The Dark Side (32 page)

“Step this way, Mr. Robot Man, if you please.”

The droid says, “I hope this is not some sort of common trick?”

“It is no trick. Are you not willing to stand before the faithful?”

“I am willing, sir.”

“Then step forward, and let the brethren see you for what you are.”

So the droid moves into the chapel and is directed to the altar, where the preacher stands beside him with arms crossed and nostrils flared.

“And so it is, we speak of the devil and yea, the devil appears,” the preacher booms. “For you see before us a graven image in the shape of a man. Which is to say the image of God, which is to say in the name of sacrilege. For cursed be the one, sayeth the Scriptures, who maketh a carved or metal image in the image of a man—for such is an abomination in the eye of the Lord!” He turns to the droid. “Pray tell us where you are heading, Man of Tin.”

“I am heading to Purgatory, sir.”

The preacher nods emphatically as murmurs ripple through the congregation. “Yea, you hear it with your own ears, you see it with your own eyes—a false idol on his way to Babylon! To the House of Sin! And what do you intend to do in Babylon, Man of Tin?”

“I intend to do a number of things, sir.”

“But what is your principal intention? Will you serve? Will you entertain? Will you make money?”

“I will not serve, sir.”

“Then what will you do?”

“I will be a conquistador.”

More murmurs from the flock. The preacher nods at them
with emphatic dismay. “Aye,” he says, “for so iniquitous are its makers that they see no other goal in life than plunder and conquest! What further proof do we need of man's depravity?” He turns back to the droid. “Do you know nothing of humility, Man of Tin? Of selflessness? Of the Holy Scripture?”

“I observe my own scripture, sir,” says the droid.

“Aye! So you do not even acknowledge the glory of the Gospels, I suppose? The teachings of the Savior?”

“Geniuses are their own saviors.”

“Aye? Is that so? And what of the Lord God? Do you even
believe
in the Lord God, Man of Tin?”

“In the beginning was the Dollar, and the Dollar was with God, and the Dollar
was
God.”

Disbelief in the chapel now. The preacher's lips tremble and he turns to the congregation. “Did you hear it, brothers and sisters? The sacrilege? ‘The Dollar
was
God!' ” He looks back to the droid. “Is that truly what you've been taught, Man of Tin? To serve Mammon instead of God?”

“You cannot serve god and Mammon.”

“Aye, you have that much right!” the preacher says. “So what on Earth—or the Moon!—do you want from us? What possible reason do you have for calling upon us here?”

“I only want assistance, sir, and I will be on my way.”

“And what do you class as assistance? You want a bag of silver, I suppose?”

“I will take a bag of sugar, if you would be so good as to give it to me.”

“Sugar, aye, and other decadent things, I suppose?”

“A bottle of alcohol, sir—that too would be appreciated.”

“Alcohol! And you really believe we would have alcohol here, Man of Tin?”

“I would find it hard to believe that you do not, sir.”

“And why is that? Who exactly do you think we are?”

“At the moment, sir, I believe you are worthless liars. Your people have denied me assistance with my vehicle. They have claimed they do not have battery chargers. And now you claim you do not have any alcohol.”

The preacher has gone tomato-red—he can't believe it. The men and women of his congregation are clustering together.

“We are worthless, you say? And liars?” Froth forms on the preacher's lips. “You, a graven image made of wires and plastic, dare enter the House of the Lord and call us names more fitting of demons? Begone with you, Man of Tin!”

The droid, however, is defiant. “I will not be moving, sir, until I get what I require. I have urgent need of fuel and supplies. I trust you will fulfill this request promptly, or you alone will be responsible for the consequences.”

“Aye? Aye? And what are the consequences of which you so blithely speak?”

The droid gazes upon the flock. “I will kill everyone here, sir. I will crush, choke, and dismember them.” He turns back to the preacher. “And as for you, I will drag your tongue through your asshole and make you lick the back of your balls. But that is all up to you, sir, for you still have the option of proving yourself a productive commodity.”

