Like everything else, Christmas was a lot of work.
Vicki had to admit that she didn't mind it one bit: even with trying to transition Children of the Tribulation from an orphanage, to a boarding school, to a full-fledged Academy, it was heartwarming like few other things could be to know that the postcards that the first and second graders were writing to Baby Jesus would be read, or at least seen, by adult Jesus Himself.
She quietly walked along the rows of wooden desks, correcting the occasional spelling mistake; all the children were aware of the privilege of completing their tasks, and took it as seriously as as three dozen kids aged 5 to 8 can be realistically expected to, which to Vicki's contented surprise, was actually quite a lot.
Maybe, this time next year, if everything worked well, she would even be able to take the trip to the Temple and deliver them in person! For now, all she had to do was sign off on an ornate wooden box (months of effort by Lionel's shop class students) addressed in impeccable calligraphy to
ATTN: JESUS CHRIST
BLDG: HOLY OF HOLIES
LOC: GROUND MINUS-ONE
POSTCODE: 65535
This was the fourth year of the tradition, and the first year in which things actually got done properly and the cards were sent out so that they'd get to the Holy Land by Christmas. Vicki simply hoped that He would appreciate it; goods had a harder time getting there than people. "We're trying our best, Lord. And we thank you for the opportunity."
Two rooms away, Judd and Chaim were discussing logistics for the new year, having decided to let Vicki relax and do what she really wanted to do - be a schoolteacher - before she was called to make the final decision.
"Yes, I know we still have three years of rapture gap for the high school, but at this point there are enough precocious or late students that we'll have to at least generate curricula for those grades. Whether we can afford it or not is a moot point, we need them in case the Academic Senate wants to see them! You know they'll ask."
"How have the other Academies handled it?"
"Haphazardly. Pre-Event lesson plans with a bit of editing. They're mostly shunting kids into AP classes with college-freshman-level students, or holding them back a grade. Thing is, they can afford to be sloppy, whereas we cannot. Despite my best efforts to reassure my colleagues, Judd, the Academic Senate doesn't want an Academy associated with any one faith. They won't reject us outright, since it'd open a can of worms, but they will latch onto any excuse for doing so within the existing framework."
Finding land that a commonwealth was willing to cede to the new Academy had been surprisingly easy: Judd's biggest worry had sorted itself out with Chaim making a phone call to President Mallory, who in turn called the governor of the Heartland territory, who in turn called the mayor of Chicago, and a few days later the current footprint of Children of the Tribulation was ready to become, for most intents and purposes, its own tiny nation-state. Judd didn't particularly like relying on this sort of good-ol-boy-network solution, but given that the land grant had come with several blocks of unclaimed land going from COT's current location to the original site of New Hope Village Church, it took him a dozen heartbeats and a quick prayer of thanks to realize that it was a huge gift horse to try and look in the mouth of.
"At least we sorted things out with Parks and Rec. That was really the only remaining paperwork hurdle."
The believers living in the area had been extremely happy to move once the project was greenlit, and the few unbelievers that had moved into the largely residential area were handled by Shelly and Conrad, who had essentially made the relevant deals with local construction companies and promised to do the relocation work for free. A few years into what Judd was still happy to call the Millennial Kingdom, it was no longer possible to just move into a home left empty by the Tribulation, nature having done its reclamation work to the point where it wouldn't be efficient to do that in most cases, but there was still plenty of formerly prime real estate available. The new campus would border the Mount Prospect park district and contribute to its maintenance, with the Academy's public-facing buildings reachable from that direction. Despite being without Chloe's talent for logistics, the "academic conspiracy" as Chaim had called it had done well in navigating the real estate and paperwork issues.
Much like a few years before, the real obstacle was accreditation; in this case, that meant peer acceptance from the existing Academies.
"The good thing is that I've got a bit of political capital to spend. Everyone wants to just get on board with the whole 'hyperphysics' model, and I'm getting some recognition for having been one of the first to identify parts of it. The main issue is still Prokhor Zakharov."
"I thought he wasn't an Academician anymore."
"He lost the Russian elections, so he was offered his post at Chernogolovka Academy back. Which means that we have to put in our bid quickly, by the end of the year at the latest, because he will make trouble for us. He's already started to push for going beyond the hyperphysics 'compromise' as he calls it, and return to a unified standard model."
"I don't get it. Why can't people just... accept miracles? They never really went away."
Chaim smiled at the young man; while Judd had little inclination for the sciences, the botanist considered him easily the equal of his scholarly pupils - his direct approach was a welcome change of pace from the intricacies of scholarly society in the Millennium.
