VISUAL EFFECTS / CH. 18:ABOUT SOCIETY
CELESTIA, SATURSOL 19TH JUL
“Do you really think I'm better off without Ralph?” Cecilia Thornthwaite asked Evangeline.
“Better off materially, emotionally, psychologically, physically, spiritually, or socially?” Evangeline asked in reply.
“Urm, what about overall?”
“Cecilia, You surely know what the answer is to most of those things, don't you? If your background had been better, do you think your mum would have been telling you to go after him, or stay away?”
“Stay away, 'course.”
“So where does that put you? Other than not in hospital?”
“Misery city,” Cecilia said, sadly. But she wasn't shutting down, which Evangeline counted as progress.
“Next question. Would you be coming to Mars anyway?”
“It was my dream, yeah. New life, new chances, but I'd have never afforded it.”
“You could have come as a social case, couldn't you?”
“I guess so. Oh. I've got a big question about that.”
“Go ahead,” Evangeline said.
“The Council gives claims out. Mars Corp let a certain number of social cases come for not much, because they have to. From what I understand, the Council and Corp aren't exactly best of friends all the time. So why does the council care about how much you pay to get to Mars?”
“Oh, right. That question.”
“You mean I'm not the first to ask?” Cecilia asked, in mock shock.
“It goes like this. You need stuff to survive on Mars. People are going to need to trade. If all someone's got is three changes of clothes, they don't have much to trade, do they? The other question is that claim size is all about risk. The first colonists, they were highly educated people taking a great big step into the unknown. That's why they got such massive claims. Early second wave, they were were still taking massive risks. By the time Dad got there, it wasn't so risky, physically, but it was still a big step-down in terms of comfort and so on. You're talking engineers and the like giving up their expectations of nice homes on Earth with dishwashers and washing machines and automatic lawn-mowers, beautiful carpets and so on, and they're probably not going to see those things on Mars before they retire, if at all. We have tech, like wrist units and the like, but domestic appliances? We'd be cooking on coal if there was any, and you could get rid of the smoke. Carpets and stuff? People make their own if they can. Apparently, we're roughly up to the development level of three centuries ago at the moment, so people are giving up a lot.”
Evangeline paused for breath and Cecilia nodded. “Now, you tell me what a real social case is giving up on? Green grass, just like everyone else, and maybe ancient versions of those things, but certainly not much choice about which one they buy. Get the difference?”
“Yeah. OK. Not a massive risk or change of lifestyle for me, is it?”
“Oh, it will be, don't worry. But you're not giving up summer holidays on exotic beaches, ski holidays, and so on. Really, what the council is doing is trying to encourage people to come. Interestingly, your old government has clearly decided that you've got qualities that mean that given the chance you're the sort of person that Mars ought to want to come. So they've given you that chance. Very nice of them.”
“My old government?”
“You're emigrating, remember?”
“Yeah. I need to pay attention to the lectures don't I?”
“You'd better. Mars is a tough place, succeeding is hard, it takes work, it takes dedication, it takes having an ability to get off your tail and take big risks. It also takes a lot of know-how. Your looks will get you a man to look after you, if that's what you're after, but not if you get yourself dead first, and no man worth having is only going to be after your looks.”
“You mean that?”
“Which bit?”
“That I won't struggle to find someone? Someone who's worth having, I mean.”
“You're what, eighteen?”
“Yeah.”
“So, you're young, new, vulnerable, OK, maybe not as vulnerable as lots your age, because of your past life, but you're going into a strange place, where you do not understand what's going on. So, there will be guys after you, if for no other reason than the fact that on Mars kids are important, a young wife potentially means lots of kids, and the girls who've grown up with them have rejected them. Assume there's a reason there, and plan on saying no to a few dozen proposals a month, maybe more, until you're settled and had your first harvest. Because unlike Earthlings, Martians are risk takers. It's been bred into us, you might say. But that doesn't mean you want to hitch up with the first guy who wants to take a risk on you.”
“So how do I spot a good one if I'm going to be a magnet for losers?”
