* * * *
Our company didn't see any more action, but we were held ready for two more days until the army arrived and began pushing into Old Houston. Once they regained control, we were discharged. I called Rita the minute the militia program was purged from my phone and told her that we were fine and would be home as soon as we could get there.
I had to wait around one more day until Donna was discharged from the makeshift hospital. I kept her company when she wasn't sleeping, trying to reassure her that she had done only what she had to.
“It doesn't matter,” she told me. “I'm going to turn in my license. I'll never forget how Mikka looked at me before she died. I didn't even know it was her until after I shot her. It was awful."
She burst into tears and clung to me like a hurt child. I felt helpless, but promised myself that I would spend as much time as I could with her when we got home.
We left around noon. Smoke was still rising from the boundary line between North and Old Houston where we had fought, and bigger palls of smoke darkened the sky farther south. I took one long look at the twin cities, trying to imagine the damage, then left them behind and concentrated on getting us away from there. I didn't think I would want to go back, ever.
* * * *
There was a wild reunion after we arrived, tempered only by Donna's still evident depression. Rita and Russell took turns hugging and kissing us as if we had come back from the dead. In a sense, I suppose we had. Between embraces, I looked askance at the old homestead. My parents had done so much remodeling I hardly recognized it. The den had been expanded into a great room and more loungers and chairs moved in, placed so as not to block the lower portions of the shelves filled with Grandpa's old books. An extra wall screen had been hung on one wall, replacing a portion of shelves there.
As soon as I could get my breath back from Russell's embrace and back pounding, I held up my hands. “Hey, let us go wash some of the crud off, Okay?"
Donna and Russell headed into a one room, and I made tracks for another, peeling off my clothes as I went. Rita followed me inside and right into the shower. For one of the few times in my life, I didn't do anything about an erection except ignore it until it went away. I was too anxious to get back outside so we could all be together. I didn't want to think about sex, regardless of what my body was telling me.
Yet once we were all together I found it difficult to talk about the action we'd seen. I avoided answering questions, and so did Donna.
That's when Russell and Rita mixed an extra-large pitcher of drinks. Rita brought a brim-full mug to the lounger where I sat with my legs outstretched and put it into my hand. I drained half of it in one long gulp. Whew!
It took two drinks before we all began to settle down. Finally, Russell asked, “What's the latest in the cities that you know of? Does it jibe with what we've been hearing?"
I laughed out loud, knowing he was referring to Houston. “Are you kidding? We haven't heard a thing except rumors since we were mobilized. The only thing we know for sure is what took place right near the campus."
“Was there any damage there?"
“None to the school that I know of."
“Good. That's what the news was saying, but I wanted to be sure. We lost contact for two days while the power was out there. We knew what was happening in the rest of the country, but the only thing coming in from the cities was from individuals so it was hard to get a complete picture."
“So what's happening?” Donna and I asked the question simultaneously.
Russell got up and poured more drinks before answering. “Most of the rioting has been put down, and the army is busy turning things back over to locals. The government is sending a lot of troops to Mexico. A lot of Fourth Worlders and Gaters died. Congress is calling for an investigation of President Forbes because of his delay in sending troops to our area. There's some talk of impeachment, but the political commentators say there aren't nearly enough votes to make it stick."
I could have told him that. Forbes’ party held a majority of votes, and I doubted either of the other parties could agree on whether the sun would rise the next morning.
“What about the markets?” The thought came suddenly. I had spent a lot of my credit on remodeling this place.
Rita answered, knowing Russell never paid attention to his own finances, let alone the rest of the world. “The stock market is way down, almost by half. The webmarket fell the first couple of days after the riots started, but it's back up now."
That bit of news made me feel better. Grandpa may have been old, but so far as the web went he had been as modern as kid playing virtual batman. Most of the credit my annuity earned came from the web.
Rita continued, “As soon as you get around to checking the backlog on your phone, you'll find a message there from Mary. She wants another story on Messilinda soonest."
“What kind of story?"
“The church's reaction to all the casualties they suffered during the riots. And another on the definitive Gater position on Seconders."
“Okay, I'll start trying to arrange it tomorrow
“We will, you mean.” Rita pinched my thigh. Oh, well.
I turned back to Russell. Since he had elected himself bartender, I held out my glass for a refill. While he was pouring, I asked, “What about the rest of the world?"
He shrugged. “Same as usual. Every country is still in turmoil over the gates. In South America, they've taken to rounding up any Seconders they can find. No one seems to know what they're going to do with them. In the parts of Asia that aren't Muslim, they're worshipping them. In the Mideast, anyone who emerges as a woman is thrown into a harem. The femweb is calling for a boycott of exports from there. The Buddhist leadership has decided that the gates represent another aspect of the wheel of life. In this country, the Seconders are being watched and monitored. They're still claiming they don't know anything. Anyway, the world is split about evenly; half the people think aliens brought the gates, the other half blame them on God."
