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VI: TRUTH AND CONSEQUENCES

"I can't believe the whole population's in on it," Woodward told his staff over the intercom when apprised of what had been happening. "We have a full house plus tonight, and even in some of the remote villages where they're set up to watch on screen we've got people sitting there waiting for me to start even when it's clear that somebody's nabbed most of our people there."

"True, but that's the one advantage they have over us," Grady responded. "We don't know who they are in the crowds so long as they look like and act like everybody else."

"What about the infrared taps?"

"No good. Well, we've got some, but they don't last long. That area must be honeycombed with disguised cave openings. No real problem, I don't think. We're trying to trace them through the intercom links, which, of course, stay open, but like the arsenal caves the inside's heavy with magnetite and similar minerals that really scramble direct transmissions. We have a SWAT team ready to go down in. Once they're down there, they should be able to pick up the comm links fairly easily. What are your instructions?"

"Wait," the Doctor ordered. "We can't get everybody at once, so our best bet is to let them make the first move. Still, I want as much information on what's down there as possible. We've been looking all over for the caves; we knew they had to be someplace. Now we know. Put some probes down as relays and then send in some ferrets and let's see what we've got. In the meantime, everybody's going to have to pretend that there's nothing going on in the congregation, so I'll give them my usual. That will service the needs of the people not involved in this, and also pin down any who are from interrupting the ferret operation. When you've got information, we'll talk again. You can act on your own, using your best judgment while I'm on, but if there's any shooting, any injuries or deaths, I want to hear about it even if I'm in mid-sentence, you understand?"

"Yes, sir! I've got a couple of likely openings spotted. When you start, we should be pretty clear outside and able to commence operations."

At that a door hissed open behind Grady. He turned and saw Thomas Cromwell himself standing there in full battle armor, with the cross of Saint George on his front and back. The armor was standard Navy tactical; it was smart and able to act on its own to protect its wearer if need be, and nobody was going to get a sleep dart through it, that was for sure.

"You heard, Brother Cromwell?"

The big Tactical chief nodded. "I'm going down with a small team now. You put me where we can most likely get some information fast. Doc's good, but the whole service is under two hours complete with music. I don't want that mob letting out while we're right in the middle."

"Very good, Brother," Grady responded. "We're pretty sure they've been taken to some sort of central location, but it'll be fairly deep. Still, if you drill and drop a line probe into a ferret hole it should reach at full power."

Cromwell nodded, turned, and walked back out and down to the shuttle site. The rest of his team were already there in suits similar to his but without the cross front and back. The cross was Cromwell's own trademark, although it could vanish very suddenly if it singled him out as a target.

In the twenty-six minutes it took to land the team and its equipment, the rocky plain had been pretty well cleared of people, which was just fine with Cromwell. He knew that there had to be guards posted but he didn't care. If any humans were around and attempted to flee or suddenly vanished down a hole, they would regret doing so very quickly.

The "ferrets" were a land-based version of the "fish" used at the lake, better suited for going along solid ground than through liquids. They were small and made out of the same malleable material as the combat suits, so they could morph quickly into shapes and sizes needed to get through very tight places, cling to the tops rather than the floors of buildings, ships, caves, or whatever, and take on characteristics useful for camouflage. Like the fish, they were best monitored with screens and then taken over and run by direct hookup to a human brain, and the tactical unit used a set of small screens for this purpose. The suits could link with the ferrets for a full virtual reality experience, transferring the consciousness of the human to the ferret, but Cromwell did that only when necessary. It took somebody out of the fight here, and if there were armed enemies around, that might be fatal to them or to those protecting the one linked in.

In the security command center on Olivet, in back of the stage, they were gathered around watching the same thing on bigger screens, which were also being uplinked to the orbiting Sinai.

The five-member tactical squad referred to itself only by Greek letters—Cromwell, of course, was Alpha—to save time and make no mistake as to who was talking to whom. They had jumped from the shuttle and set up their gear even as the shuttle rose rapidly into the sky and vanished. Nobody was going to take one of those things if it could be helped, and the computer pilots would kill any unauthorized passengers or even destroy themselves and their vehicles before allowing anyone to endanger Sinai.

