The purity plot, p.8
The Purity Plot, page 8
"I don't think so."
"There's so much you have to catch up on. I wish we'd known each other longer."
Pias smiled wanly. "The feeling's mutual."
Yvette returned the smile. "That wasn't exactly what I was thinking of, but it is a nice thought. Back to the subject. On Ansegria, Jules and I encountered a robot that had been fashioned to look exactly like a human being. It was immensely strong, incredibly-fast and virtually undetectable except with special instruments. A stun-gun would have no effect on it, because it doesn't have a nervous system; you need something a little more definite, like a blaster. Vonnie actually destroyed the one on Ansegria by electrocuting it."
Pias nodded slowly. "So that's what we're up against"
"It has to be. We learned a little while later that there were at least three other humanoid robots created at the same time, each with its own specific mission-"
"Now I remember your saying something about that. Jules just destroyed one a little while ago at Edna's wedding, didn't he?"
Yvette nodded. "Yes, the one that had been fashioned to look like Lady Bloodstar. Which leaves at least two to go. We know a couple of additional facts: one is male and the other female; and both of the ones we know about were constructed to look like natives of heavy-gravity worlds like DesPlaines or Purity."
"Or Newforest," Pias said quietly. Yvette's eyes widened. "Your brother!"
Pias Bavol was the eldest child of the Duke of Newforest. As such, he had the title of marquis and the right to inherit the planet after his father's death. But his younger brother Tas, through chicanery, had gotten him banished from Newforest on charges that he was deserting his people. And Pias, because his work for SOTE was top secret, could not defend himself from those charges. His dying father had disowned him, cutting him off from all inheritance as though he had never existed. Though Pias normally affected a cheerful mien, Yvette knew that the wounds from his banishment went quite deep.
"I really don't know," Pias replied softly. "The real ' Tas was certainly nasty enough to do all that without any outside interference. I don't want to point the finger of suspicion without stronger evidence to go on, or it would merely look like sour grapes. We can't be positive Tas is the male robot-but we sure as hell know where the female is, don't we?"
Yvette nodded. The subject of his brother and his birthright was obviously not one that Pias wanted to discuss right now, so she was just as willing to change the topic. "That explains how Tresa Clunard was able to bend that metal bar. She's a robot passing off her superhuman strength as 'miracles'. And it means something else too." Her expression darkened. "It confirms the Head's worst suspicions about the use of this Army of the Just. The robots seem to be a major weapon in Lady A's arsenal, and she doesn't deploy them arbitrarily. She must have some future plans for this private army, important ones. We'll have to notify the Head about this development immediately."
"Does that mean SOTE will step in officially to crush this threat?"
"I don't think so. You have to remember there are something like twenty or thirty planets within the Empire that were founded exclusively as religious retreats: Purity, Delf, Anares, Shambalah, Arborea and so on. If the Emperor acts officially in a manner that looks like he's quashing religious freedom-even though the motivations are entirely different-the repercussions. could be enormous. Lady A and her gang were quite clever to cloak this force under the guise of religious zeal. Even if we had incontrovertible evidence that this was a nonsectarian plot to overthrow the Emperor, I know the Head well enough to know he would prefer surreptitious action. It's still up to us to break up this army from the inside, so they could never accuse the Empire of interfering."
"That might not be too difficult. The entire structure is built around the charisma of Tresa Clunard. Without her; there would be nothing. She preaches against sin, against evil, against machines! There's the ultimate irony, she's a machine herself! If we can expose her as one, her followers would be so disenchanted that the army would break up of its own accord."
"Getting the proof to satisfy them won't be easy. They're true believers remember; that sort is hard to sway from an opinion once they get one into their heads. We'd practically have to break the robot apart and pull out all the gears before they'd believe us."
"Then that's what we'll do." Pias had a grim smile on his face. The robot had scared him so badly tonight that the thought of pulling it to pieces in front of its admirers was positively enthralling.
