Gameboard of the Gods

Page 26

Claude, who had almost started to relax in the face of Justin’s casualness, flushed. “She’s not fictitious, Dr. March.”
“I know you think that, but if you can’t prove her existence to the government, we have to classify her as fictitious.” Justin’s tone wasn’t unkind, but he spoke in a way that told Mae he’d had to explain this point many, many times. He waved a dismissive hand at his reader. “Now, I’ve got all the official jargon here, but I’d love to hear about your group in your own words. What you believe. How you operate.”
He’d put on that friendly air again, and Claude lit up at the chance to explain his beliefs. “We worship the Goddess of Nine Faces in her scholarly guise. She gives us understanding and insight into the world, allowing us to pursue all sorts of knowledge.”
“And wisdom,” added Justin.
Claude gave him a gentle smile, and now it was his turn to explain one of his well-worn fields of expertise. “Knowledge is not the same as wisdom, as I’m sure you can understand. A scholar who is always learning and striving to excel in their field possesses knowledge. A ninety-year-old-man who has lived a fulfilling life possesses wisdom. Wisdom is pursued by those who worship our goddess as the Lady of Keys. Despite our different paths, we do have much in common with them, however, and we’ve been trying to forge connections between our groups. There’s a Lady of Keys congregation a hundred kilometers from here that we’ve begun to be in contact with.”
“Ah,” said Justin, smiling and nodding along in understanding. “Now I see.”
There was no way a servitor wouldn’t know every established religion inside and out, especially one as widespread as the Nine-Faced Goddess. Justin most certainly understood the difference between the Lady of the Book and the Lady of Keys. He was still the perfect picture of pleasantness and amiability, but as Mae watched, she could see a cunningness in his dark eyes as Claude spoke. Justin was taking in every intonation, every gesture, and every turn of phrase. Coaxing Claude to talk about the goddess he loved simply allowed Justin to gather more data. It was his technique in action: Find out what means the most to someone and exploit it. Like, for example, the blue mood of a woman visiting Panama.
When prompted, the priest was equally happy to explain how they worshipped. “Many of our meetings simply involve being together and reading whatever we like. Afterward, we share our knowledge and try to learn more from each other through enlightened discussions. Our main weekly service usually focuses on a book the entire group is reading. I write my sermons based on lessons learned from the reading, but of course, all opinions are welcomed, and we urge respectful analysis. Worship of the Lady herself is present too. We sing songs and prayers to her, bedeck her with flowers, and give our blessings to scholars seeking her aid. We read stories and myths of her many guises, as well as those of the other gods. There’s enlightenment in learning about the truth of others.”
Justin had his reader in hand again and proceeded to go over operating, financial, and tax paperwork with Claude. Mae couldn’t see the screen but followed along with it as best she could. It gave her a new appreciation for the many facets of a servitor’s job: scholar, psychologist, detective, accountant. She found herself drawn in by the intensity in his already captivating features. It was a single-minded focus she understood.
“I don’t even have to study these records to see how well you’re doing,” said Justin. He paused to look around and admire the room before returning to his reader. “Your congregation’s at…one hundred and fifty?”
Claude’s head bobbed up and down. He was clearly delighted at how well this was going. “Yes, yes. It’s quite wonderful. We were only around seventy-five at our last licensing.”
The speed at which Justin looked up was Mae’s only indication that he was shocked. “You’ve doubled in a year?” He turned back to the reader and scanned a list. “There it is. You certainly have.”
They talked about ten minutes more, and at last, Justin stood up and shook Claude’s hand again. “Well, it’s been very nice speaking with you.”
“Likewise,” said Claude. The priest was beaming. “I’m so pleased you were able to see all the wonderful things we do here.”
“Me too,” said Justin. “And I’m sorry I can’t renew your license.”
Claude froze mid-handshake. “I…I beg your pardon?”
Justin shook his head in sympathy but amazingly still managed to have that upbeat look on his face. “I’m not renewing your license. You’ll have to suspend all operations immediately.”
Claude’s mouth hung open, and he said nothing for almost thirty seconds. “But…but we aren’t dangerous! We aren’t violating any of the country’s religious dictates.”