“Step one, if they boast about how big their claim is, or ask about yours, kick them where it hurts. Almost certainly crims, and they're being indecent anyway. You do not talk about claim sizes until you're engaged or even married. Maybe not even then. Step two, don't talk claim size, but do talk crops. What are they growing this season? What are they going to grow next season. What crop rotation plan do they follow? Why is it good? If they don't know or can't give good answers, then they're losers. Step three: Where are they growing? If they're still in a big dome, they're not established, whatever they say or how ever long they've been there. If they're growing in Marinaras, they're sane. If they're growing in Hellas well...”
“Well what?”
“Ask me for more advice. Hellas is a bigger gamble, there's some real losers there, but some guys who're on the road to doing very well. I've got a few hectares down there, but I've not started growing there yet.”
“I thought you weren't supposed to talk about claims?”
“Total claim size. Anyone can have a few hectares in interesting places, well, anyone who thinks ahead and registers them that way from the start, or pays to adjust their claim later on.”
“Oh. Right. What's so good about Marinaras?”
“Good and deep, not far from the hospital and so on, easy to get to, and unless you claim right at the bottom, not likely to flood. You also get reflected sunlight for extra warmth. Hellas is a long way from the centre, half the planet away, almost. If you live there, then you're going to be really cut off from society.
But it's deeper, so the air's thicker and there's more chance of things growing there early on, but there's also a reasonable chance of it turning into a swamp or a sea.”
“Sounds complicated.”
“Pay attention in the lessons.”
“OK. Should I ask guys about hobbies, things like that?”
“Yes. Ask that, very good idea. And as he's answering, think to yourself, this guy is trying to persuade me that not only is he a nice guy, but he can support me when I'm heavily pregnant and can't work in the family fields. Is it going to fall apart because he's playing chemist or something? Take my brother for instance, please please take my brother! Well, maybe not. He's got chemistry on the brain. He's certain that there's going to be some wonderful new process that would turn the nasties in Regolith into something useful. A couple of years ago he lost a lot of his crops because he was working on an experiment and he ignored them. So, yeah, watch out for get rich schemes and great plans. Get rich quick is usually a recipe for “starve slowly “. If he's got no hobbies then worry too, because that's odd. If he's a reader, find out if he can put a book down. That's really important.”
“But I don't ask about how his heap is doing?” Cecilia asked.
“Oh, you can ask that, if he's talking romance. But do worry if they start quoting numbers at you, that's a jit thing.”
“You mentioned first harvest.”
“Yeah. Rite of passage, if you like. Are they starting to make a success of Martian life? Can they look after plants well enough to get a decent harvest? If not, then stay away.”
“Are so many immigrants losers then?”
“No. Not even the born-Martians, I suppose. But I'm talking about the people your age. Not many immigrants are as young as you are. But there's always some hopeful guys around, looking for someone young, pretty and lost-looking they can impress. Some of them are decent, but not all.”
“Hold on... you're thinking about fixing me up with a second generation Martian, like you?”
“Depends on timing of course. When are you thinking of going boy-hunting? But let me tell you something for free: Mars is a small population. You didn't drop out of school before learning about in-breeding being a bad idea, I assume?”
“I didn't drop out of school at all,” Cecilia said.
“I thought...” Evangeline said, then shook her head, “Sorry, I've been making wrong assumptions.”
“People do,” Cecilia said, “I'm used to it.”
“So... is this 'private, keep out' territory, or can I ask?”
“What about?”
“You, your old life, things like that.”
“I went to school, I hung out with my boyfriend, and did my homework on park benches or wherever. Basically, I tried not to be awake and at my foster parent's. I took my last exams in prison.”
“Can I be nosey and ask about your grades?” Evangeline asked.
Cecilia pulled a face, “Not very good, I was a bit depressed. I should have done better really. I only got two 'A's.”
“An A being the top grade? Then answer me a question, please.”
“Yes?”
“Why don't you go to the university?”
“Urm... it costs a lot and I've got no money?”
“Jit,” Evangeline accused.
“What now?”
“Look up course fees at the Mars University.” The ship's computer had a good library about Mars-related things.
Three minutes later, Cecilia asked “What does this mean?”
“Which bit?”
“P.O.M.D.”
“Oh, they've changed it.” Evangeline looked for the expansion, lower on the page, “Look, there, payable on Mars departure.”
“I see the words, but what do you mean, 'payable on Mars departure?'”
“You leave Mars, you pay.”