The natural "at rest" coloration of the suits, originally made more than two centuries ago for Navy special teams like the one Cromwell had once run, was the usual gun metal gray, and so were the ferrets. In the darkness, away from the just starting "teaching," or service, they were virtually invisible and, thanks to the suit, they gave off no heat signatures. They did, however, have to have a place to go, and until now there was no evidence of the hidden part of this society no matter how obvious it was that it had to be there. Now they did.

Cromwell just wished he had more than half a dozen, and he prayed that the ones he had would return safe and sound. While there was some self repair built in, if these went there was no way to get more and little in the reference as to how the things worked anyway.

There was no question that this was one of the openings even though it didn't register from space or from any appreciable distance. Standing on it, you got a fairly steady anomalous energy reading that generally meant a steady-state power grid below. Great shielding, though, Cromwell thought, then took out what looked to be a large pistol. He put its barrel flat to the edge of the area now showing energy below and said, "Gamma, bring me a probe terminator." One of the others reached into a pack and then handed him a disc-shaped object perhaps thirty centimeters across which he clamped to his suit. He then fired the pistol.

There wasn't any sort of explosion; instead, there was a whirring sound and when he felt the bit fall free of the covering he relaxed the pistol and pulled it slightly back. A black snakelike line continued to issue from the barrel as the probe dropped as far as gravity would take it. When it stopped, Cromwell twisted the barrel and removed the other end of the snake, then took the disc and attached it to the line, then let it go. The disc provided a solid anchor for the probe, which now was acting much like a real snake, moving around until it acquired the best signal. When it seemed satisfied, the center of the disc glowed a dull red for a few seconds, then went inert again.

"Good signal," one of the team reported.

"Very well, then," their commander responded. "Release ferret."

From the probe a small, cigarlike shape seemed to flow out like liquid mercury, then started speeding ahead down the tunnel, which appeared to be lit by those glowing stripes similar to the ones used in the arsenal cave.

"Good visibility, good audio, but not much of a clue as to where anybody went," Beta commented.

"Give it time," their leader said soothingly.

"Junction!" Gamma called out. "Split ferret?"

"No, not until and unless we have to," Cromwell told them. "Best guess, leave it up to the ferret. It has better sensors than we do."

The ferret unhesitatingly chose the right tunnel and went on at maximum speed. Those little things could really move, Cromwell reflected, not for the first time.

"Observers! Two in the bush to the left, one sixty!" Delta called to them in the way only they could really hear.

Cromwell wasn't about to go for subtleties when his people were being grabbed. He turned and looked straight at the interlopers using full night vision and saw the pair, a man and a woman, both middle-aged and both butt-ugly, he thought, but not otherwise distinguishable from the rest of the settlers. Except, of course, they both had standard military issue energy pistols in their hands.

"Take 'em both on my command," he instructed. "If they're going to take our people then maybe we should have a few of theirs."

Before he could give the command, the woman rose up, trained her pistol right on him, and fired. There was a brief beam that struck him dead on—and had absolutely no effect whatever. Battle suits were not robes.

She seemed absolutely baffled, and Cromwell said, "Now! Both of them!"

Delta fired two short autoguided bursts and both of the settlers dropped.

"Why in the world would they think those things would work on combat suits?" somebody asked, as two of them went over to check on and then restrain the pair.

"It's damned dark out here, that's why," Cromwell reminded them. "That's why we picked this location. They may have better natural night vision than we do, but I'll bet you that they couldn't even tell we weren't buck naked at that distance with just their eyes. I'm impressed that she hit me at all. That's damned good shooting."

"We'll have to pray that the Doctor has the quality of mercy in him when he interrogates them, too," Delta commented, picking up the pistol and examining it.

"Oh? Why?"

"This is a fairly old model, but unless I'm really misreading this she had it on a force high enough to kill, not just knock you cold."

"Huh! Well, search 'em thoroughly for weapons. Archangel, you're sending a pickup team, I hope?"

"On the way," said the controller for the team high in orbit above them.

"We've got something on screen!" Beta called to them. "Alpha, I think you will want to see this."

They all did, but with one standing picket and two binding up the prisoners, only Cromwell and Beta were able to take a look at that point, along with, a fraction of a second later, Archangel.

The ferret had climbed up the wall and now was slowly positioning itself on the ceiling for the best shot.