“You’re violating our tax dictates. That statue may have been a gift, but it’s an expensive one and still has to be reported as an asset and filed under your income. As income, it would be subject to taxes—which you haven’t paid.”
“We were never told of anything like that!”
“It’s the law, Mr. Diaz, which you’re responsible for knowing. Ignorance is not an excuse.”
Justin began moving toward the doorway, and Claude was fast on his heels. Mae moved swiftly after them, just in case the priest surprised her.
“Then give us a chance to rectify the situation! We’ll appraise the statue and pay whatever back taxes are necessary—and any penalties.” Claude wrung his hands. “Please, Dr. March. Our goddess is the center of my life and the lives of many others. Please don’t take this away.”
“I don’t have a choice,” said Justin. “Our government has very strict laws for groups like yours, and I have to follow them, no matter how much I hate to see it happen.” The cheery attitude was gone.
“Please,” begged Claude. “Please. There must be something.”
They emerged outside. Justin stopped by the door and took a moment to enter something on his ego. He scanned it over the licensing screen. Immediately, the square turned red, and the date and signature vanished. Justin’s signature appeared instead, along with a new date one year from that day.
Justin turned to face Claude and put on a formal expression. “Mr. Diaz, the Republic of United North America is suspending your license to worship. All practices will cease immediately. You have twenty-four hours to remove any belongings from this facility, after which it will be shut down and abandoned. Your organization’s financial assets will be seized and held in a federal account. You may not assemble with more than three members of your former congregation in any other place. You may communicate with them via written message, but all correspondence must be copied to the Division of Sect and Cult Investigation. In one year, you may apply for a new license. Failure to comply with any of these edicts will result in your arrest and that of any other accomplices. Do you understand?”
Claude’s jaw was on the ground. “Dr. March…this can’t be possible.”
Justin handed over his reader. “Sign here, please.”
Mae tensed, wondering if Claude would comply. This, no doubt, was the point at which zealots reacted badly. But as she studied the sad man further, she knew he wasn’t going to break out any stones or torches. Mostly, he looked like he was on the verge of tears. With great resignation, he signed the order.
And with that, the job was done, and Justin and Mae left for the day’s real attraction. She would’ve expected him to be pleased with himself, but as the car ride progressed, it became obvious his mood had plummeted.
“A tax technicality,” he muttered. “A goddamned tax technicality.”
“It’s ingenious,” she admitted, hating to praise him out of principle and especially for manipulating someone. “A way to shut them down without making yourself personally responsible.”
Justin didn’t seem convinced. “He was a nice guy. They’re harmless right now.”
“Right now,” she repeated. “But would they stay that way? Their numbers are growing. They have a reasonable message. You said those were the most dangerous kind.”
On their plane ride here, Justin had given her a lesson on what warning signs servitors looked for. Groups who were disorganized and touted nonsensical messages were the ideal candidates for licensing. They made themselves (and religion in general) look bad. The really outlandish and dangerous ones were easy too because they were instant shutdowns. Quiet, friendly ones like Claude’s were trickier because they could initially attract followers with reasonable messages, and then eventually blow up in the RUNA’s face as dissent among themselves and against authority grew.
He looked over at her with a smile. “And here I thought you weren’t paying attention.”
“I’ve got to stay tuned for anything dangerous,” she explained.
His smile faded. “Yes. They could be dangerous someday. It’s better to stop them now.”
“Then why do you sound so unsure?” His behavior made no sense.
“It’s just sad, that’s all.” Justin stared out the window. “His beliefs mean a lot to him.”
“Beliefs in a fictitious entity,” she reminded him, drawing his attention back.
His eyes searched hers. “Do you really believe that?”
“Of course,” she said, puzzled that a servitor of all people would ask her about one of their country’s founding principles. And yet, as she spoke, she remembered her vision by the statue. No, not a vision. A hallucination. She really did need to own up and see a psychiatrist. But am I crazy if he saw it too? “Don’t you?”
“Of course,” Justin said, echoing her. His face still looked troubled as he turned away. “We did them a favor.”
CHAPTER 12
MIRACLES
“Welcome to the Church of Apollo and Artemis,” said Justin when they reached their next stop. The church was a small white building that had been built up to make it resemble a Greek temple. Faux pillars surrounded the doorway, and a Greek inscription was painted in gold about the door. “Know anything about them?”