Chapter 2.
Miriam Godwinson looked out the window at the harbor of New Jerusalem. The strangers' great skimship dwarfed the boats of her people. But more important than its size was its speed. Her people's boats had to hug the coast and always be ready to race for the shore should one of those sea monsters known as isles of the deep appear. This skimship could easily outrun those horrors and thus could travel freely on the high seas.
The dock at which the skimship was moored was filled with Miriam's citizens. As soon as they had arrived, the strangers began selling tickets for a tour of their vessel. It was odd and significant behavior.
Brother Jenkins spoke to Miriam. "These worldly strangers will corrupt our people," he said. "Though some at least profess a belief in God, they are all sinful philistines. The leader of their delegation, the so-called merchant-ambassador Nwabudike Morgan, seems particularly debauched."
"Nwabudike Morgan. He was the stowaway on the Unity. He struck me as a creature of Mammon, but one with hidden depths. A formidable man, in fact. I am surprised to see him serving as a mere ambassador," said Miriam.
Jenkins said, "The newsnets speak of nothing but these strangers. This Nwabudike Morgan gave an extended interview. When he was asked whom he admired most in history, he claimed it was Oliver Cromwell. This is a mere attempt to sway us; he is not to be believed."
Miriam Godwinson mused that though Brother Jenkins was devout and loyal, he was somewhat lacking in intelligence. Perhaps the same could be said of her entire faction. Sometimes she grew weary of all the devoutness and loyalty and longed for contact with a first-rate mind.
"Of course he is not to be believed," said Miriam. "Still, don't you think his choice of a hero shows some subtlety? An average man who was trying to butter us up would have named Jesus Christ. And in the further course of the interview, he showed some real insight into Cromwell's career."
"I have the holo of their meeting with the port authorities," said Brother Jenkins. He set up the holo equipment, and they watched a while in silence.
"This is an abomination," said Brother Jenkins. "He is not married to that woman!" In the holo, Nwabudike Morgan stood holding hands with an attractive woman several decades his junior.
Miriam observed them intently. Nwabudike Morgan was a good actor, and the young woman was an even better actress, but still Miriam was sure they did not have a sexual relationship. This supposed harlot was something other than she seemed.
Miriam also observed the other merchants in the party. Despite their superficial informality, it was clear to her that they held Nwabudike Morgan in a respect bordering on awe. This would be hard to credit if he were merely an ambassador of their government out on his first mission. He must be something more, she thought.
"This crass worldliness will sorely test our people's faith," said Brother Jenkins. "They have so many things that we have not. Already some of the women of the city are imitating the costume of Morgan's whore."
"The material world is also God's creation, though we bide here but for a time," said Miriam. "Turn your studies to Luke, and let John rest a while." She thought that Brother Jenkins sometimes showed unfortunate Gnostic tendencies, and by this comment she tried to prod him toward the True Path. Not that he didn't have a point. The ways of this Plutocracy of Deineira were quite alien to their own and were a challenge to the life of faith. But still that skimship in the harbor spoke eloquently. If the Conclave of the Believers were to fall too far behind in technology, the ungodly would overrun them. The faithful would have their reward in heaven, but the Light would be extinguished from this world.
Oliver Cromwell had supposedly said, "Put your trust in God, my boys, and keep your powder dry!" His New Model Army had been the most advanced military force of its time. In order to survive on this world, the Conclave had to be strong, and that meant they could not be backward. There were other factions on this world, and the Deineirans were not the worst.
There was that ignorant trollop Deirdre Skye with her neopagan silliness. There was Yang, who if he allowed religion at all would only allow puppet religions controlled by the state. There was Lal, who wanted to replace religion with an exaltation of the brotherhood of man — a brotherhood which he would lead, of course. There was that gun nut Santiago. And finally there was the unspeakable Zakharov who despised all religion and even all people who did not display academic brilliance. In his faction, no doubt, you were either a scientist or a lab rat.
Perhaps these Deineirans could even serve as a counterbalance to a disturbing trend toward religious ostentation that Miriam had noticed among the elite of her faction. They make broad their phylacteries, she thought.
"I will see this merchant-ambassador tomorrow after morning services," said Miriam. Brother Jenkins looked disappointed but bowed in respect.
A few days later on the skimship, Lucia Graves said, "I'm certain she saw through us. Not just vaguely either. I think she knew not only that you are the one who counts on Deineira, but also what I was, and even that I haven't been at it for very long."
"I assumed she would see that much. Have you changed your assessment of the faction?" asked Morgan.
"She's more perceptive and more flexible than I expected," said Lucia, "but I could find no evidence of any other first-rate minds in her faction. I think that's why she liked you despite your apparent ideological incompatibility. She's highly intelligent, and lonely.
"But if you expected her to see through the masquerade, why did you flaunt me as your mistress?" asked Lucia. "It seems pointless."