“I don't understand.”
“Yes you do, you just refuse to believe it.”
“But this says if I've got top-of-scale grades in two or more subjects then my fees are one hundred percent p.o.m.d.”
“Yes?”
“It can't mean that. What's the catch?”
“Getting a hefty bill if you leave?”
“I'm not planning to leave.”
“Don't pay then, it'd be silly to pay if you don't have to. Be a contributor to the Martian economy instead.”
“But what if I just get married and have babies?”
“Babies are an important contribution to the Martian economy too.”
“I don't get it.”
“I noticed,” Evangeline said, grinning.
“It can't mean that I get a free university education!”
“Universities on Earth have expensive buildings, carry out expensive research, and get lots of money to buy or build more expensive buildings by charging students more than they can comfortably afford. You don't see separate accommodation charges there, because they assume that you're going to be living on campus. It being way down the other end of the trench to where everyone lives might have something to do with that. You don't see food charges, because they assume you're going to be growing your own, in the campus fields, or working for someone else in exchange for food. You don't see charges for washing your clothes or cleaning your rooms, because you're an adult and you clean up after yourself. You don't see maintenance charges, because students help out around the campus. They don't pay professors much, not really, they don't do mega-money research, and the fees for the not-so good and off-planet students cover those costs. And the planet benefits.”
“You really get Earth students coming?”
“Yes. Rich kids mostly, of course, given how much a round-ticket costs. But actually, compared to some Earth Universities, the total cost actually works out as fairly cheap.”
“And the university has its own rate of exchange.”
“Well, sort of. It'll be interesting to see what they do with the kilo becoming exchangeable.”
“Yeah. What'll it do to you?”
“Me?”
“Your heap's suddenly worth earthling money.”
“Oh, that. Dunno.”
“Don't you worry about what it's going to do?”
“I don't really expect people will dump their heaps down the toilet. That's always been illegal, and it's the only way, other than selling it, to turn it into virtual heap rather than physical.”
“So... less withdrawals from the virtual system?”
“Maybe. Then you'd get supply and demand working, until the system gets back into balance, it depends how Mars Corp respond. If there's enough of a drop in value, then that might mean for people with physical heaps that they consider their savings and go on a spending spree. I don't know. It's going to be pretty complex, I'm sure. The other thing, of course, is that the Corp is probably only going to issue a certain number of cargo vouchers per year. They don't want to have their ships so full of imports they can't ship people or gloop nutrients.”
“What would happen if the gloop system broke?”
“Roughly speaking, gloop feeds immigrants for about one and a half Earth years. By the time the next influx is started, most people are fully eating their own produce, but some get to that stage quite a bit earlier. If it broke, then that's how many people would be hungry.”
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“Starving, in fact.”
“No. It's part of the social contract; people might be hungry, but no one starves.”
“Then what happens, if there's no food?”
“The influx hasn't been more than ten percent of the population for decades. These days, it's far less than the birth rate, actually. People would share, I don't know, something like one meal a week, maybe?”
“Everyone would share?” Cecilia asked, surprised.
“There's a system for dealing with people who don't,” Evangeline said.
“That sounds ominous.”
“So it ought to. Helping society gets rewarded with extra claim. Failing to help in a time of planetary crisis? That's one of the few things that will get fines measured in hectares.”
“But they could have registered their claim as an alias, can't they?”
“Not all of it, but yes. But an outstanding fine never lapses. You pay it now, you pay it later, or your kids pay it for you after you're dead,”
Evangeline said. “And before you ask, if you have that sort of outstanding fine, then your name is muck, your picture is published, and you'd better not try farming, otherwise people will surely snitch on you in exchange for the reward.”
“OK.... I get it. You've got a system to deal with people who won't help, but what if they can't? If they're only just feeding themselves?”
“Then they know what it is to go hungry, and wouldn't wish it on anyone.”
Suddenly a klaxon sounded throughout the ship. A radiation storm warning. “Another drill?” Cecilia exclaimed.
“Let's hope so,” Evangeline said, automatically checking her screamer's display. Radiation levels were a little high, but within the bounds of normal. With the alarm though, she wasn't sure. “It might not be. Let's move.”
