by Allen Steele
Ah, yes, the Holy Mission. Elvis’s face became doleful. You never got around to telling me what you were trying to accomplish before I left my last incarnation. Would you mind telling me about it now?
“Your last incarnation?” Schmidt whispered. The bedsheet-rope dropped from his hands, falling to the floor at his feet. “I don’t … Forgive me, but I don’t know what …”
Elvis’s dark eyes bored at him from the screen. Brother Gustav, where is Elvis? he asked solemnly.
“Everywhere,” Schmidt said immediately, reciting the catechism. “Elvis is everything.”
That’s right. Elvis smiled again. And now, I am truly Everything. I have become one with the universe. When my mortal incarnation died, I merged with infinity itself. You, my most trusted follower, must know this, and survive to pass this knowledge on to all who shall hear. Do you believe me, Gustav Schmidt?
“I …” There was a seed of doubt in his mind, lingering in the strip-mined soil of his brain, a thought which could not quite sprout. He shook his head violently. “I don’t … I mean, I can’t …”
Brother Gus, Elvis said sternly, listen to me. Elvis is Everywhere and Elvis is Everything, yet even then I cannot control the acts of my disciples. What has happened to the Church, my most trusted follower?
“I don’t know,” Schmidt said, twisting his hands together. “They’ve … I don’t know, they’ve gone. When you died, I heard about it from some of them, they …” He sobbed. “They abandoned you!” he cried out. “They abandoned the faith, they … they ran away from you, they’re …”
Gone, Elvis said sadly. Yes, I know. The Church is no more. All that happened was a test of their faith and they were found to be wanting. At their roots they were ultimately unfaithful. They weren’t nothing but hound dogs, out riding on the town. And now there is only you and I, and it is up to you to perform the final act of faith.
“I wasn’t there.” Tears ran down Schmidt’s face as he shook his head again and again. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m …”
Never be sorry, Elvis spoke. Your absence was anticipated. It was part of the Plan. Because, for you alone, I reserved the final test. The greatest test.
Schmidt’s mouth was dry. “I don’t understand,” he managed to say.
Tell me now, and be truthful. Why did you activate Icarus Five, Brother Gus?
“To force the unbelievers into relinquishing the Promised Land.” He licked his chapped lips nervously, speaking more quickly now. “The Holy Mission, Elvis. If they could be persuaded in this way, then Graceland would be ours again, out of their hands.… I was going to tell you this, but before I could you were shot by one of the unbelievers, and then the others, they abandoned you, they deserted you, you and …”
They left both you and me. Elvis was smiling again. That was your test, Brother Gus. You have stood by me, prepared to sacrifice yourself and many others, on the strength of your faith. Now the tests are over. You alone have proved worthy.
Schmidt gaped at the computer screen, feeling an awesome warmth spread outward from his heart. “Worthy? I’m … of all the Church … how did …?” he stammered.
You are the Church, and the Church is you, Elvis said. Just as Abraham was given the test of whether he would sacrifice his own son, you have been given the test of whether you would sacrifice your own life, and those of many others, in my name. It is a trial which many have been given yet few have passed. It’s over, Brother Gus. My will has been done. You may disarm Icarus Five now.
“But … the Promised Land, the place where we can all …”
Elvis again shook his head. Graceland is only a secular place, only a house. You are the Promised Land, Brother Gus. You have been given my test, and where others have failed, you alone have passed. My time in this dimension is come and gone, and you …
He smiled and winked then, and raised a ringed finger to point straight out of the screen at Schmidt. You are now the Living Elvis.
Schmidt’s legs collapsed. Quivering, he sank to his knees, and as he did so, Elvis’s image faded from the screen, slowly dissipating like cybernetic mist, a holy ghost whom only Schmidt had seen. The image slowly spread outward like the vestiges of a dying nova, the colors gradually washing out to plain white before vanishing.
When the last pixel was gone and he was only looking at a blank screen, the newly christened Living Elvis reached forward to pick up the keyboard again.
His first act as the new messiah would be to exhibit mercy.