The cave had expanded into a large chamber, originally natural but now enlarged and regularized, that was quite a different level of existence than topside. While not luxurious, it was perfectly modern, a series of cubes assembled together into a kind of apartment building or office complex, it was difficult to say which. There was lighting in there, and some people around, and in the center was a regular circular depression with three concentric levels that seemed like some ancient forum.

The people looked pretty much the same as they did topside, but perhaps cleaner and a bit less conditioned than everyday farmers. All carried sidearms similar to the ones used by the two who'd come upon the team, held in casual holsters worn outside of their loose fitting clothing. There seemed no sexual hierarchy; both men and women had the sidearms and also the arrogant expressions that they backed up.

"They didn't do this in a few days or weeks," Beta commented. "They've been here for a very long time. And they got a ton of the stuff out of that ship, didn't they?"

Cromwell nodded. "And this is just one of them. I wonder how extensive this cave system is, and just how many complexes like this there might be? Those ships like the one we found were basically automated, but as raiders they often carried a hundred or more people, sometimes what passes for families among them. Give them a hundred, and perhaps fifty years, and you've got a fair-sized elite here."

"Holy—! Just look at that!" Delta commented, coming over to look.

From one of the caverns emerged a small mag tractor pulling two flats loaded with crates of something or other.

"If they have that kind of mobility, why strong-arm the arsenal?" Beta wondered.

"Security. I bet few of them have full access to that lift. If they did, they'd have knocked each other off by now. At least we know how they're getting trade goods they need in when they need them without obvious wagon trains. I doubt if they have too many of the tractors, though. That one looks like the kind they'd use to load and unload their ship. I suspect they have no more than four or five, tops; that would be enough for their needs but not for everybody else."

"But why have everything set up down there? It must have been rough to build with just what they had, and it also has to be maintained. Most of the caves are natural, and there have to be some regions where they're unstable," Delta said.

"Indeed. Can't hide the farms and farmers—everybody has to eat, and there's precious little in the way of synthesizers here, I suspect. Not for an expanding population. No, these people aren't hiding from us," Cromwell told them. "They're in hiding. From whom is the big question. Works nicely as a trap for suckers like us, and we may well not be the first, but that's not worth this. We'd have come down if they'd had a nice civilization aboveboard. No, they're hiding from somebody in particular. Somebody they think that, after all this time, might still show up any moment. Makes you wonder."

"Well, they're through hiding from us, anyway," Beta commented. "I just wish we could see signs of our people down there. I don't like the idea we got shot at full strength."

"They'll have them well away from here," Cromwell assured them. "But within limits. I have this feeling that these people just don't understand who and what they are dealing with when they attacked us."

"Yeah, but this would sure be one time when it would be handy if we believed in praying in public. Easy to pick 'em up, and it would drive this crew nuts," Beta commented.

Deep down, though, Cromwell knew that his team was very concerned, probably as concerned as he was. If the ferrets couldn't find them, then some good people were bound to die on this miserable dirt ball.

* * *

In the darkness there was first a soft nothingness, then a tingling, growing pain that seemed to come from everywhere inside her, blossom, and then explode into a bodywide network of pointed needles or spikes stuck into her. She gave an exclamation of pure displeasure that seemed to die in her throat and then her eyes popped open.

The jabbing pains subsided after a moment, but her joints throbbed and there was a part of her head that felt like it was being struck by a dull but forceful mallet every few seconds. She was on her knees, she realized, and stark naked, a fact which greatly embarrassed and worried her. What had they done to her? What might they have done while she was unconscious?

She tried to move, to rub her painful joints, but she found that she could not. First, her wrists were bound behind her, held in some kind of restraint that also went around the ankles. She was unable to shift, get up, or unwind from the uncomfortable pose. There was no slack; the restraints were solid, not chains or flexible materials.

There was a chain, loosely around her neck. She tried to turn and see what it was connected to, but, that proving impossible, she looked around and saw many others in the same situation and pose. The chains appeared simply riveted into the wall of the cave, but the loops proved to be a choke chain. You move or twist, the chain gets tighter. You get back into the proscribed position, the chain loosened through a series of carefully managed loops along its length. The chain could also lock into place within its "lax" zone, wrapping as it did around a similar waist chain before going to the wall. This is what kept them from falling forward or over. Somebody who knew what they were doing did not want anybody trying any tricks whatsoever.

