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Albert. "She must be waiting for us."
The interior of the church was a single large room. The floor was paved with
broad slabs of granite that sucked heat from the air and left a distinct
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chill. The scent of candle-wax and incense was strong. A
cloth-draped altar on a low dais dominated the far end of the room.
Polished pews were ranked beside a central aisle. Covering the walls between
the stained-glass windows and behind the altar were row upon row of framed and
haloed faces painted in the style of Greek or Russian
Orthodox icons. There were no explanatory tags or placards; the images may or
may not have been those of actual icons, actual saints. In the left-hand wall,
near the front, was a single massive door that looked like it belonged in some
much larger church, perhaps even a cathedral.
It was made of oak and set in a Gothic arch of stone blocks. Beside it was a
tall desk like those that hold guest books in funeral homes or restaurants; it
held only a fist-sized silver dome with a pushbutton on its top. The room was
empty. Even though Marvin had said she was on the way, Lisa was not there. "So
we have to wait," said Ingrid. She turned left, walking the border of the
room, studying the icons on the walls.
Her dopple turned right. Albert remained near the entrance. "Where's
Marvin?" asked the pilot. "Leaving it to us," said Albert. His voice showed
what he felt: betrayed, abandoned, disillusioned, bitter. "He can't interfere.
He does, but he's limited, so he says he doesn't."
He laughed. "Like some parents."
The Ingrids progressed almost in step until they met in front of the altar.
They looked at each other then as if they were sharing the memories of the
icons they each had seen. Together, they turned toward
Albert. "What's that door?"
He gestured ignorance in their direction. "No idea."
"I'll bet she's behind it, waiting to jump out and say "Boo!'" Ingrid spun
decisively away from her dopple and raised one hand above the bellpush. Even
as the metal dome dinged, something slammed against the building's outside
wall. Both Ingrids jumped and spun around. "Foul ball," said Albert. "I don't
think they call them foul. A hit's a hit, and someone's surely charging round
those bases now."
When they spun to see who had spoken, they saw that the Gothic door had swung
open on silent hinges to reveal a slender man whose silvery hair glowed
against the shadows of the opening behind him. He wore a black cassock but
there was no white band around his throat to suggest that he was a priest.
"Who are you?" said an Ingrid. The stranger smiled and bowed. "I've been a
baseball fan for years. The Reverend ..." As he spoke the word, a faint gold
disk sprang into existence behind his head." ... Jackson Kemmerdell." His
voice was that of a man accustomed to audiences. Albert was walking down the
church's central aisle,
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nodding as if he had met the man before. Kemmerdell turned and extended one
hand. "The doorway--and the stairway--to Heaven. I'm the doorman."
The foot of a stone staircase, its steps hollowed as if by millennia of
climbing feet, was barely visible in the shadows. "A metaphor, of course. An
image only. It's really just one end of the fiber-optic cable that permits
communication between this machine and Heaven's."
"For the proselytes," said Ingrid. "And converts," said the pilot.
"Tourists too," said Albert. "Just so," said Kemmerdell. "Are you immigrants
or visitors?"
"Neither."
"We're waiting for ..."
"Me!"
Albert spun around. Lisa was standing as near as he could tell precisely where
he himself had stood before Kemmerdell had appeared. "I want
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Michael back," said Ingrid. "He can leave anytime he wants to." Lisa laughed
gaily. "Or can pay the fare."
"And I want Rose."
"I don't have her."
"Your dopple does. He kidnapped her."
"Take it up with him." She laughed again. Then she sobered. "You said there
was something else."
"Money." Albert rubbed his thumbs against his fingertips. "Data energy.
You have far too much for someone who doesn't work."
"Are you the one who's been peeking at my files?"
"And Rose. She's an accountant."
"But Lester's got her stopped."
"Too late. We already know ..."
"It's gifts!"
Both Ingrids laughed. "You hook them on your cunt," said the female one.
"And then you suck them too dry to stop you."
Kemmerdell had been turning his head back and forth, back and forth, watching
first one speaker, then the next. His eyes had been wide and his lips parted
as if to say he had never seen such an exchange in a church before. Now his
eyes were even wider. "We've watched you," said the pilot. "Again and again
and ..."
"I don't force them. It's their own free will!"
"Even that stone wall?"
"Huh?" Lisa managed to sound baffled. "There." A miniature of that sculpture
Ingrid had watched a Lisa make from surplus slaves or lovers appeared upon the
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