The denial and finger-pointing started on Thursday.
Priscilla, doing her best to be a happy sixteen-year-old girl with a cute boy at her side, spent the day at the park, the shopping center, and the local diner, so she didn’t personally witness any of it.
The rest of the team members, even Susan, were kept busy with audio tapes, video recorders, or note pads. By evening, the voices were getting quite loud, and no one could find a radio or television channel without hearing something about the space probe every few minutes.
“. . . and I KNOW, my fellow God-fearing people, with ever fiber of my being, that the DEVIL himself, and all his minions, have taken control of that infernal machine that I TOLD you, before it was launched, was going to somehow be used AGAINST everything that is descent and holy . . .”
Doctor Po-selem stopped his little tape player. “Now, it’s true that over the last nine years I’ve developed some interest in religion . . .”
“Not what you had in mind, Chris?” Betty inquired with a big grin.
He shook his head.
“Something tells me,” Priscilla said from her seat by the fireplace, “that today is going to be very interesting from a sociological point of view, but we’ll learn nothing new about the space probe itself.”
“That’s correct,” Chris verified with a nod.
“Who wants to go next. Sarah?”
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Her video player was already hooked up to Susan’s television. After a few seconds of static, the recording began. A congressman stepped up to the venerable podium in the capitol building.
“It’s time to take the gloves off. The liberal MINORITY, only ramming its agenda down our throats with the help of a couple of disloyal DEFECTORS, after wasting MILLIONS on this useless piece of junk that has succeeded at NOTHING but lining the pockets of a few liberal SCIENTISTS, is now trying to use this CHARADE, obviously a liberal CONSPIRACY, to move us closer to losing our SOVEREIGNTY to a world government, run by bureaucrats who aren’t even CITIZENS of this great nation . . .”
Sarah stopped the video when everyone started rolling their eyes.
“Nothing unexpected there,” Doctor Po-morna said.
Priscilla smiled at the biologist. “Let’s give equal time to the opposing view, shall we?”
Both Sarah and Tanya laughed.
“I’ve got that one,” Colonel Bo-torin said with a smile and a hand in the air. “Sorry I didn’t have any recording equipment — I’m still living out of a suitcase.” He paged through his note pad, then started reading.
“MTQP Radio, Six O’clock News and Commentary, twenty-eight October 3671. Research has turned up new evidence that we can blame the ENTIRE
failure of the space probe on conservatives who cut the program’s budget last year, probably resulting in sub-standard parts being used for the image transmitting antenna. This continues their anti-science, anti-media stance that was CLEARLY responsible for the cover-up last week . . . That’s the gist of it.”
“Thanks,
John.”
“The only problem is,” Betty began, “the cover-up obviously came from the president’s office, who’s a liberal!”
John smiled. “Accurate information is seldom a concern in politics.”
Betty
sighed.
“I’ve got one that transcends politics,” retired General Bo-seklin announced with a slightly-wicked grin.
Priscilla nodded at him.
He started his portable tape player. “. . . but if you think the space probe is
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ACTUALLY coming back, you have been duped, ladies and gentlemen, you have been fooled by special effects, like in the movies. The fact is, not only is the space probe NOT coming back, it never even LEFT in the first place! ”
Once the laughter started to die down, Sarah slipped in, “At least he didn’t make it a religious issue!”
The laughter resumed until everyone noticed Brian carrying lunch platters to the serving table.
Priscilla was giddy with happiness when Lisa called, late that afternoon, announcing that a family of four was on its way to the safe house, and wondering if Priscilla could cook for the weekend.
She assured Brian, with deep kisses, that it wasn’t him she needed to get away from, and was on her bicycle a quarter hour later.
Something about the silent green hills and the thick concrete walls allowed Priscilla to relax in a way she couldn’t anywhere else. She and Ginny shared a warm hug before Priscilla went upstairs to see her old friends — the strong wooden trusses, the potted plants throughout the building, and the birdhouse, feeder, and birdbath on her old patio.
Eventually, she poked her head into General Ba-kerga’s office. “Hi, George.”
“Hi, Priscilla. They’re expected about nineteen hundred, and will probably be quite hungry.”
“One feast, coming up!”
“Anything interesting at the meeting today? I haven’t had a chance to catch up with Lisa.”
“Denial . . . dissociation . . . cognitive dissonance . . . the usual stuff coming over the air waves, just more of it, and all using the space probe as a substitute for the regular targets of their frustrations.”
George nodded, then turned his attention back to the paperwork on his desk.
Lisa arrived in the blind transport with the family of four, all with jet-black hair and facial features that clearly revealed their origin on the other side of the planet. They were more nervous than Priscilla had ever seen safe-house
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guests, as if they were stepping into a gas chamber.
Instead, they smelled aromas that might have come from their own kitchen back home, and followed their noses to the dining room where a round table held four place settings and several serving dishes.
Lisa didn’t interfere. She already knew, because of the honesty of the boy, about twelve, and the girl, about eight, that they hadn’t eaten all day. She had checklists to go through, but those could wait an hour.
Although it was not the usual routine, Priscilla brought everything right to their table. Breakfast tomorrow was soon enough to get them used to the serving line.
The parents and the boy immediately began treating Priscilla as hired help, demanding seconds, or more sauces, or refills of their drinks.
The eight-year-old girl looked at Priscilla with dark, penetrating eyes, and didn’t ask for anything, but Priscilla could tell she was smiling without letting her parents see.
By Saturday morning, Priscilla had an assistant cook. The eight-year-old girl said little, but clearly intended to help with everything, unless ordered by her parents to be elsewhere.
