that technology gets in the way of his approach, and his worshippers, but otherwise does what suits him.”
Jenny, confused, asked, “Then why would he want to reduce our numbers?”
Eli again scowled and Bartholomew sat back down in the pew across from them. “I should back up a little bit. Remember the overall point of the Game?”
“Figuring out which form of rule produces the happiest population?” offered Peter.
“Happy might not be the best word but, more or less, yes,” answered Bartholomew.
“And you, Peter, remember what Jigme saw as the likely outcome of your society under Cube? The vision that made him give up and let you claim victory?”
Peter grimaced. “Yes. He saw our world, our species, destroyed by nuclear war.”
“Exactly!” Bartholomew clapped his hands together excitedly. “By any measure, destroying the world with nuclear bombs is not a good outcome—not a win—for Cube. But Orb has no need of seven billion worshippers. That’s a lot to keep up with, even for a being as powerful as Orb.”
“But we were told that death didn’t matter. It’s just passing to another form,” Eli asserted.
“True. But if all of the members of your society convert to other forms you have no functioning society.”
Peter nodded. “So, Orb needs to rule a functioning society, but smaller is probably better.”
Bartholomew touched his nose, wrinkled his mustache and then pointed at Peter. “Exactly. Orb’s power is not infinite. He is not infallible. He, like all of us, makes mistakes. The fewer moving parts the better.”
The church fell silent as they thought about the answer, and the implications for billions of other humans still on the planet. Eventually, Bartholomew broke the silence and said, “You came here today because of lives that Orb changed—what you see as ended. You are concerned that this will continue and that, as disciples of Orb, you will be at least partially responsible?”
Each of them nodded.
“There is very little you can do to control the actions of the one you serve. I have tried to answer your questions, which is my role, but I cannot dispense what you call a miracle.” Bartholomew took a quick look around the church and added, “Yes, it’s a confusing setting that inspires unrealistic outcomes.”
Peter grimaced, and caught the eye of Jenny, who also looked sad, then Eli, who was lost in thoughts Peter could not hear. None of them made a move to leave. Talking to Bartholomew, or Malcolm, was always a challenge but it also felt good to speak to someone who truly understood the situation. Peter loved his father, but Big Ed was not capable of, or interested in, talking about the potential plans of Orb.
They stayed that way for several minutes. Each of them thinking thoughts they did not share. Bartholomew appeared content to sit for an eternity. Eventually Jenny shifted a bit and asked, “Do you think Orb knows we’re here?”
Bartholomew looked up at the rafters as if the answer were written there, then back down to her. “Yes, probably—but as I said he is not all-powerful. And, more importantly, do you think you’re the first group of Disciples with doubts about whom they serve?”
“He said something about knowing one of us would betray him. It freaked me out. So, he knows, but he doesn’t care?” asked Peter.
“It is, as they say in the place you called England, early days. You all serve Orb. You follow his orders. You do his bidding and, don’t forget, you’re still just a few out of the six or seven billion humans Orb is looking after, in addition to all of the other species and activities on the planet.”
“So, we have more freedom than we might have thought?” asked Peter.
“Some. But as the numbers involved decline, Orb’s control will strengthen. All of you, as Disciples, have been gifted with a life expectancy in this form well beyond what is typical of your species. You have also been given powers, such as teleportation, with which to better serve Orb. I would not dare to presume to know Orb’s thoughts, but I suspect his patience with your doubts, your insubordination, is finite. Much like our time together today.”
Peter swallowed loudly. Jenny reached back and grabbed his arm. He put his hand over hers.
“So, what do you suggest?” asked Peter.
“My role is not to make suggestions. Do as you wish. But if you intend to work against Orb, understand that your ability to do so without incurring his wrath is…time-sensitive. It would also be wise to show a bit more deference to the being that could end you at any moment—and to avoid labels like sociopath.”
Eli blushed, then muttered, “I’m sorry,” to the others.