These stocks or whatever you call them weren't put here for us, she thought, looking around carefully. This place was designed as a holding prison. Good old Greg's not so nice down here, I bet. The thought did not make her feel any better.

There were perhaps a dozen others in the room—it was difficult to tell with her limited movement—and all had familiar faces. They were also all females; she wasn't sure if that was a good sign or an ominous one.

Some were still unconscious; others were awake, but that was about all that could be said. They were all gagged; that was why even her cry of pain had been muffled. Still, the communications system for the Arm was implanted in each of them; she listened for any sign of being hunted or any news of what was going on, but there was nothing, just a slight hissing if you concentrated. Shielded, too. They seemed to have thought of everything.

Within half an hour the miserable pain hadn't subsided, but just about all the others were at least awake and already through her own process of discovery.

Everything seemed to drag into eternal boredom; there was nothing you could do, nothing you could say, and nothing left to see. There were no frames of reference, nothing. Eventually, most discovered that if you had to relieve yourself you just had to relieve yourself; it grew foul and smelly in no time.

Finally, somebody entered. He was a younger man, dressed like a crindin handler, wearing gray cotton clothing and heavy boots that looked like they'd been taken off one of the male members of the Arm and probably were. He hit the stench and turned up his nose. "Ew! Yuk!" he muttered, then left, returning with a long hose of the sort used to wash the big animals. He turned and shouted down the cavern, "German! Pump!"

The hose was inactive for a few moments, then it gushed water, which he used to wash off each of the women in turn, breaking now and then to use a homemade push broom to get the mess into the center of the room where there was an actual drainhole or some kind, masked until he pulled it up by a slate rock fitted cover.

"Okay!" he yelled at his unseen companion. "It's bearable!"

He looked around at them and had a leering sort of grin on his face. "Pretty. Different from most of the girls we got 'round here. Maybe I'll take me one of you if this don't go good."

Just try it with me, Eve thought grimly, daggers shooting from her eyes. She, or any of the others, for that matter. Let me get one arm free and you'll never want a woman again, she thought with absolute confidence in her ability to do the job.

The herder type left, though, taking his equipment with him, and shortly another came in, this time a tall, middle-aged man with a neatly trimmed beard.

"All right, ladies, listen up!" he said in a tone of absolute command. "You are currently in no position to haggle. I think we've made that clear. In fact, we've tried very hard not to underestimate you. There wasn't any plan to go this far, or even disrobe you, but after we searched and found the incredible amount of stuff you were hiding, including the guns and power packs, we just had to assume that you were fully trained in combat and control. Disappointing for people who say they're from God, but after listening to your boss's messages I can understand it. Now you understand this. We're desperate. We can't get off this hole and we sure as hell don't want to die on it munching grass. We knew we couldn't make much of a deal after you explored the crash site, so here we are. Be very convinced that we will do exactly what we say and what we feel we have to do. I suspect that we may have to do some unpleasant things to some of you, maybe even kill a few, to demonstrate our resolve. If we loosen up your restraints and you violate any of the rules, and I mean any, you're number one on the list. Holy people like to talk about martyrs who are tortured and killed for their faith. You may get that chance. We will need a few examples before the others to establish the limits of your faith. Who's first? Any volunteers?"

He was playing with them, of course, but he seemed very different than the chief of a raider band might be imagined. Cultured, calm, knowledgeable, and apparently born without a soul, and all the scarier for it. This was not a man who would ever enjoy ravishing a captive. This was a man who would enjoy watching it, maybe even recording it and replaying it over and over at parties.

"All right," he sighed, "now that we understand each other, here's the first choice in the rest of your life. We have food here. It'll be served by women, not men, so relax on that score, but don't take any of them for granted, either. One at a time, your gags will be lifted and you will get drink and food. If you say anything, and I mean anything, all that will stop, and you'll not get any more. Understand? No more water, even. But don't worry, it won't last long. You'll become an early example. Or, you can relax and wait. This could be over in a day or two, one way or the other. Just also keep in mind that none of you and your people, and we've got almost a hundred of you in various locations, will survive unless we get what we want."

And, with that, he walked out.

If he'd intended to frighten them, it only took a look in the eyes of the others to show that he succeeded. Eve suspected her own eyes looked much the same. It wasn't just the threats—those they already took for granted—but the coldly pragmatic way he warned them that got them. To him, torture, kidnap, murder, were all just business, and he almost certainly lost no sleep whatsoever over them.