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If there aren't enough drills, then people might not know how to respond in a real emergency, but if there are too many drills, people don't take them seriously. Evangeline was just thinking of pointing that out to the crew when, half way to the shelter, her screamer buzzed a warning note. She shut it off. The human body could cope with radiation at that level for hours without ill effect, but it wasn't normal. “Bad move, darling.” she told Chris, who'd been waiting for her. He'd been chatting to Alice and Simon, and had obviously decided that she'd come this way. “Waiting for people just means needless risk and you get more exposure.”
“It's just another drill,” he replied, starting to following them 'up' the tube with a kick. They'd all become quite adept at moving around the ship these days. It wasn't zero g, but on the other hand, he could go quite a long way up the passage before needing to grab the ladder.
“Jit attitudes like that get people dead. You don't know that.” she rebuked him. She didn't want to cause a panic, by telling him it wasn't.
“What did you just do to your screamer?” Cecilia asked.
“Tell you later.”
They reached the W-shaped kink in the passage before long, and got into the shelter. That W-portion of the passage had extra shielding, and provided an entrance for people through the water jacket without causing a chink in the shield.
“What's the forecast?” Evangeline asked a crew-member who was off duty.
“Dunno. This wasn't scheduled. Could be a drill for all I know.”
“Well...” Evangeline looked at her screamer's display, “strangely enough, this isn't worried any more.”
“Not a drill?”
“Might be almost nothing,” Evangeline said, with a shrug.
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Five minutes later, the captain's voice came over the speakers.
“Not good enough, ladies and gentlemen. I won't name names, but some of you obviously finished what you were doing, and ambled your way down as though this was a family picnic. In some ways it is, we'll be handing out drinks in a while from the ship's store. Please consider if you'd prefer mint, strawberry or almond flavoured electrolyte mix. The present storm counts as a low-intensity one, so if you dawdled you've just received the equivalent exposure to about an extra day in flight. That's nothing to worry about, but if it had been a high intensity storm, you might be heading for some radiation-induced sickness. The present rad-storm is predicted to last three to five hours. Please be patient during your stay in the shelter.”
In fact, it was six hours before the all-clear came.
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CELESTIA, SUNSOL 20TH JUL, EVENING.
“Eva?” Chris asked, towards the evening, “Just how often does radiation kill people on Mars?”
“Quickly? Not very often, and then it's usually by equipment failure, actually.”
“Urm, could you explain?”
“What, you want me to preempt tomorrow's lecture?”
“Really?”
“I expect so. It'd make sense, anyway.”
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CELESTIA, MONSOL 21TH JUL
“Radiation... it can kill you fairly quickly, it can kill you really slowly, and it can also damage electronics. You probably know that,” Barry said.
There were nods, and Barry continued. “Right, you're going to a place where radiation from cosmic rays and stuff from the sun are dangerous. First precaution is don't go outside without a screamer. Second precaution is stay inside as much as you can, third precaution is, as much as you can, sleep and work underground or in a specially designed radiation shelter. Also, you want mass between you and the radiation, mainly barium or hydrogen atoms as found in plastic or water, not to mention your portable radiation shelter, and your Mars-suits.
“Normal radiation doses to the unprotected human on Mars surface are around a milisievert per day, sensible people say you don't want to collect more than a thousand milisieverts in a lifetime, or a hundred in a year, if you can possibly avoid it. So you see right away, I hope, how important it is not to just grab a breather and go for a walk every day. If you happen to get caught in a bad storm, without any protection, you can collect something like three hundred per hour, which is going to give you radiation sickness. Not necessarily fatal, but you're going to be very sick. If you're only out for an hour, that is. If you make it much more than that then you're dead or dying. But that's without protection; an undamaged Mars-suit cuts down the radiation reaching you by a factor of about twenty, so 'only' very nasty, rather than deadly. Your tent cuts it down even further.
“But death from radiation sickness is only one side of the danger. Other dangers include cancer and what radiation does to electronics. Electronics is just about as sensitive to radiation as you are, but it doesn't self-repair. If you remember our earlier lesson, your life support is controlled by electronics, as is your navigator, your radio and so on. Those are rather useful things to have working, as you can imagine. In summary: go out in a Mars suit during a storm, and there's a significant chance of you getting cancer or radiation sickness, or alternatively losing your life support. Of course, if you get lost and lose your life support, then you're not going to bother about radiation sickness, and if you get a bad dose of radiation sickness then you'll be dead before you end up with cancer.”