“The three of you, who can communicate telepathically, should also note that Orb does not lie. He gave you his word that he would stop reading your thoughts and his word is his bond.”
Eli couldn’t help but add, “I think I’ve heard that somewhere.”
“But,” continued Bartholomew, “Orb is very much aware of your expressions, your body language and long silences which betray your other communication. You must become much more skilled, and precise, with your telepathy. If I can guess at your abilities in the limited amount of time I’ve observed you, so can Orb.”
Jenny blew out a big breath. It was all so much to take in.
“You watch us?” asked Eli.
“On occasion, and never for long. I am interested in the progress of this particular Game, but as the time involved for a round to finish is typically a few thousand of your years, there is no need for a daily update.”
“Has a group of Disciples ever beaten their Orb, or Cube?” Peter asked.
“An excellent question. It has indeed happened.”
“How many times?” Jenny asked.
There was an awkward silence. Bartholomew coughed, then cleared his throat.
“Twice. Well, there was a third time involving Orb but all Disciples were destroyed as part of that act, so it would probably be better described as a tie.”
Bartholomew brushed at an imaginary bit of lint on his pants and looked at the stained-glass windows. This last question changed the mood of the room. Bartholomew no longer seemed happy to host them. Peter guessed the period of endless questions and answers was about to come to an end.
“Thank you again, Bartholomew for all your help. I don’t know if I’m allowed to ask this, but can you tell us anything that might help us defeat Orb?”
Bartholomew stopped staring out the window and shifted his gaze to Peter.
“No. You must come up with those ideas yourself. Clues exist. Find them. Trust each other. I have said what I can, but it is time for me to show you out.”
With that Bartholomew rose and walked slowly down the aisle towards the door, which had already swung open to reveal a small amount of daylight beyond. Bartholomew did not look at or wait for the three Disciples.
Peter rushed up to Bartholomew and walked beside him. “I apologize for taking so much of your time. We do very much appreciate everything.”
Bartholomew smiled but said nothing as they reached the door. Jenny and Eli had caught up and now all of them stood in the doorway. Bartholomew gestured in a friendly, but firm way at the opening, but Jenny could not help but ask one last question.
“I don’t know if you can answer this, Bartholomew, but is i
t true that passing through a portal only means change, and a new form, not death?”
“Orb does not lie,” was Bartholomew’s response. It could have been comforting. Orb had, after all, been quite clear on this point, but Jenny had hoped for more.
“Thank you,” Jenny said. She lowered her head slightly in a mini bow as she passed. Peter and Eli thanked him as well as they stepped out the door.
“And, Children, whatever you decide, remember that you are dealing with a situation you will never understand. You must go well beyond what you believe yourselves capable of. You must be, in so many words, the bear who not only learns how to ride a bicycle—you must be the bear who can win a bicycle race.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Secrets
Eli, Jenny and Peter stood in front of the closed door for several minutes, not talking or moving. Eli finally broke the silence.
“So, are we going to stand here forever?”
I don’t know why, but it feels safe here, even though we’re outside.
Practicing misdirection in terms of their telepathy, Peter started walking across the street as he responded to Jenny’s thought. I feel that too, but more than ever we know that time is not our friend. We can’t just stand here for the next twenty-four hours before we get pushed back into Orb’s never-ending schedule of Disciple work.
We can’t still have twenty-four hours, right? We were in there forever.
Jenny grabbed Eli’s hand and pulled him to follow Peter. Remember, Eli, time doesn’t follow the normal rules inside that building.
Eli frowned, but did not look all that unhappy when he responded, All these alien entities may be right. My brain might not be able to process everything we’re learning.
Peter turned once he reached the other side of the street, and looked back at the dark church. Jenny and Eli joined him, and she continued, aloud, “All our ideas about good and evil, our role in the universe, the explanations we’ve been given by religion…” She used her chin to indicate the church across the street.
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