The first two times the girl’s work came to a halt, she was in the dining room, or on the outside of the serving line. The lecture she received from her mother was in a language Priscilla did not know, but the meaning was clear.
Her daughter was nobility, and only servants did kitchen work.
The third time, her father discovered his daughter in the kitchen itself, happily slicing vegetables.
Again Priscilla could not understand the language, but he pointed at the red lines on the floor while he ranted, so Priscilla quickly responded. She knew they all understood her language, even if they didn’t speak it perfectly.
She held up her hand for silence in a way that no servant, in his experience, had ever done, and made solid eye contact. “The red lines may be crossed with permission. The girl has my permission. Someone to talk to is very important when dealing with any stressful situation, and being forced to leave your home is one of the worst. A little work to do helps with stress, also.”
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The father suddenly felt like a little boy sitting at the feet of a wise priest, and he bowed and departed.
The girl smiled and went back to slowly and carefully slicing vegetables.
By the next day, the girl began talking as she buttered bread or chopped celery.
“We had a big house. There were nine or ten servants to keep it clean all the time. Me and my brother each had a servant of our own. Now we have . . .
almost nothing. My father grabbed a few gold coins before we left, and he found out they’ll buy us a little tiny house here, but no servants. My mother took our sacred chalice, but that’s all she could carry. We had to leave quickly, before the rebels got there.”
Priscilla blinked a few times while sautéing vegetables. “I used to live in a big house, and I had guards to protect me everywhere I went. I had more money than I knew what to do with. It was fun, but it couldn’t last forever.
Now I live in a little house with my husband and my best friend, and we have much less money, but I get to work in this beautiful place, so I’m very happy.”
“What happened to all your money?”
“Something very important came along that needed it. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. That’s like you leaving your country — you lost many things, but you had to do it.”
“Yeah. I just wish . . .”
Priscilla quietly chopped garlic while listening.
“I wish we could have brought all our sacred things, and the temple room of our house. All we got was the chalice. Now mother says we can’t have the Family Blessing Ceremony because we don’t have all the things we need — the sacred knife, the blessed wine, and the special bread. And it has to be done in a circle on the floor. We had a beautiful rug with a circle just the right size woven into it. We don’t have any of that anymore, just the chalice.”
Priscilla pondered the girls words as she added the garlic to the sauté pan.
“I guess . . . you’ll have to make do with what you have.”
“My brother thinks that, but mother doesn’t want to. She’s . . . sad, so sad I don’t know if she’ll ever be happy again. And she has to lead the Ceremony.”
Priscilla started slicing mushrooms. “Maybe . . . your mother is too sad to
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lead the Ceremony right now, so you’ll have to.”
“But . . . it’s mother’s job.”
“So you have to make a choice — lead the Ceremony until your mother is strong enough to do it again . . . or forget it.”
The girl continued slicing celery, but her cheeks were wet. “That would mean . . .”
Priscilla
waited.
“That would mean our family would be dead in the eyes of the gods.”
Priscilla breathed a few times. “Your choice.”
Colonel Ka-markla had never seen a more depressed little group of safe-house residents. They said hardly a word to each other at dinner on Saturday, a dinner Lisa knew was absolutely delicious. Then they just moped around all evening, finding no interest in music, television, magazines, or books.
They dragged themselves to breakfast late on Sunday. Lisa whispered to Priscilla that she was thinking of calling Doctor Bo-kamla. Priscilla asked Lisa to wait a little while longer.
Sunday afternoon was about to give way to evening, and Priscilla was getting ready to boil noodles, when a stealthy figure slipped into the kitchen with something hidden under her coat, even though the entire facility was pleasantly warm.
Almost gasping for air, the girl revealed the family’s sacred chalice and held it out with trembling hands. “What do I do?”
Priscilla’s mind went into high gear, and she quickly located a fancy round serving tray. “Put it in the middle, and I’ll do the rest. But you have to create the circle and lead the Ceremony.”
“I’ll . . . try. What should I use?”
Priscilla hunted through drawers until she found a ball of string. “You know how big the circle needs to be. Create your circle in the middle of the big room, and by the time you’re done, I’ll have your tray ready.”
With her heart in her throat and tears threatening to come, the girl walked to the middle of the largest open space in the safe house. She could almost see
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a circle there already, where furniture had once worn the carpet more than everywhere else. She paced off the distance from the center, then started laying down the string.
Her brother, sprawled on a couch, took notice and sat up. “But you don’t have the chalice or the knife or . . .”
“Oh, yes I do!”
The circle was soon complete, so the girl dashed back to the kitchen. She beheld the sacred chalice half-full of grape juice, surrounded by strawberries and fancy crackers. A small, gleaming kitchen knife completed the ceremonial tray.
She smiled up at Priscilla with grateful eyes, picked up the tray, and took tiny steps from the kitchen to the middle of the circle, being very careful not to let the grape juice slosh out.
Priscilla had to turn her attention back to dinner, but Lisa nonchalantly observed from the outer office.
The boy waited until his sister called the family to Ceremony by clinking the knife against the rim of the chalice. He made the sacred signs with his hands, then stepped into the circle and seated himself across from her, as had always been his place.
The girl made the call again.
Her father was the next to appear, and pride filled his eyes with tears. He dashed back to the large sleeping room, spoke a few words to his wife, then returned and reverently entered the circle and seated himself.
The girl tapped the knife on the chalice one last time.
The mother entered the room but appeared to be torn, as if she would have run away in shame if she could, but her husband was already seated and was looking up at her. She forced herself to approach the make-shift circle, formed the sacred signs, and sat down.
Lisa smiled, and had a hunch the psychologist would not be needed.