He was certainly as good as his word in delivering what he promised. He hadn't been out of the cavern a minute when three women entered. They looked hard and tough, but so did just about everybody on the surface, so there was nothing obvious to set them apart from the villagers. That was the insidious part of this. You couldn't tell one from the other, if, in fact, there was something to tell. The two different populations had been deduced primarily from the size of the crashed spaceship and the subtle differences in genetic makeup of the majority of villagers versus the nonmatching polyglot of the few others. But who really knew?

One thing was for sure: the short, slender, long-haired woman in the patterned cotton dress had a pretty mean-looking pistol that wasn't of a familiar type to Eve, at least.

A second woman was unarmed but had a medical sensor in her hand and passed it completely over the first captive woman, then checked the readings. "This one's okay, but she'll have some problems walking or doing anything complex for a while. They all will, most likely."

"Not our problem. Okay, Miga. Take off the gag, give her a drink, then feed her. You kneeling, you remember what happens if you say just one word, understand? One word!"

The frightened woman nodded, and the third member of the trio removed the gag and allowed the captive a number of deep breaths. Then a jar was lifted in front of her, containing a large gravity straw, and the woman drank, first hesitantly, then, after a few coughs and some spitting out of liquid which the experienced woman administering the drink was ready for, eagerly and in gulps.

After that, the drink was removed even though the woman clearly wanted more, and a kind of homemade granola and honey bar was hand fed to her. She was allowed one intermediate and one ending drink, and then the gag was replaced and it was on to the next woman.

"Faith!" the one with the gun sneered at all of them. "Easy to spout about until it's live or die time or worse, isn't it?"

The comment stung them all far more than the chains and restraints. It was far easier to assume that you would die for your faith, or suffer any affliction for it, until you were faced with the choice. Most of the apostles had been brutally tortured and murdered in the end, or executed at least, but they all did have the advantage that they had seen the dead and risen Christ. She began to realize that, for all the teaching and training, "evil" was a word long out of fashion and used mostly to cover the scope of a crime. Nobody really believed in evil anymore; they believed in "wrong" and "bad" and "psychotic."

I have the honor by the grace of God to be the first of my generation to face true evil, she thought. And I don't know if I have the guts for it. Please, God! Tell me what You want me to do? 

The same thoughts had to be going through the others here, and the others in other caves around the region if the leader's claim of a hundred captured was true.

I will not deny Him, she resolved, even if death is the end. But denial wasn't the demand or the claim; it was rather to simply go along and not make waves. Was it enough to refuse to do something that they weren't asking her to do anyway?

One by one, the process done with the first woman was repeated with the others, often with pauses while someone went out to get the jug or stash of granola-style bars refilled, and, during the whole of it, not one of them, not even Eve, had done anything at all save what they'd been told to do.

When the feeding was done and the three underground women were gone, Eve felt a blackness, a hole in her soul, where confidence had once stood. The fact that none of the others had done anything, nor could they claim to later, having done nothing in this public exhibition, made it somewhat worse, but God would know. God would also forgive, but not forever. This was but the beginning of their trials, and at some point she would either have to demonstrate her faith or watch it shatter.

Even so, she wondered now if anybody among the captured had actually made any gesture of resistance, however futile.

* * *

Cromwell didn't even consider taking the pair of would-be assassins in for a nice questioning. He had the team take them not up to Sinai, since that would be the last place he'd want any of these people, even as prisoners, until he knew them a lot better, but rather to Olivet, still on the ground, still brightly lit although, this long after the service, pretty well deserted. The guard was there, well lit and monitored from inside and from above, to insure that nobody else was going to be snatched, but that was about it. The shields around the ship were certainly more than adequate for the rest; if they weren't, then the attackers would have seized the ship and its leader instead of random acolytes in the dark.

Now the male captive was in the infirmary, hooked up to a bank of medical monitors and being intravenously fed a very efficient blend of drugs that made him friendly, happy, and otherwise not thinking very much.

"Hello," said a friendly sounding deep male voice.

The man opened his eyes and saw the huge form and bearded face of Karl Woodward, looking not stern or angry but rather fatherly. The man's lips formed a childlike grin.

"Hi," he responded.

"Are we friends?" the doctor asked him.