Morgan replied, "The outer message was that we were not going to change our way of life for her any more than we expected her to change her way of life for us. That was a message even the dullards around her could understand. But the inner message to her was to highlight the gap between her and her minions who could not see through us. You are right that she is lonely. She longs for the companionship of equals."
Lucia Graves thought for a moment. They were alone, and he had ordered her to be frank in that circumstance. So she said, "You knew how she felt even before you met her. Are you also lonely for the companionship of equals?"
Morgan said, "The Plutocracy of Deineira is not as short of intelligence as the Conclave. But yes, I do get lonely sometimes."
Miriam Godwinson sat bolt upright in her bed. That dream ... so vivid. She had dreamt she was married to Nwabudike Morgan, and she had been so happy. It was utter foolishness, of course. She had her duty to her people and he had his duty to his. Their fundamental ideals were incompatible. Still, the memory of her dream happiness made her starkly aware of how much she was sacrificing. She hoped God appreciated it.
100 kilometers from the new RF locus, Morgan's skimship received a comm message in the standard Unity protocol. Academician Prokhor Zakharov himself appeared on the screen and spoke to Morgan. "I see it is our stowaway businessman," said Zakharov. "To what do I owe this visit?"
"Greetings, Academician," said Morgan. "I am now a merchant-ambassador of the Plutocracy of Deineira. We seek trade and friendly relations."
"Very well," said Zakharov. "We will see if you have anything of value to offer. One of our own ships is on the way to rendezvous with you. I'm afraid you'll have to let us board you and search your vessel."
"A sensible precaution," said Morgan. "I look forward to renewing our acquaintance."
After Zakharov signed off, Morgan said to Lucia, "Your Russian is fluent, I understand."
Lucia said, "Yes. I still speak it with my mother, and I studied Russian literature in school."
"My own grammar is atrocious, and I choke on some of the consonant clusters," said Morgan. "Still, I understand it well enough. But as far as Zakharov and his faction are concerned, we don't speak a word."
"Understood," said Lucia.
Morgan asked Zakharov about his faction's experience with the mind worms.
"The worms gave us a little trouble at first, but no one was killed," said Zakharov. "No scholars, at any rate. We lost a few hundred nekulturnyi on the perimeter, but we were able to compensate for the loss with our advances in robotics."
"What are these nee-kultoornee?" asked Morgan, apparently stumbling over the unfamiliar word.
"They are dropouts, riffraff, the un-degreed. People of no importance," Zakharov explained.
Zakharov continued. "Your faction is relatively primitive and of little interest to us. Your scholarship cannot hope to match our own. However, you could save us the trouble of manufacturing basic items so that we can concentrate on more important matters. Thus you may tell your masters in this Plutocracy of Deineira that some trade is feasible."
A few days later, on the skimship headed back to Deineira, Lucia told Morgan, "I never thought it would be that bad. I liked school. But Zakharov is insufferably arrogant, and what he has created is monstrous. In Deineira, even poor people have some vote, and they can choose what they do with their lives. In Zakharov's faction, you need a PhD to have any vote at all, and anyone below that level who is not a student has to work at whatever the academic council assigns for whatever wages the academic council determines. Even Yang's faction might turn out to be less oppressive."
Morgan asked, "How far do you think he can be trusted?"
"Not far at all. He does not respect our scholarship, so he doesn't extend his so-called academic integrity to us. I am sure he was lying when he claimed he had not contacted any other factions."
"I concur," said Morgan. "What is your opinion of his technological strength?"
"I have to admit I'm impressed. He seems to have been advancing at roughly twice our pace. The gap between us will only widen over the next few years."
Morgan observed, "He has many intriguing gadgets, but I noticed that they are mostly prototypes, and I think he has trouble in turning them into production items." Then he asked, "How do you assess the stability of Zakharov's system?"
"There are some stabilizing factors which make a revolt in the near future unlikely," said Lucia. "One is that the population as a whole has bought into Zakharov's ideology of academic success being the only true measure of human worth. The dropouts believe they deserve their degradation. Another factor is that a de facto caste system has arisen where each caste looks down upon the ones below it. Their citizens are ranked as follows: at the top are the academy members, then the ordinary PhDs, then the grad students, then undergrads, then grad-school dropouts, then undergrad dropouts, and finally, considered practically subhuman by all the others and amounting to a quarter of the population, those who did not make it through their demanding high-school curriculum.
"But over time, exposure to us is sure to subvert their system. The lower classes will see in us a society where it is possible to be a self-made person and achieve success and respect in many ways. Then they will reject the academic ideology altogether. The open question is whether Zakharov sees the danger."
"For all their academic brilliance, Zakharov and his faction know nothing of human nature," said Morgan.
"They do have departments of psychology and sociology in their university," said Lucia.
"Then I correct myself," said Morgan. "They know less than nothing."