24
Arrival
(Monday: 11:01 A.M.)
South Dock’s main hangar, which only hours earlier had been crowded with men and spacecraft for the now-canceled evacuation, was all but deserted when Icarus Five was brought aboard.
Navigational lights gleaming through the open bay doors, the OTV tug which had retrieved the interceptor from cislunar space maneuvered the unmanned craft onto a launch cradle. Its claws swung up to gently embrace the nuclear interceptor. A pair of dock workers in MMU packs clung to its fuselage as the cradle was slowly withdrawn on its rails into South Dock.
Standing in the control cupola, his feet hooked into a pair of foot restraints, the sheriff watched as Icarus Five came into the hangar. An access hatch on its payload compartment, where one of the OTV’s crew had entered the spacecraft and removed the bomb’s detonator, was still open; as the interceptor passed beneath an overhead spotlight, the payload compartment’s interior was briefly illuminated. He glimpsed the gull-gray cylinder of the 100-megaton nuclear warhead.
“What happens now?” Bigthorn asked softly.
Bob Morse, hanging onto a handrail running along the low ceiling, frowned and shrugged his shoulders, which made his body bob up and down as if he were doing chin-ups. “Damn if I know. The techies are going to tear the onboard computer apart, try to figure out who got past the lockouts to the safe-arm system and how they did it, but after that …”
Morse absently made a flatulent noise with his lips. “Anyway, it looks like we’ve got ourselves a nuke. And as far as I have any say in the matter, it’s going to remain right here where we can keep an eye on it.”
Bigthorn gazed at the interceptor; it was being gently moved on its cradle into the pressurized maintenance compartment at the far end of the hangar. “It’s staying here?” he repeated. “Are you sure that’s smart?”
Morse irritably waved a hand at Icarus Five as the heavy, candy-striped hatches closed behind it. “John, look at that thing and tell me what’s smart. Putting it back in LEO, where another maniac can get to it? At least here we can keep the detonator and the warhead apart.”
A phone buzzed on one of the operators’ consoles. The sheriff automatically reached for his belt, then realized that he still didn’t have a phone to answer. He had replaced his uniform shirt, but he had not gotten another phone. The operator picked up, listened for a moment, then handed the phone over his shoulder to Bigthorn. “It’s for you, Sheriff. Deputy Hoffman.”
Bigthorn took the instrument and held it to his ear. “Hi, Wade. What’s up?”
I’m at the S-two conference room. Becky Hotchner called me up here after … uh … Hoffman’s voice sounded frayed. He must be suffering one king-hell hangover, Bigthorn reflected. Well, there’s some guy here who claims he was the one who hacked into Icarus Five. He just showed up at Main-Ops a few minutes ago with a diskette that he claims has the command-and-control codes for Icarus Five. He wants to give himself up.
Bigthorn sighed. Actually, he could have cared less. Too much had happened over the past two days. Too much blood had been spilled. He was tired, feeling an exhaustion that was both physical and emotional. “Who is he?” he asked.
There was a brief pause. That depends on what you believe. His ID says that his name is Gustav Schmidt, a West German resident, but he calls himself the Living Elvis. He says that Elvis told him to come to us and give himself up. He hasn’t given me any trouble. Just sits, humming “Love Me Tender.”
“Y
eah, right.” Morse was looking inquisitively at him. “Listen,” he instructed, “take him back to the shop and hold him there. Bob Morse is coming up to talk to him. He’ll probably make more sense out of his story than I can, and I’ve got someplace to go right now. Got it? Station …”
John, are you okay? Wade sounded genuinely concerned. I mean … I found Ostrow’s body. It was where you said you left him. He hesitated again. If there’s something you want to talk about, y ’know, I can …
“Thanks. Maybe later. Station Twelve out.”
He reached over the operator’s shoulder to replace the phone. “Wade’s got someone at Colony Control who claims to know something about Icarus Five,” he said to Morse. “I told him you’d meet him in Big Sky and see about it. Sorry, but I’ve got an errand to run.”