"Yes, sure. Friends . . . "

The deep tones suddenly sounded wounded, hurt. "Then why did you try and harm and kill my children? Why did you take my children away? Is that what friends do to other friends?"

There was a sudden sorrow in the man's expression now, almost like he wanted to cry. "Didn't wanna do it. It was—orders. Just orders. Nothin' personal, friend. We don't wanna hurt nobody, see?"

"Then why did you take my children?"

"Nothin' personal," the man repeated, drooling a bit. "See, 'cause we gotta get outa here. Got the big one. Know where the treasure of treasures is. But we can't get to it. Stuck here, eatin' grass and drinkin' sheep dip beer. Cap said you wouldn't take us. No room. So we make room . . . "

"Cap? Who's Cap? Did he give the orders?"

"Yeah, sure. Cap always gives the orders. That's what cap'ns do."

"Where is this captain? I'd like to talk to him."

The man gave an uncomfortable shrug, seemingly unaware that he was lying strapped down on a medical table connected to all sorts of tubes. "Somewhere down below. We don't see him much, y'know? Like most cap'ns. They just pass down the orders. Ours not to reason why . . . "

"Stow the ancient quotes. Where did they take my children?"

Another shrug. "All over. Dunno. Lotsa places. Booby trapped places, see."

"What if we took hostages?"

"Wouldn't matter. 'Less, o'course, you can find the ossifers. Rest of us, all expensable."

"You mean expendable?'

"Yeah, that's it. Exprendable."

"The villagers—are they crew, too?"

"Not most of 'em, no. They was already here. Stuck here long, long ago. Got conned, y'see. Old con. Used t'do it myself in the old days. Take their stuff, drop 'em nowhere while you fake a fight, lose the fight, then they're stuck. You spend their money, nobody remembers they was born."

Woodward looked over at Cromwell. "Pirates all right. It's amazing that we can learn the basics of subatomic physics, the magic of faster-than-light travel, and still the human soul stays right where it's always been."

Cromwell nodded. "Amen to that."

Woodward turned back to the captive. "Were you ordered to attack my children out there just now? You and the woman?"

"No, not like that," the man managed. "See, we was just—just—we was kinda rear guards, see? Slow down anybody chasin' till they can split up the hostages and get 'em set up."

"You figure you did your job?"

"Oh, sure. I mean, I guess so."

Woodward sighed and stepped back. "Keep working on him. I want every detail his rather empty head contains, no matter how small. What about the woman?"

"His partner, more or less," Cromwell told him. They were having an expert female security interrogator work with her in another room using pretty much the same techniques. "More vicious because, we think, she's of the first group. She managed to snare one of them and dominate him and get entry into their better society, but she's done it by being meaner than they are. I have a feeling that taking her out of circulation might gain us some local friends."

"Well, we've tried finding local friends," the Doctor noted, "and it's gotten us nowhere. No, I don't think this is a time for being diplomatic. Those stranded pirates were helped by many of the local villagers. You can see it on the recordings. No, I think it's time we fought the devil on some of his own ground. Tomorrow morning I want every single child in the closest and surrounding villages picked up. Babies to maybe ten or eleven. All of them. Bring down some of our child-care people to help out with them. Treat them fine, but keep them inside here, out of sight. Don't bring any of their babysitters. If there's any resistance, knock 'em cold and leave 'em where they fall."

"You really think that's going to do anything to help our people?"

"Tom, I have no idea. What I do know is that nothing in your ferret operation here or the other one to the north showed any children underground. Men, women, yes, but no kids. And the kids up here are all getting educated, whether they're pirate or villager. Let's see if we can at least get our pirates to talk on a timetable of our choosing, huh? I also want this village locked down. They can stay inside the village, but nobody leaves. Nobody goes anywhere outside. If they want to leave they're going to have to do it underground and probably with us watching. Let's see what they think when they see their kids taken away."

"But surely we're not going to do anything to the children!"

"Of course not! You know that, and I know that. But do they know that? If we can't pressure those bastards underground one way, let the villagers do it. Sometimes you can fake even the devil out."

He paused a moment, then added, "I'd like you and all the Elders to meet me in the Meditation Room in one hour. I believe that, before we act, we must consult a higher power. Only with His will and strength behind us will we have a good ending here tomorrow."

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