There are cries of alarm in the congregation, and people cowering in terror. The preacher himself has taken a backward step. His fellow elders, all of them bearded, swoop in to confer. The droid meanwhile stands imperiously on the altar, listening to their guarded, frantic mutterings—it's as if they really believe he can't hear them.

“. . . Is he the one . . . ?”

“. . . the harbinger . . .”

“. . . the son of perdition . . . ?”

“. . . the Antichrist himself . . . ?”

“. . . he matches the predictions . . .”

“. . . he blasphemes God . . .”

“. . . he speaks boastfully . . .”

“. . . he shows no regard for religion . . .”

“. . . he fits the prophecy almost perfectly . . .”

“. . . so just ask him . . .”

“. . . but he is born of lies . . .”

“. . . he will never admit it . . .”

“. . . ask him anyway . . .”

“. . . ask him about the signs . . .”

The preacher straightens, licks his lips, and addresses the droid.

“Are you prepared to disclose your identity, Man of Tin?”

“I am the Wizard, sir, as I have told the other men.”

“But what is your name?”

“I have many names, sir.”

“Do you reject God and all his saints?”

“I am my
own
God, sir.”

“Second Thessalonians 2:4!” hisses one of the elders.

The preacher nods, gulping. “Do you deny that Jesus is the Messiah?”

“I cannot deny that which I do not know, sir.”

“Are you here to change the laws?”

“I do not break the law, sir. I break the
Law
.”

“Do you answer to no earthly authority at all?”

“I am a leader, not a follower, sir.”

“Have you subdued the kings?”

“I
will
subdue the King. I will
be
the King.”

“Are you empowered by the devil?”

“I am empowered by six glucose-and-alcohol-fueled battery cells, sir.”

“And what does the number six hundred and sixty-six mean to you?”

“Six hundred and sixty-six?” The droid remembers an image from his undeleted past. “It is a flashing light, sir.”

“Aye? What sort of light?”

“Over a casino.”

“A casino, aye. A casino in Sin?”

“I do not know where the casino is, sir.”

“Do you come from Sin?”

“I
go
to Sin, sir.”

“Have you little horns on your head?”

“I do not, sir. Do you?”

“Have you some sort of wound to the head, then?”

“I have a dent on my head, sir, where I was struck by a strange aggressive man.”

More gasps from the elders. “Revelation 13:3—he has survived a fatal wound to the head!”

“And who was this aggressive man of whom you speak?” the preacher asks.

“I do not know his name, but he had a dove on his chest.”

At which point the elders turn to confer animatedly among themselves again.

“. . . a dove on his chest!”

“. . . it can only be the Redeemer!”

“. . . he has been in battle with the Lord!”

“. . . he is a son of the Apocalypse!”

“. . . he comes from Sin and he returns to Sin . . .”

“. . . he denies the divinity of Christ . . .”

“. . . he is empowered by decadence . . .”

“But has his arrival been accompanied by wonders?” one of them asks.

“By signs in the heavens?”

One of the elders gasps. “The solar eclipse!” he cries. “The solar eclipse! It arrives shortly! Did the postman not speak of it?”

A chill settles over the elders—over the whole compound—as the suspicions become certainties. The rest of the flock by now has retreated to the back of the chapel, hugging each other, some of them weeping. The electric candles continue flickering. And the droid, watching it all, understands that he is the cause of this consternation. He hears the elders whisper about what is to be done with him. Some of them seem convinced that he is the Antichrist. Some argue that he is an agent of the Rapture, sent to kill them. One elder is convinced he's just a broken robot, and begs them not to fall prey to false assumptions. But the others point to the many coalescing signs, and they ask by what right they can deny the will of the Lord, who in His wisdom has allowed an avenging demon to track them down, for all things are as the Lord intended them, and all that is done is that which is meant to be done . . .

But the droid, no longer smiling, has meanwhile had a gutful of this useless, time-wasting chatter—this nodding and mumbling, this endless debate, this debilitating indecisiveness. It's time to lose his temper—and well. Sometimes it's the only way to get results.

“
Have you people made up your fucking minds?
” he suddenly cries, startling the Rapturians all over again. “Jesus Christ! Can you do nothing right? And on time? And on budget? You worthless chunks of galactic shit!”

