Off Armageddon Reef

by David Weber

  September 7, 2499

  Lake Pei Enclave,

  Continent of Haven,

  Safehold

  "Grandfather! Grandfather, come quickly! It's an angel!"

  Timothy Harrison looked up as his great-grandson thundered unceremoniously through the open door of his town hall office. The boy's behavior was atrocious, of course, but it was never easy to be angry with Matthew, and no one Timothy knew could stay angry with him. Which meant, boys being boys, that young Matthew routinely got away with things which ought to have earned a beating, at the very least.

  In this case, however, he might be excused for his excitement, Timothy supposed. Not that he was prepared to admit it.

  "Matthew Paul Harrison," he said sternly, "this is my office, not the shower house down at the baseball field! At least a modicum of proper behavior is expected out of anyone here—even, or especially, out of a young hooligan like you!"

  "I'm sorry," the boy replied, hanging his head. But he simultaneously peeped up through his eyelashes, and the dimples of the devastating smile which was going to get him into all sorts of trouble in another few years danced at the corners of his mouth.

  "Well," Timothy harumpfed, "I suppose we can let it go without harping upon it . . . this time."

  He had the satisfaction of noting what was probably a genuine quiver of trepidation at the qualifier, but then he leaned back in his chair.

  "Now, what's this you were saying about an angel?"

  "The signal light," Matthew said eagerly, eyes lighting with bright excitement as he recalled his original reason for intruding upon his grandfather. "The signal light just began shining! Father Michael said I should run and tell you about it immediately. There's an angel coming, Grandfather!"

  "And what color was the signal light?" Timothy asked. His voice was so completely calm that, without his realizing it, it raised him tremendously in his great-grandson's already high esteem.

  "Yellow," Matthew replied, and Timothy nodded. One of the lesser angels, then. He felt a quick little stab of regret, for which he scolded himself instantly. It might be more exciting to hope to entertain a visit from one of the Archangels themselves, but mortal men did well not to place commands upon God, even indirectly.

  Besides, even a "lesser" angel will be more than enough excitement for you, old man! he told himself scoldingly.

  "Well," he said, nodding to his great-grandson, "if an angel's coming to Lakeview, then we must make our preparations to receive him. Go down to the docks, Matthew. Find Jason, and tell him to raise the signal for all the fishing boats to return to harbor. As soon as you've done that, go home and tell your mother and grandmother. I'm sure Father Michael will be ringing the bell shortly, but you might as well go ahead and warn them."

  "Yes, Grandfather!" Matthew nodded eagerly, then turned and sped back the way he'd come. Timothy watched him go, smiling for a moment, then squared his shoulders and walked out of his office.

  Most of the town hall staff had paused in whatever they were doing. They were looking in his direction, and he smiled again, whimsically.

  "I see you all heard Matthew's announcement," he said dryly. "That being the case, I see no need to expand upon it further at this time. Finish whatever you were doing, file your work, and then hurry home to prepare yourselves."

  People nodded. Here and there, chairs scraped across the plank floor as clerks who'd already anticipated his instructions hurried to tuck files into the appropriate cabinets. Others bent over their desks, quill pens flying as they worked towards a reasonable stopping point. Timothy watched them for a few seconds, then continued out the town hall's front door.

  The town hall stood upon a hill at the center of the town of Lakeview. Lakeview was growing steadily, and Timothy was aware that it wouldn't be long before it slipped over that elusive line dividing "town" from "small city." He wasn't certain how he felt about that, for a lot of reasons. But however he might feel about it, there was no doubt how God and the angels felt, and that made any purely personal reservations on his part meaningless.

  Word was spreading, he saw. People were hurrying along the cobblestone streets and sidewalks, heads bent in excited conversation with companions, or simply smiling hugely. The signal light on the steeple of Father Michael's church was deliberately placed to be visible by as much of the town as possible, and Timothy could see its bright amber glow from where he stood, despite the brightness of the summer sun.

  The bell in the church's high bell tower began to ring. Its deep, rolling voice sang through the summer air, crying out the joyous news for any who had not seen the signal light, and Timothy nodded around a bright, lilting bubble of happiness. Then he began walking towards the church himself, nodding calmly to the people he passed. He was, after all, Lakeview's mayor, which gave him a certain responsibility. More to the point, he was one of Lakeview's slowly but steadily declining number of Adams, just as his wife Sarah was one of the town's Eves. That left both of them with a special duty to maintain the proper air of dignified respect, adoration, and awe due one of the immortal servants of the God who had breathed the very breath of life into their nostrils.

  He reached the church, and Father Michael was waiting for him. The priest was actually younger than Timothy, but he looked much older. Michael had been one of the very first of the children brought forth here upon Safehold in response to God's command to be fruitful and multiply. Timothy himself had not been "born" at all, of course. God had created his immortal soul with His Own hand, and the Archangel Langhorne and his assistant, the Archangel Shan-wei, had created Timothy's physical body according to God's plan.