"Because that's the problem with miracles, or magic as the unbelievers call it... they're not reliable! God may see fit to hold up a bridge during a storm so that nobody dies from it, but you'd still have to go back the next day and call in the civil engineers to fix it up. Scientists and engineers like patterns. They want a stable foundation to build from, again. So naturally they've been scrambling for one that works regardless of where you are or what you believe."
"But doesn't that just go to show? We are building upon a rock, while they build on sand."
"And, to stay in metaphor, that's why they want to reinvent concrete. The main reason why I want to build a Christian Academy is specifically to show that to the world in a way that even the most hardened empiricist cannot deny. People like Doctor Zakharov are... well, I would not say scared personally, not after the stunt he pulled, but frightened about the possibility that the universe is only intelligible to God's mind, and not to ours."
And that, of course, was the other eight-hundred-pound gorilla. Zakharov's first act upon returning to full-time research work had been to schedule, and quickly obtain thanks to his credentials as an Academician, a visit to the Third Temple. CATS had no authority to censor anything, but the audience's transcripts that had showed up online had been quickly surrounded by edited and entirely made-up versions, so that the small but influent community of people who cared about such things had no way to tell what had and what had not happened. Dr. Zakharov himself had quietly announced that he would make his own version of the story available as part of a paper he intended to publish, which would therefore have to wait until peer review.
Fortunately, one of the peers had contacted Chaim privately, to offer a preview. While the botanist would not dream of disrupting the publication process, he had immediately decided to share it with COT's co-principals, if nothing else to bolster their spirits.
Vicki entered the room with a theatrical sigh and flop on one of the armchairs. "Ah, the joys of wrangling children..."
After a good natured laugh from Chaim and a hug from her husband, she was quickly brought to speed on Chaim's goodwill trip while making a few corrections to Judd's work on the paperwork angle.
"This stuff is all going wait until after New Year's anyway, that's bureaucrats for you. Come on, we want to hear the story!" Judd said eventually.
"Shouldn't we wait for Rayford?"
"Well... no. I'd rather tell you the story, and I'll share it with Rayford at a better time and place. We've known each other for longer, you understand, and I don't think he's in a good enough place for this sort of thing right now."
The airship captain had recently finished paying for the Perdix, and had recently found that accomplishing such a large life goal had brought with it tiredness and longing after the initial elation; the lack of a clear next goal, combined with the holidays, had reawakened Captain Steele's despondency about his wife and daughter still being gone. After it had been all but promised that the Tribulation martyrs would return during the Millennial Kingdom, it was a tough pill to swallow, and other than a brief planned appearance at the solemn Christmas service in a few days, the captain had decided to more or less hand Kenny over to COT for the holiday season, and skip it himself.
Judd and Vicki nodded. "Is he going to be okay? We'll still see him at church, right?"
"I think so. I'll go see him after we're done here. Just... I don't know if he wants to be around younger folks right now, he's worried about being a downer."
"In that case, tell him that his assignment is to also write a postcard to Jesus, and we won't ship the box out until he does, indeed we won't!"
Chaim smiled. That might actually help.
"Anyway! So, after losing the HAMMER elections for Premier, Dr. Zakharov pretty much stepped back into his old office. No big news there. I don't know if the Temple visit was already planned or if it happened because he lost - honestly I'm mostly happy to see a Russian election happen without drama, Prokhor did well in the cities but lost by three million votes and conceded before the electoral college certified it, imagine that happening in post-Soviet times - but he treated it as if was a trip to Antarctica or something. So he taught himself Hebrew, we even exchanged e-mails a few times about it, and lip-reading, and then had CATS pick him and a crate of lab equipment up from Chernogolovka to go to the Holy Land..."
"Wait, he emailed you? I thought you guys were going to be arch-enemies or something. At least that's the way he makes it sound."
"Oh, you know me. I'm happy to see someone learn, and I have to say, he did put in the effort to be a humble student of linguistics. In private, anyway. We're definitely not friends, but that's the thing with professors, if you are anything less than courteous, you give ammunition to your rivals. So... lots of passive aggressive behavior, really. Anyway, imagine Academician Prokhor Zakharov show up at the Temple dressed like a Ghostbuster, literally with a cart full of equipment in tow, and ask for an audience!"
"How did that turn out?"
"About as well as you'd expect. The Levites there were not amused. In the end, CATS took the equipment and made sure it was set up outside of the Temple proper, which apparently was good enough for some things. Then, Zakharov entered. Of course he was on his best behavior."
Everyone who cared knew that nobody left an audience with the Savior in the same state of mind that they'd walked in with. Without a Word, Jesus could look into the innermost self of a supplicant - and of those who came in without any intention to supplicate - and make them truly reflect upon it.