They got a little rest, and then the next morning Yvette composed a coded note to the Head, explaining their theories. She and Pias did not have a subcom unit with them for direct personal communication. But a letter addressed personally to the Head, with a Class Six priority and the code signature Periwinkle, delivered to the local SOTE office would get to its destination within, at most, three days time. As an afterthought, she added her own suspicions that Tas Bavol might be one of Lady A's robots. She requested that the Head order the Newforest office of SOTE to make some discreet checks to determine whether or not that was so. After all, Pias might want to forget the matter, but Yvette could not forget. The man she loved had been deeply hurt, and Yvette made a solemn vow that sooner or later Tas Bavol would pay for that.
Their plans for exposing Tresa Clunard as a robot were more easily made than executed. To have the proper effect, the exposure had to be made publicly; yet the counselor was so popular that Pias and Yvette knew it must be done carefully, or they would be torn apart by an angry mob before they had a chance to explain.
They became regular attendees of Clunard's exhortations, following the counselor around to the various cities and villages all over Purity. But their abortive raid on her headquarters had tipped their hand; the opposition now knew that the agents were out there somewhere, and Clunard's forces had started taking elaborate security precautions. Whenever Tresa Clunard appeared in public, she was surrounded by a squadron of guards. The guards were inconspicuous unless one knew what to look for, but Pias and Yvette could spot them a kilometer away. In private the cordon around her was even tighter. Security had been beefed up, too, throughout her administrative offices.
After more than a week of frustration, Pias was ready to give up this line of offense. "It's not impossible to destroy her," he sighed. "But unless it's done absolutely right, it won't have the effect we want probably just the opposite effect, as a matter of fact. She'd come out looking like some kind of martyr. I think a change of strategy is called for."
"Oh?" Yvette raised an eyebrow. "And have you finally devised this vaunted plan you keep promising?" "As a matter of fact," her husband replied, "I have. It's a way to achieve our own ends and, at the same time, bring a little cheer to the lives of these poor benighted Puritans."
"They don't want cheer, they want salvation." "They want both, if only they knew it, and I can give it to them. What's the primary form of entertainment on Purity?"
"There isn't any," Yvette said. "They don't allow sensables, trivision, radio, theater, sporting events, music. Those things are all too decadent, and take one's mind off the serious business of achieving salvation. Even the circus has never been allowed here, and we're the most innocent entertainment in the Empire."
"You're right that they ban a lot of things, but you're dead wrong if you think they don't have entertainment. What do you think Tresa Clunard provides? How about all the other minor-league exhorters who swarm around the countryside like locusts? Haven't you felt the emotional intensity at Clunard's shows?"
"Now that you mention it, yes, there is a great element of theatricality to what she does."
"Of course there is. All people need some cathartic outlet for pent-up feelings or they'll go mad. The more restrictive a society, the stronger that need is. The only socially acceptable way of expressing anything on Purity is through religion, so that's the form their catharsis takes. People come in droves to attend a show and have some well-spoken showman tell them how sinful they've been lately. They eat it up."
"I haven't noticed you being pure enough to set -a good example," Yvette kidded. "You'd have a hard time fitting into the mold they want."
"All it takes is wit, charm and good looks. All of which you must admit I possess in overabundance." "You left out modesty."
"When you have all the talents I have, you don't need modesty. But seriously, I don't intend to fit into their common mold, because I don't want to just blend in. I want to come in with a message directly counter to what Clunard is pushing-that people can still be holy while accepting modern conveniences. As long as I keep mentioning God and sin, I'll be socially acceptable. But if I can make any serious dent in Clunard's audiences, she'll consider us a threat, and come after us. That may give us the opportunity to make our move."
Yvette nodded slowly. She knew from her fighting training that when an opponent reached out to strike a blow, he usually left an opening that the clever fighter could utilize-if the blow could be blocked first. "It might work," she admitted. "But first you have to become such a whirlwind preacher that you represent some danger to her movement."