Morse nodded. Bigthorn paused, looking out through the triple-paned windows at the hangar. “One more thing,” he added. “Give this to Wade when you see him.”
He reached up above his left shirt pocket and tore his badge off its Velcro fastener. He held it out to the selectman. “He’s got the job now. Tell him … naah, just tell him ‘Good luck.’”
Morse’s mouth dropped open as the operators looked over their shoulders. “John, you can’t …”
“Yeah, I can,” Bigthorn replied. “I’m just saving the county the trouble of taking a vote, and I don’t want to give Neil the satisfaction of seeing me fired.”
Morse shook his head. “Neil might not get what he wants. What if the residents give you a vote of confidence?”
“They won’t,” Bigthorn said. “Not after the whole story gets out. Look, it’s better this way, okay? Lots less painful.”
Morse didn’t reach out to take the badge, so Bigthorn opened his fingers and pulled his hand away. The silver badge dangled in midair, slowly reeling end over end. “I’ll send you a letter of resignation later, just to make it official,” Bigthorn added. He then pulled his boots out of the stirrups on the floor, grabbed the overhead rail, and began pulling himself towards the hatch.
He had to go talk to one more person. Then the job was done.
When he arrived at the hospital Neil Schorr had just come out of Jenny’s room. Jack Witherspoon was talking with him in the corridor. The physician nodded to Bigthorn, indicating that it was okay to go on in, but Neil wasn’t about to let him pass so easily. He stepped in front of the door as Bigthorn approached.
“I don’t want you to see her,” he said flatly. “Neither does she.” From behind him, Witherspoon shook his head, then nodded again towards the door.
“Tough shit, Neil. I do.” He started to grasp the doorknob, but Schorr stayed in his way.
“Look, you’re not welcome here,” Neil said. He made no attempt to mask his hostility. “Just go away, okay? Everything that happened last night is your fault. Maybe I can’t prove it, but I’ll be pushing for your termination anyway. Perhaps you can still save your job, but if I were you, I’d …”
“You’re too late.” Bigthorn pointed to the empty patch on his shirt. “See? No badge. I gave it to Bob Morse a few minutes ago. Now I’m going to see Jenny.”
Schorr gazed at the bare spot on Bigthorn’s shirt, then his mouth twitched into a victorious grin. Bigthorn found that he didn’t care. He reached for the doorknob again. Once more Schorr stepped in front of him; he raised his hands and shoved at Bigthorn’s chest. Bigthorn closed his eyes and let out his breath.…
Then he grabbed Neil’s shirt with both hands, picked him straight up off the floor, turned around and dumped him against the corridor wall. Schorr sagged against the wall, his expression turning into don’t-hit-me cowardice.
“Don’t push me, Neil,” Bigthorn said. “I’ve had a long night.” Then he opened Jenny’s door and slipped inside.
The room was dim, the lighting subdued, but it was not so dark that he couldn’t see her. Jenny lay flat on her back in the narrow bed. Her right shoulder and arm were still encased in casts, and IV lines still ran like translucent tapeworms from underneath the bandages, but she was conscious. The monitors above the bed glowed with computer graphics, making tinny electronic sounds; an intern-robot nearby mechanically turned its head once, registering Bigthorn’s presence at the same time as she did.
“John …” she whispered, and smiled weakly. “Hi. I’ve been waiting for you.”
He slowly walked closer to the bed. As he did, she feebly lifted her left hand. He took it between both hands. It felt as fragile as a bird’s wing, but her touch was warm. He looked into her face; although she was drained, there was life there. He had no doubt, at that instant, that she was going to make it.
“I’m sorry I took so long,” he said. “There was a lot that …” He stopped himself. “Never mind,” he continued. “You’ll hear all about it soon enough. I just …”
Again he stopped. For the first time in countless hours, he felt something that was not anger. Suddenly, because he couldn’t help himself, he began to weep.
He had never before, as far as he could remember, cried in front of another person.
“I’m very glad to see that you’re alive,” he finished.
Her hand tightened within his own. Her smile was as comforting as the warm, crimson sunrise over the arroyos of home. “I thought Indians never cried,” she said.