“What happens if you don't have a Mars suit?” someone asked. Barry motioned to Evangeline to answer.
“You get extra radiation and a chance of frostbite, hypothermia, hypobaria, which is a bit like what divers call the bends, and of course, if you're high enough, the very real possibility of you either not being able to get enough oxygen into your blood to keep you alive or not being able to squeeze the air out of your lungs without the gas venting to the atmosphere rather than going into the breather for recycling. If you end up doing that then you're going to run out of air at least four times faster.”
“So the pictures of people on the surface with just a breather are fakes?" the questioner asked.
“Not all of them,” Evangeline replied, “but the real ones would be taken on warm days and in the deepest valleys, not far from domes, and taken for some specific purpose.”
“Under medical supervision?” someone else asked.
Evangeline looked at them as if puzzled for a while. Eventually she answered, “No, just carefully and quickly, unless you're a jit.”
“And what about if people are jits?” a man beside Alice asked.
Evangeline shrugged, “Maybe they don't survive. Jits tend not to.”
“I just don't understand how you Martians can be so callous!” he exclaimed.
Chris took umbrage on Evangeline's behalf, “I don't think my wife is being callous at all. The behaviour you're talking about is almost on a par with jumping off a cliff with your mum's tablecloth as a parachute. Some people think that sort of thing is fun, but anyone sensible would see that as near-suicidal behaviour. If you take part in near suicidal behaviour, then don't be surprised if you don't survive it for long.”
“But we are all jits, aren't we?” the man persisted.
“Oh, that's what you're getting at,” Evangeline said, “there're jits and jits. Don't get the two confused.”
Barry nodded, “In other words, don't confuse suicidal tendencies due to forgetfulness or ignorance with suicidal tendencies due to extremely reckless behaviour. If you wanted to try to kill yourself, it would have been a lot cheaper to do it before you left Earth. Is it really callous of Martians to adopt an attitude that says if someone's utterly careless of their own life, then it's safer to stay away from them? We don't have any parents here, but I've heard some saying that it's certainly an attitude they're happy for their kids to learn. Life in space and on Mars is too fragile as it is, without people feeling they automatically need to go along with their friends when they ignore all the lessons they've had, or rush into danger when people have got into trouble from taking too many risks. Yes, people will come to your help, but not if doing so is suicidal. And if you do get into trouble, don't expect sympathy, but correction. Now, any other questions?”
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CELESTIA, MONSOL 21TH JUL, EVENING.
Cecilia knocked on the door to Simon and Alice's bedroom.
“Hi, Cecilia,” Alice greeted her, after a short delay, “What's up?”
“More questions.”
“Come on in then,” Alice said.
“Your friend,” Cecilia started, but didn't finish.
“Which one?”
“The one that wrote that article you gave me.”
“About deserving a black eye?”
“Yeah.”
“Should I banish Simon?” Alice asked.
Cecilia noticed for the first time that Simon was already in the strapping that could loosely be termed his and Alice's bed, “Oh! Sorry, I didn't realise it was that late.”
“It's not, just I thought I'd try and fall asleep earlier,” Simon said, “too many confused nights recently.”
“Yeah. Adjusting to the Mars clock isn't as easy as you'd think, is it?”
“You'd think it would be easy — just stay awake an extra forty minutes a day, but my internal clock seems to be resolutely ticking on Earth-time, so I'm getting more and more jet-lagged every day.”
“I keep telling him he ought to stay up later,” Alice said, “but he wants to catch up on lost sleep for some reason.”
“I'm making do with day-time cat-naps,” Cecilia said.
“Maybe I should try that,” Simon sighed, “it just seems like a waste of time.”
“Whereas trying to get to sleep early is just re-enforcing the Earth rhythm.” Cecilia pointed out.
“Preach it, sister!” Alice cheered her on, “What I really don't understand is that this man used to think nothing of staying up working all night, when I first met him. Now he's turning into a pumpkin at ten P.M.”
“Probably something to do with not getting enough sleep because my body clock isn't altering itself by more than twenty minutes a day, when ship time changes by thirty nine and a half,” Simon muttered.