  Timothy had Awakened right here, in Lakeview, standing with the other Adams and Eves in the town square, and the mere memory of that first glorious morning—that first sight of Safehold's magnificent blue heavens and the brilliant light of Kau-zhi as it broke the eastern horizon like a dripping orb of molten copper, of the towering green trees, the fields already tilled and rich with the waiting harvest, the dark blue waters of Lake Pei, and the fishing boats tied up and waiting at the docks—still filled his soul with reverential awe. It was the first time he'd ever laid eyes upon his Sarah, for that matter, and that had been a miracle all its own.

  But that had been almost sixty-five years ago. Had he been as other men, men born of the union of man and woman, his body would have begun failing long since. Indeed, although he was four years older than Father Michael, the priest was stoop-shouldered and silver-haired, his fingers beginning to gnarl with age, while Timothy's hair remained dark and thick, untouched by white, although there were a few strands of silver threading their way into his beard here and there.

  Timothy remembered when Father Michael had been a red-faced, wailing babe in his mother's arms. Timothy himself had already been a man full grown—a man in the prime of early manhood, as all Adams had been at the Awakening. And being what he was, the direct work of divine hands, it was to be expected that his life would be longer than the lives of those further removed from the direct touch of the godhead. But if Michael resented that in any way, Timothy had never seen a single sign of it. The priest was a humble man, ever mindful that to be permitted his priestly office was a direct and tangible sign of God's grace, that grace of which no man could ever truly be worthy. Which did not absolve him from attempting to be.

  "Rejoice, Timothy!" the priest said now, eyes glowing under his thick white eyebrows.

  "Rejoice, Father," Timothy responded, and went down on one knee briefly for Michael to lay a hand upon his head in blessing.

  "May Langhorne bless and keep you always in God's ways and laws until the Day Awaited comes to us all," Michael murmured rapidly, then tapped Timothy lightly on the shoulder.

  "Now get up!" he commanded. "You're the Adam here, Timothy. Tell me I shouldn't feel this nervous!"

  "You shouldn't feel this nervous," Timothy said obediently, rising to put one arm around his old friend's shoulders. "Truly," he added in a more serious tone, "you've
done well, Michael. Your flock's been well tended since the last Visitation, and it's increased steadily."

  "Our flock, you mean," Father Michael replied.

  Timothy started to shake his head, then suppressed the gesture. It was kind of Michael to put it that way, but both of them knew that however conscientiously Timothy had sought to discharge his responsibilities as the administrator of Lakeview and the surrounding farms, all of his authority ultimately stemmed from the Archangels, and through them, from God Himself. Which meant that here in Lakeview, the ultimate authority in any matter, spiritual or worldly, lay with Father Michael, as the representative of Mother Church.

  But it's like him to put it that way, isn't it? Timothy thought with a smile.

  "Come," he said aloud. "From the pattern of the signal light, it won't be long now. We have preparations to make."

  * * *

  By the time the glowing nimbus of the kyousei hi appeared far out over the blue waters of Lake Pei, all was ready.

  The entire population of Lakeview, aside from a few fishermen who'd been too far out on the enormous lake to see the signal to return, was assembled in and around the town square. The families from several of the nearer farms had arrived, as well, and Lakeview's square was no longer remotely large enough to contain them all. They overflowed its bounds, filling the approach streets solidly, and Timothy Harrison felt a deep, satisfying surge of joy at the evidence that he and his fellow Adams and Eves had, indeed, been fruitful and multiplied.

  The kyousei hi sped nearer, faster than the fastest horse could gallop, faster than the fastest slash lizard could charge. The globe of light grew brighter and brighter as it swept closer to the town. At first it was only a brilliant speck, far out over the lake. Then it grew larger, brighter. It became a star, fallen from the vault of God's own heaven. Then brighter still, a second sun, smaller than Kau-zhi, but brilliant enough to challenge even its blinding brightness. And then, as it flashed across the last few miles, swift as any stooping wyvern, its brilliance totally surpassed that of any mere sun. It blazed above the town, without heat and yet far too bright for any eye to bear, etching shadows with knife-edged sharpness, despite the noonday sun.

  Timothy, like every other man and woman, bent his head, shielding his eyes against that blinding glory. And then the brilliance decreased, as rapidly as it had come, and he raised his head slowly.

  The kyousei hi was still above Lakeview, but it had risen so high into the heavens that it was once more little brighter than Kau-zhi. Still far too brilliant to look upon, yet far enough removed that merely mortal flesh could endure its presence. But if the kyousei hi had withdrawn, the being whose chariot it was had not.

  All across the town square, people went to their knees in reverence and awe, and Timothy did the same. His heart sang with joy as he beheld the angel standing on the raised platform at the very center of the square. That platform was reserved solely and only for moments like this. No mortal human foot could be permitted to profane its surface, other than those of the consecrated priesthood responsible for ritually cleansing it and maintaining it in permanent readiness for moments like this.