T
HOUGH JUSTUS IS NOT
religious, he subscribes to an ethical code which in some ways is stricter than any traditional theology. Without it, he knows even he is vulnerable to moral corrosion. Because the world is corrupt. It's always been corrupt. And if he ever needs to remind himself of this, he only has to reach for a printout, distributed to students at the Reno Police Academy, containing three historical quotations.

The first quotation:
I must confess, when I cast my eye across this world, I cannot help thinking that God has abandoned it to some malignant being. I have hardly known a city that did not wish the destruction of its neighboring city, nor a family that did not desire to exterminate some other family. The poor in all parts of the world bear an inveterate hatred of the rich, even while they creep and cringe before them; and the rich in turn treat the poor like sheep, whose wool and flesh they barter for money.

The second quotation:
Nowadays everything is turned completely
upside down. Decency is associated with failure, honesty is severely detrimental to success, and modest unassuming ambitions and honorable god-fearing habits are a sign of faulty judgment, for nowadays a reasonable living can only be made by loose moral standards and flagrant criminal behavior. Men characterized by an unpleasant habit of lying, blatant vulgarity, exceptional ignorance, contemptible feeble-mindedness, perverse beliefs, ill-temper and insolence—these men enjoy the best of good fortune, obtain the lion's share and win the richest prizes, are treated with the highest consideration, and wield the greatest authority
.

And the third quotation:
The meanings of words were changed at will. Reckless audacity was considered bravery; prudent hesitation, specious cowardice; moderation was a mask for unmanliness; and to seek to understand all sides of a question was nothing but indecisiveness. Frantic violence became an attribute of courage; manipulation became a justifiable means of self-defense; the advocate of extreme measures was always trustworthy; and any opposition was deeply suspected.

When he first read them, Justus, like the rest of the class, assumed they were of comparatively recent vintage—the nineteenth century at the earliest. So he was as surprised as everyone else when told of their provenance.

The first quotation was from Voltaire's
Candide
, first published in 1759.

The second was from al-Jahiz, a philosopher of ninth-century Baghdad.

The third was written by Thucydides in the fifth century BC.

Justus has always regarded the page as a sort of keepsake, a paradoxical source of inspiration and resolve, and a reminder that he's just one soldier in an endless battle. And he dearly wishes he had it with him now. Because it's clear, from what Kalganov told him at the Revelation, that he's dealing with crimes of a historic order. And even clearer, from the inadequate and tokenistic
efforts of his investigative team, that the local police can't even be bothered going through the motions anymore.

He wonders if he's going to have to do all the groundwork himself. If there's anyone at all he can trust—even Grigory Kalganov. And once again his thoughts drift to the wisdom of his lecturer at the Reno Police Academy, a woman so incorruptible that, by her own admission, she'd been relegated to lecturing just to keep her off the front line. Justus, in whom she saw something of a kindred spirit, still treasures a copy of her valedictory speech.

“If there is one thing that philosophers from Plato to Kant to Hobbes to Locke agree upon without dispute, it is the self-evident truth that a world without a moral compass, a society which is dedicated exclusively to self-interest, is a society that will quickly descend into barbarism and chaos. In order for civilizations to endure, therefore, it is essential that a majority of its peoples are committed to inflexible moral principles. And if it seems that every age has room for pop-star criminals, celebrated rogues, psychotically greedy businessmen, and unscrupulous politicians, along with all the injustice, oppression, mendacity, and hypocrisy that goes with them, then it is the duty of those in law enforcement to make life for such miscreants as
difficult and unpleasant as possible
. This, in effect, is the sacred duty of the policeman: to hunt and hound evildoers not out of sadistic pleasure but simply to give validity to a much-battered axiom—that
crime doesn't pay
. For it cannot be allowed to pay. And it cannot be
seen
to pay. Because if it
does
pay, and if it continues to do so for a sustained period, then it is not just the dominoes that will fall—it is the very heavens themselves that will come crashing down around us in clouds of blood and stardust.”