“Religion!” I spat out the word.
That drew a rebuke from Rita.
“People have to have hope, Lee. Not everyone can be as strong-minded as you."
I nodded, even though I have never understood how so many people are able to rationalize the myriad contradictions the various religions of the world present. That mind-set was incomprehensible to me, and I never considered myself to be particularly strong-minded.
“What else?” I asked.
“There are still several wars going on, but I guess that's nothing unusual."
“So long as I don't have to fight.” I wasn't at all sure I could go through anything like that again.
“We're not at war with anyone, if that's what you're worried about, unless you want to count Mexico. There's been some fighting there, but the army is trying to keep it quiet."
“Haven't they learned yet?"
“That kind of mentality never learns,” Rita said. “If there were only a few gates, they would keep them surrounded, cover them up and make anyone who ever saw one take an oath of secrecy never to tell on pain of death."
“Speaking of gates, have you learned anything more about them. Anything at all?"
“Not a blasted thing.” Frustration showed on Russell's face. “There they sit, an open challenge to our best minds, and we don't know any more about them than we ever did."
He took a sip of his drink, looking thoughtful. “One good thing, trying to figure them out is generating a lot of serious thinking and speculation into new areas. They are forcing us to think about possibilities we would have dismissed as impossible a few years ago. As a matter of fact, I've come up with a couple of ideas I want to explore. Rita is interested in them, too."
“Rita?” I turned and stared at her. “What do you know about physics?"
“Not much, but one or two of his ideas might have implications for psychology, or sociology, to be more accurate."
“What are they?” I asked, look
ing from one to another. I was intrigued.
“Too soon to talk,” Rita said. “Let it be for now. I will say, if even one of them pans out, it might do something for the Fourth World problem."
“Really? That would be wonderful!” Donna's face brightened for the first time that evening. She grabbed Russell and kissed him.
Despite our questions, Russell wouldn't give us a hint and Rita clammed up, too. It was as if they were afraid of jinxing the idea. We let it be, but I realized for the first time that Russell truly was brilliant.
It's a good thing someone invented Nohang pills, otherwise I'm afraid we would all have fallen into a drunken stupor in the great room before the evening's celebration really got started. As is, we took enough to keep a buzz going while enjoying our drinks and letting our hair down.
When we did finally call it a night, Donna retreated into a bedroom and pointedly closed the door. We understood. She needed some time to be alone. Russell would probably have come to bed with Rita and me, but the NHU web came back online. He took some extra Nohang and stayed up discussing developments with his colleagues, as happy as a ten-year-old boy with a new pellet rifle.
I'd already found out it was true that combat veterans don't like to talk about their experiences. That night I discovered another rumor about war was true: there's nothing like being shot at to kick up the old biological urge. Rita and I didn't stop our frenzied lovemaking until near daylight.
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* * *
Chapter Fifteen
I managed to arrange another interview with Messilinda on Wednesday of the next week—a coup that made Mary happy. I wasn't that enthused myself, because Messilinda insisted that we talk in person at a gate near the boundary of North and Old Houston. Mary told me that Messilinda wouldn't say why, but I figured she probably intended to preach a sermon about unity, charity, and the need for brotherly love.
Such a speech was needed, of course. The destruction caused by the riots in so many cities finally caused Congress and President Forbes to consider amending the nation's generation-long love affair with fiscal conservatism and self-responsibility. While those policies worked well for the middle and upper class, they only stimulated the development of an enlarged Fourth World population.
The president didn't propose going back to exorbitant handouts, the mistake politicians made in the twentieth century. Instead, he made some sensible recommendations.
Basically, Forbes proposed a minimum national medical care system for everyone, using the old veteran's medical facilities as a base for those with no money. In addition, he suggested constructing minimum shelters for the homeless nationwide, hiring them (under professional supervision) to do the construction. The old food stamp scandals had been so ugly that he didn't dare bring those back, but he did propose handouts of basic foodstuffs purchased by the government for the unemployed and those earning a minimum wage.
It wasn't all that much, but it was a hell of a lot better than what the Fourth Worlders had been getting the last decade or two so no one expected them to complain. The national sales tax was raised a half percentage point to keep the budget within the constrictions of the thirty-ninth amendment.
Messilinda threw the weight of the Church of the Gates behind these proposals and soon after the independent party fell in behind the president, too. That was probably the result of some closed-door conferences. The country must have been close to collapse during the riots for such a radical change in policy to be proposed almost overnight.
Rita was pleased with the president's proposal after we watched a network program on the details. With her generous heart, she'd always been concerned about caring for whoever was hurting and the horror of the riots had only made her more committed to helping those in need.
“I never thought any good could possibly have resulted from all that horror,” she whispered as she cuddled against me in the lounger. “I hope it will all come to pass. If the Fourth Worlders know they can count on the basic minimum of services, I believe more of them will begin thinking of education and working rather than fighting and stealing and drugs."