  Timothy recognized the angel. It had been almost two years since the last Visitation, and the angel hadn't changed since his last appearance in Lakeview. He did have the appearance of having aged—slightly, at least—since the first time Timothy had ever seen him, immediately after the Awakening. But then, the Writ said that although the angels and Archangels were immortal, the bodies they had been given to teach and guide God's people were made of the same stuff as the mortal world. Animated by the surgoi kasai, the "great fire" of God's Own touch, those bodies would endure longer than any mortal body, just as the bodies of Adams and Eves would endure longer than those of their descendants, but they would age. Indeed, the day would ultimately come when all of the angels—even the Archangels themselves—would be recalled to God's presence. Timothy knew God Himself had ordained that, yet he was deeply grateful that he himself would have closed his eyes in death before that day arrived. A world no longer inhabited by angels would seem dark, shadowed and drab, to one who'd seen God's Own messengers face-to-face in the glory of that world's very first days.

  In many ways, the angel looked little different from a mortal. He was no taller than Timothy himself, his shoulders no broader. Yet he was garbed from head to foot in brilliant, light-shimmering raiment, a marvelous garment of perpetually shifting and flowing colors, and his head was crowned by a crackling blue fire. At his waist, he bore his staff, the rod of imperishable crystal half as long as a man's forearm. Timothy had seen that rod used. Only once, but its lightning bolt had smitten the charging slash lizard to the earth in a single cataclysmic thunderclap of sound. Half the slash lizard's body had been literally burned away, and Timothy's ears had rung for hours afterwards.

  The angel looked out across the reverently kneeling crowd for several seconds in silence. Then he raised his right hand.

  "Peace be with you, My Children," he said, his voice impossibly clear and loud, yet not shouting, not raised. "I bring you God's blessings, and the blessing of the Archangel Langhorne, who is His servant. Glory be to God!"

  "And to His servants," the response rumbled back, and the angel smiled.

  "God is pleased with you, My Children," he told them. "And now, go about your business, all of you, rejoicing in the Lord. I bring tidings to Father Michael and Mayor Timothy. After I have spoken with them, they will tell you what God desires of you."

  Timothy and Michael stood side by side, watching as the crowded square and surrounding streets emptied, quickly and yet without hurrying or pushing. Some of the farmers from outside town had ridden hard—or, in some cases, literally run for miles—to be here for the moment of the angel's arrival. Yet there was no resentment, no disappointment, in being sent about their business once again so quickly. It had been their joyous duty to welcome God's messenger, and they knew they had been blessed beyond the deserts of any fallible, sinful mortal to have beheld the angel with their own eyes.

  The angel descended from the consecrated platform and crossed to Timothy and Michael. They went to one knee again before him, and he shook his head.

  "No, My Sons," he said gently. "There will be time enough for that. For now, we must speak. God and the Archangel Langhorne are pleased with you, pleased with the way in which Lakeview has grown and prospered. But you may be called to face new challenges, and the Archangel Langhorne has charged me to strengthen your spirits for the tasks to which you may be summoned. Come, let us go into the church, that we may speak in the proper setting."

  * * *

  Pei Kau-yung sat in the comfortable chair, his face an expressionless mask, as he listened to the debate.

  The G6 sun they had named Kau-zhi in honor of his brother shone down outside. It was just past local noon, and the northern summer was hot, but a cool breeze off Lake Pei blew in through the open windows, and he grimaced mentally as it breathed gently across him.

  The bastards couldn't heap enough "honors" on us, could they? Named the local sun after Kau-zhi. The lake after him, too, I suppose—or maybe they meant to name it after both of us. Maybe even Shan-wei, at the time. But that's as far as they're going to go. I wonder if Mission Control picked Langhorne and Bédard because the planners knew they were megalomaniacs?

  He tried to tell himself that that was only because of the weariness almost sixty standard years—almost sixty-five local years—of watching the two of them in operation had made inevitable. Unfortunately, he couldn't quite shake the thought that the people who'd selected Eric Langhorne as the colony's chief administrator and Dr. Adorée Bédard as its chief psychologist had known exactly what they were doing. After all, the survival of the human race—at any cost—was far more important than any minor abridgments of basic human rights.

  "—and we implore you, once again," the slender, silver-haired woman standing in the center of the breezy hearing room said, "to consider how vital it is that as t
he human culture on this planet grows and matures, it remembers the Gbaba. That it understands why we came here, why we renounced advanced technology."

  Kau-yung regarded her with stony brown eyes. She didn't even look in his direction, and he felt one or two of the Councillors glancing at him with what they fondly imagined was hidden sympathy. Or, in some cases, concealed amusement.

  "We've heard all of these arguments before, Dr. Pei," Eric Langhorne said. "We understand the point you're raising. But I'm afraid that nothing you've said is likely to change our established policy."

  "Administrator," Pei Shan-wei said, "your 'established policy' overlooks the fact that mankind has always been a toolmaker and a problem solver. Eventually, those qualities are going to surface here on Safehold. When they do, without an institutional memory of what happened to the Federation, our descendants aren't going to know about the dangers waiting for them out there."

  "That particular concern is based on a faulty understanding of the societal matrix we're creating here, Dr. Pei," Adorée Bédard said. "I assure you, with the safeguards we've put in place, the inhabitants of Safehold will be safely insulated against the sort of technological advancement which might attract the Gbaba's attention. Unless, of course"—the psychiatrist's eyes narrowed—"there's some outside stimulus to violate the parameters of our matrix."