"Just watch. I am going to become the most astonishing preacher this sorry old planet has ever seen."
He set about his plan by breaking most of the rules Purity's counselors lived by. Spurning the traditional brown or gray robes, he had local tailors shaking their heads in bewilderment at the outfit he requested. The shirt and trousers were of nal's wool, and were pure, dazzling white, as were the knee-high, suede boots for his feet. His belt would be of thin, hammered silver, and over this ensemble, open down the front, would be a shiny, white caftan with a train trailing a meter and a half behind him. When he was on the stage, he wanted his audience star struck.
Traditionally, counselors did little to advertise their exhortations; a small box in the local newsroll listing the name of the speaker, the time, and the place, plus a sign outside the meeting hall for several days before the event was considered adequate. Pias, however, saw no reason to hide himself behind a curtain of hypocritical modesty, so he insisted on running full-page ads in the newsrolls for a week before he made an appearance; he had handbills printed up and posted on every available wall. He had flyers mailed to every home in the district where he would be speaking. If there had been radio or trivision available he would have advertised there as well. He toyed with the idea of staging parades, but Yvette, thinking that would be much too outre for Puritan audiences, talked him out of it.
He started his tour in the smaller towns, planning to build a reputation there that would carry him into the cities on a wave of popularity. The rural communities were also an easier target, because so little ever happened there that anything out of the ordinary was bound to stir up a great deal of attention.
The townsfolk did not know what to make of Cromwell Hanrahan, the previously unheralded preacher with the cocky manner and the bold new presentation. There were many who considered him shocking, saying that a counselor, above all his fellows, should be modest and humble in God's sight; if he didn't set the example of the pure, simple life, then who would? There were others who, though they would never have admitted it aloud, were secretly titillated that someone had come along and dared be as open and flashy as they wished they could be. There were even some people who fit into both categories at once. But whatever their thoughts were about this strange new counselor, the fact was that they flocked to his exhortations in record numbers.
Pias did not disappoint them. He strode out onto the stage with a brash confidence that reminded Yvette of her several-times-removed cousin Henri d'Alembert, the circus's chief barker. Pias's voice boomed out across the hall as he spoke, and he used his hands to increase the dramatic effect, with gesticulations that emphasized his meaning.
"Brothers and sisters," he began, "we all love God. I can see by your faces as I look out over this audience that you're all good people, concerned with the salvation of your souls. But you've become so proud of your own righteousness that you're turning your backs on God's handiwork, throwing away the gifts that God intended you to have. I tell you, brothers and sisters, the Lord looks with disfavor on a man who spurns what his God has freely offered."
At this point, Pias could tell that his audience was stunned into silence. They were used to counselors exhorting them to give more of themselves to God; no one ever spoke of God giving anything to them. Their curiosity would only make them more receptive.
"How often do we hear of the blessedness of giving? How often are we reminded that we must give to others to make ourselves more worthy of Divine Grace? The holy books of every religion tell us the same thing: that to give freely and openly of our own riches to those less fortunate than ourselves is to practice the highest form of nobility. The blessed Saint Paul himself ranked charity above even hope and faith. Is that not true?"
There was a slight murmer through the crowd now. They could scarcely deny that point, but they still did not see where Pias's speech would, lead them.
"Surely if that is true, then it must be a sin to deny a person the chance to exercise his charity. If someone better off than yourself offers you a gift of his own free will, then to repel his offer is to deny him the Divine Grace his action would otherwise have earned him. You are jeopardizing his salvation yourself by refusing to allow him to obtain God's favor. Brothers and sisters, I submit that God alone has the right and the power to judge such matters.
"Surely then, what we have been doing is a millionfold worse. God has laden this universe with riches beyond our understanding, given it to us to use for His greater glory. The wonders of it are beyond numbering, its bounties are beyond comprehension. Yet here we sit, living our 'pure and simple life,' denying the gifts that God has freely given us. We are so wrapped up in our own righteousness that we are marching ourselves straight into hell.