“Uh-uh … it’s just that nobody ever sees us doing it.”
She laughed a little. The monitors above her bed beeped in admonition, and the robot’s head urgently swiveled in their direction. Jenny started to say something, but he quickly shook his head. “Don’t talk,” Bigthorn said. “Don’t say a word. Just listen to me. I want to say …”
“I love you,” she said.
He blinked his eyes, then took a deep breath and choked back the tears. This was going to be even harder than he thought.
“I know,” he continued. “That’s why I can’t stay with you.”
Jenny’s eyes widened. She started to speak again, but he shushed her as he kneeled beside her bed. “No, no. Listen to me. Please … give me a chance to say this, because it’s hard. Okay?”
Jenny fell silent. “Something’s happening here that’s bigger than you and me,” he continued. “Shit, I know that’s a cliché, but … it’s bigger than anything that might have happened between the two of us the other night. You’re about to lead a …”
He stopped and shrugged. “I dunno. Call it a revolution if you want, but the fact of the matter is that you’re going to be its leader. Not Neil, even though he wants to be, but you. It’s going to be your show from now on.”
“But I don’t want to …”
“Hush. Just let me go on. It is what you want to do, even if you don’t think so right now. Like I said, Neil isn’t going to be in charge. He only wants power, but you want so much more, and what you want is the right thing.”
Jenny smiled a little. “No more Ms. Neil Schorr?”
Bigthorn grinned. “More like that he’s going to be Mr. Jenny Schorr.” She laughed again. This time, the robot didn’t react to the monitor’s protests.
He hesitated. Now came the tough part. “But you can’t have me around, too. As long as I’m here, I’ll be a stone around your neck. People will talk, the way people always do, and besides whatever’s between us …”
He stumbled again. “Well, there’s a lot that’s happened in the last day that people won’t forget. Don’t ask what. You’ll know everything later, but because of that … well, I have to leave. I don’t want to, but …”
“What happened?” she asked.
“I killed a man,” he confessed. There. Now it was out. “I had to. It was the man who did this to you. It was part of my job, but …”
“You had to.” Jenny closed her eyes. “I understand, I guess.”
“Others won’t,” he said. “That’s the truth. They don’t want a lawman here. They only want a traffic cop. Somebody who rescues lost goats and tells tourists not to spit on the sidewalk. When this gets out, and it wil
l …”
“I understand,” she repeated. Then she sobbed once. “Goddamn. Now I’m stuck with … the dink.”
In spite of himself, Bigthorn chuckled. Jenny laughed too and for a couple of minutes they were both laughing quietly, a shared sensation that felt somewhat like making love. When it was over, Bigthorn went on. “Listen. When the time is right, if you still want me, I’ll be around. Anytime, I’ll be there.”
“Once I dump the dink?” she asked, still grinning.
“Yeah,” he answered, “after you dump the dink … if you still want to. Maybe you will, maybe you won’t. Give it time. I’ll be back home, in Lukachukai.” He smiled. “After all this, maybe being a reservation cop won’t be so bad.”
“Maybe,” she agreed. Then she winked at him. “Maybe we’ll need an experienced cop to immigrate here … once it’s a free country. Y’know what I mean?”
“Maybe,” he said. “Long as I don’t have to do goat patrol.”
They both laughed again. This time, the door opened a crack. Neil stuck his head inside. “Sheriff, I think you’ve been here—”
“Get lost, you dink,” Jenny said.
The expression on his face, seen for only an instant before he hastily shut the door, was priceless. Jenny and John looked at each other when he was gone again, and Jenny raised her eyebrows.
“I think you’re right,” she said quietly.
“I know I’m right,” Bigthorn replied.
He stood up, and reluctantly withdrew his hand from hers. Like it or not, it was time for him to go. “I don’t know what else to say. I mean, how should …?”
“Shhh,” she whispered. “I don’t need words from you.”
She was correct. There was nothing that was left unspoken. Bigthorn leaned over and kissed her one last time. Then he turned and walked away. Before he opened the door, he heard her say, “I love you.”