"Kind people might find out that they are cruel. Brave men discover that they are really cowards! Confronted by their true selves, most men run away screaming!" Chaim continued in his best Engywook impression.
There had been instances of instant conversions, fatal heart attacks, people going amok and trying to batter down the steel walls of the Holy of Holies with their bare fists.
"So... what happened?"
"They... talked, after a fashion. As you can imagine, Dr. Zakharov came in convinced that he'd do most of the talking, and true to his nature, he did. And then... Jesus answered. Just a few words, for all we know. Dr. Zakharov read His lips. And answered!"
That was definitely new. Granted, all they had was a second hand account of what the Temple personnel reported - believers and non had agreed that what was said by Jesus to someone was at least as sacred as a conversation between patient and doctor, or attorney and client, and would be kept private - but it was a rare nonbeliever that would actually hold up a conversation.
"And they went back and forth, five times. I do believe that's a record. And Dr. Zakharov left with a grin. The only thing he said is that he was looking forward to analyzing the telemetry data, and that he and Jesus had reached an understanding."
"What a conceited man!"
"That's... every bit the picture of the arrogant scientist I was worried we'd get, Chaim. So what's the good news?"
"The good news is that after getting back from the Holy Land, he's basically left his second, Dr. Petrov, running the Academy. No symposia, no lectures... He's been holed up in his lab analyzing his findings ever since, or so I hear from my contact in Chernogolovka. Whatever they talked about, it was enough to make him drop everything else."
"Maybe he wants to convert!"
"Dr. Zakharov is an extremely methodical man, and wouldn't even go to the restroom without planning it out. So, I wouldn't go that far, but I think... maybe we can hope. Even if he was to abstain about our application to the Senate, well, it would be enough to let people decide about us on our merits. Which is its own kettle of fish: on one hand, we can't begin some work until we have Academy status, on the other, we need to show that we are building a world-class facility to receive it..."
"In that case what are we waiting for!"
"The new year, I should think. Let's have a thankful Christmas with the students and faculty we do have, before we get back to work."
As Judd and Chaim shook hands, Vicki wondered what had transpired between her Savior and the man who, as the world turned, had proven to be the main obstacle to the great goal. Her portable terminal beeped with a new e-mail.
"Dear Mrs. Byrne, I will be delighted to deliver your care package to Ground Minus One personally, any time in the next 36 hours. Summon me at your convenience. Yours, A. E. Pessimal."
The Christmas Eve service was a large, pomp-and-circumstance affair that took the better part of the evening, starting with the play put up by COT students and segueing into traditional worship.
For the occasion, the divider wall between COT's great hall and its chapel was removed; the better part of two thousand people filled the auditorium.
Naomi had volunteered to coordinate the ushers, which worked out for her remarkably well, since she could get out of any singing that way; the job was made more interesting by the fact that COT's midnight service attracted people who otherwise had a church home elsewhere, or didn't much care to go to church, just as many might have before the Tribulation.
Just a few minutes before the play, she was dealing with such a family. In the specific, what she guessed was the eldest daughter of a visiting family was causing some problems to a fellow usher, so she made her way to that door.
The family's eldest daughter was wearing makeup intended to accentuate age, since she could not possibly have been in her late teens due to the Rapture gap; Naomi pondered that this was one thing that would've been unimaginable in the previous dispensation, then remembered about another bygone institution, the drinking age.
"This is a traditional service: all are welcome, but only in appropriate formal attire. No visible piercings or body mods, except on ears by women" had said the flier, which the usher was helpfully pointing at. While the young lady who perplexed the other usher was dressed appropriately, if a bit too monochromatically black, her pointed ears were visibly sticking sideways out of her dark mane. Naomi didn't even bother sighing.
"See, I told you they wouldn't let me in! I didn't even want to come!"
"Young lady, you are under our roof ad you will come to church at least for Christmas!"
"Sorry ma'am, I can't..."
"Told ya! It looks silly anyway." "Shut up! Well you know what? Now I actually want to! That's my little cousin playing one of the three wise men!"
Naomi interrupted what had degenerated into an instant family quarrel. "Well, the flyer as written says that body mods on ears by women are okay. No Oxford comma there."
The dad backed her up. "Actually... is technically correct, and like I always say, that's the best kind of correct."
Naomi put on a passable imitation of Vicki's best stern schoolteacher expression, and took off her hairband, releasing her hair from the bun she'd bundled them in. "Here, will you let me - Here we go. Just don't, uhm, headbang I guess."
The daughter's hair had been held up just so by the hairband, keeping the points of her ears covered and pulled back.
"Uh... Thank you. I know this means a lot for my family. That's why I decided to come."
"Maybe you should listen to them."