"God gave us our eyes, so that we might see the beauty of nature He has created all about us. God gave us our ears, so that we might hear the sweet harmony of all His creatures. He gave us our mouths and noses so that we might enjoy the delicious tastes and heavenly aromas He has set like a banquet before us. These are gifts beyond price that He has given to us freely, because of His love for us. Praise the Lord for His bounteous gifts."
There were a few straggling echoes of "Praise the Lord" throughout the audience, but most of the people remained in silence, as they did during Clunard's exhortations. Perhaps it was expected of them, or perhaps they were wondering whether this new preacher was a madman or a heretic. The things he was saying made sense, yet felt as though they were starting to contradict what Puritans had been taught all their lives.
Pias was not going to let them get away with so pitiful a response. "I said, praise the Lord for his bounteous gifts."
This time the crowd reaction was a little more favorable, but still not up to the standard Pias wanted to set. He had to show the crowd that he controlled it, that it must do what he commanded. "For the sake of your souls, sinners," he yelled at them, "shout it out. Make the walls shake and the ceiling shudder with the sound of your love for God. Praise the Lord!"
This time he got what he wanted. The response was not quite enough to rattle the rafters, but it was a good, healthy shout. It would get stronger over the course of the evening now that the pattern had been set.
Pias was just warming up to his topic, and he could feel the fire of his performance flowing through himself. He strode back and forth across the stage like a caged panther, swinging the train of his caftan in majestic arcs, staring down the doubts of the audience, defying anyone to deny the truth of his claims.
"But you have turned your backs on God," he bellowed. Swirling the caftan's train around his right forearm, he pointed an accusing finger and swept the arm to encompass his entire audience. "You have said, 'To deny my eyes a look at His beauty is holy.' You have said, 'To deny my ears the pleasure of His music is blessed.' You have said, 'To deny my senses the tastes and smells that God intended for them is the highest form of worship.' In doing so, you reject all the gifts God has lain before us. You reject God Himself, for is not God in all the wonders that He has created? Oh you sinners, fear for your souls, for you have denied the gifts of God!"
One woman cried out in anguish, and Pias knew he had the audience where he wanted it. He was getting into more familiar territory now as far as they were concerned, and they could accept more of what he said. There is nothing a Puritan loves quite so much as to be berated for how sinful he is. He regards such a purging of his soul the way a more hedonistic man might view a soothing bath; it allows him to emerge afterward feeling cleaner, more refreshed.
Pias continued to pound his theme home. "God gave us our hands, the most marvelous tools in the universe. He gave them to us that we might use them to build, to create as He created, so that we might truly be in His image. He intended us to make order out of chaos, to the greater glory of His name.
"But what do you do with these divine hands that He gave you? You hoard them and their talents, like the wicked and slothful servant of the parable. You till the land for survival, fashion the simplest tools and the plainest buildings, and think that thereby you are fulfilling your obligation to God. Instead, you false thinkers, you are cheating God of the glory that is His due. I say woe unto you, and fear the imminent wrath of God! For, as with that unprofitable servant of the parable, you will be cast into outer darkness, and there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth!"
There were wails of woe from the audience, and Pias paused to let them run their course before he continued. "God's greatest gift of all is our minds. He gave us these magnificent instruments to explore the puzzles He has put before us. And each new secret we discover about the universe only makes us appreciate the miracles of God still further. But you, you righteous sinners, you turn away from the miracles of science, the miracles which God gave man the ability to find. There are those who say that technology is evil, that because it eases the burden of our existence it must therefore be wrong. But I say that technology is a blessing that God has given us so that we may marvel even more at the wonders He has created. Did He not give us the brains with which to create machines? Are we to spurn His gift of intellect, to live our lives in misery and ignorance, like the animals above which we were obviously set? I say that to do so is to insult God, to reject His gifts, to cast aside His love. I say that to continue as we are is the worst sin imaginable, and we all deserve our damnation for eternity in the fiery, everburning pits of hell."