“I think so, too,” Donna agreed. “We went too far once and killed most incentive to work, but this sounds about right to me. Enough services so that they don't go hungry or without some kind of shelter; then they will know the rest of the country cares, but not enough to make it worthwhile to stay home and loaf."
I hoped it would work out, and Rita wouldn't be disappointed. Hell, if I thought it would help, I would join her in prayer. Once in awhile, Rita talked about her clients. Many of them had come up from the Fourth World and were having troubles adjusting. I was always amazed at the obstacles they had to overcome to get where they were. Had I been born into those circumstances, I don't know whether I could have done what they accomplished.
* * * *
The next day Rita and I found ourselves watching Messilinda as she preached to a large crowd. She was standing on a stage at the bottom of a low hill with the shining green gate immediately behind her. A crowd of people clustered on the hill and looked down into a natural amphitheatre. It was an appropriate stage setting for her sermon. She stood before a green podium shaped like a miniature gate, the dramatic backdrop making her clearly visible in her long white robe.
Naturally, she'd attracted a herd of reporters, too. They were scattered through the throng, some concentrating on her, others going for individual reactions. We stayed on the outskirts while we recorded. I didn't want to get caught up in the crush that was sure to come after she finished speaking.
Messilinda had perfected her technique since I saw her last. Her white robe was sculpted onto her superb figure like a second skin, revealing her sensuous body yet covering her at the same time. She was a vision of suppressed sexuality that had most of the men in the crowd drooling.
She kept her voice low and intimate, relying on the amplifiers to bring her words to the people. The effect was electric; it was as if she were speaking to you one-on-one. Lifting her hands to heaven, she endorsed President Forbes’ program, giving God the credit for inspiring him. Her tone grew serious as she reminded her audience of the wonderful gifts of new life and health that came from the gates—a gift of divine love from the Supreme Being. As she spoke, she seemed to be looking at each one of us in turn, drawing us closer to her.
“Always remember, my friends, what a great gift you have received and be thankful to your Creator.” Messilinda lifted her hands again in a kind of benediction, and the crowd cheered. She gestured for silence, and I thought she was about to start praying. As she opened her mouth, I heard a sharp crack, and a red splotch blossomed like an ugly weed above her left breast.
The impact of the high-velocity slug threw her off the stage and straight into the invisible portal of the gate. She blinked out of existence like a diver plunging into the water from a backward dive.
For a moment we all sat frozen in shock. Then the screams and shouts started. The crowd surged forward in a pandemonium of noise and confusion, trying to comprehend what had happened. She was gone in the blink of an eye, and quite a few of the flock didn't realize at first that she had been shot.
“Oh, no!” Rita gasped beside me. Messilinda's shooting and disappearance into the gate was starting a stampede. People were running towards the stage to see what had happened to her. From our vantage point far back in the crowd, I could see that those further back were pressing those in front of the crowd inexorably toward the gate. Those who were almost there screamed, but their voices were lost in the general uproar. As they were pushed into the gate, they disappeared.
As those behind them begin to realize what was happening they started fighting to avoid being shoved forward themselves. Screams and yells drowned out any possibility of telling where the shot had come from. The assassin was never caught.
We couldn't see what was going on behind the gate, but the tapes later showed naked young men and women emerging from the other side as fas
t as the panicked crowd pushed them through the front entrance. In a stroke of luck for the newscasts, there were several ‘porters on the far side of the gate, waiting to record the expressions of the faithful who intended to enter after Messilinda's prayer.
Later I saw the tape where Messilinda came out the other side as a young male with a muscled nude body and a bewildered look on his face. The ‘porters closed around him at once, hiding him from sight. All that the crowd saw was an occasional glimpse of the top of his head. Amazingly, Messilinda had beaten the odds the first time by making it through the gate at an advanced age, and now she'd done it again by becoming a Seconder.
Meanwhile, Rita and I were both in shock, staring at each other. Rita went pale and grabbed hold of me, clutching so tight that I found it hard to breath. I held her, neither of us saying anything, until police began dispersing the crowd.
Finally, we were standing alone on the hillside, looking down on the flashing lights of the police cars around the gate, glad we had stayed away from the front of the crowd. I shuddered to think what would happen if I were a woman and Rita a male. “Come on,” I said. “There's nothing else here for us."
I took her hand and we walked back to my car and drove away.
* * * *
When we got home, Russell and Donna were seated in front of the great room screens, watching the news reports of the shooting. I imagine the gunman was surprised when his attempt to kill Messilinda only turned her back into a male again.
Russell looked up with a grin as we came in the door. “Hey, glad to see y'all! We were hoping you hadn't gotten caught up in that crowd."
We were seeing a lot more of Russell now that he was an active part of our lovemaking. Besides that, he was spending long hours in our new study room working on his doctorate and his and Rita's project, whatever that was. He wanted very badly to begin commuting back to the lab at NHU occasionally, but the campus was still closed.
The Sex Gates Page 16