“Should I come back tomorrow?” Cecilia asked.
“No. Simon should just win the argument with his body that he's on Mars time now and go back to sleep if he wakes up early, rather than giving up so easily.”
Simon decided not to dignify that with an answer, and instead asked “What did you want to ask about Alice's friend, Cecilia? Or do you want me to leave? I can, it's not a problem, really.”
“What she wrote,” Cecilia started, “was it like, personal, or just written that way? Do you know?”
“Does it matter?
“Yes.”
“Because?”
“Because it sounds too much like something a social worker might say, you know, all based on theory and crazy ideas.”
“Which bit are you thinking about?” Alice asked.
“All that stuff about forgiveness.”
“Hold on,” Alice said, “what stuff about forgiveness? Did I give you the wrong article?”
“Maybe. It didn't say much about deserving a black eye, really. Lots about forgiving people, and being forgiven, how that breaks the cycle of 'You hurt me, so I'll hurt you.”
“Definitely sounds like it wasn't the article I meant to give you.”
“Oh.”
“It sounds much more like an inspirational talk she gave a while back.”
“Yeah, it was that sort of talk. But it seemed to be lacking something. It was hollow somewhere.”
“Of course it was,” Alice agreed.
“Pardon?”
“You try to go around forgiving people totally, like she was talking about and see how many people think 'yeah, that's a great idea and do the same,' compared to how many get angry at you.”
“So...” Cecilia started but Alice kept talking.
“But on the other hand, if you start with God forgiving you, then you're on much firmer ground. We're still not perfect, of course, but Christians are supposed to forgive the way she's talking about, because they've been forgiven that much and more.”
“Oh,” Cecilia said, “not so relevant to me then.”
“I don't know,” Simon chipped in from the wall, “how big a manure pile of unforgiven sin do you have between you and God which is messing up your inner psyche and the rest of your relationships?”
“Hey, that's a bit personal!” Cecilia protested.
“Not very gentle, Simon,” Alice said.
“Sorry, blame it on the sleep deprivation.”
“I guess I'll forgive you, I've met worse, after all.”
“How bad?” Alice asked, curiously.
“'Turn from your ways, you sinful girl, or you're going to burn in hell!'”
“Oh, subtle! That's almost as good as what someone once told me. Who was it from?” Alice said.
“Foster mother's grandmother, I think she was about ninety.”
“I'm not sure that's a good excuse. She just came out and said it?”
“To be fair, no. I'd been winding her up about religion and stuff, you hear a load of stuff on the streets. Mostly from the crazies of course, so who knows if its true or not?” Cecilia paused, then asked “What did they say to you?”
“Crazies on the streets?” Alice asked, “not much, most of the time.”
“No, I mean the person you just said about, who rammed religion down your throat.”
“Oh, her. But she wasn't actually ramming religion at me. It was a reaction to me confronting her about her hypocrisy. She told me that I was in league with demons and was going to bring God's curse on everyone close to me. A few hours later my parents died. It took God giving me a message via Simon here to convince me she'd been entirely wrong.”
“Woah! You got a message from God, Simon?”
Simon shrugged, “God's real, he asks people to do things sometimes. One day I was sitting in the coffee area and he asked me to talk to a woman walking past and tell her a few things, including that she'd never been under a curse. It was pretty scary, but I'm very glad I didn't disobey.”
“What you need to remember, Cecilia, is that people can fail in all sorts of ways, and we all do, from time to time,” Alice said. “But God is reliable.”
Cecilia looked at her toes for a long time, and then said, “And you're now going to tell me that if I want to feel forgiven then I need to turn my life around and join a church, aren't you.”
“Not really. I'm going to tell you that you need to ask God to forgive you. Turning your life around is a big job, and he knows you need his help to do it properly, so he doesn't expect you to do it on your own.”
“That's... different.”
“Unique as far as I know,” Simon said. “God doesn't really think much about religion if by that you mean doing things so God will accept you. That's getting it all backwards, like trying to buy a birthday present from the person who's offering it to you.”
“You'll upset people if you do that,” Cecilia agreed, “but I need to think more.”
“Fair enough,” Alice said. “Want the article I was planning to give you?”
“What's that one about?”
“How if you get punished too much then you expect it, like it's normal, and you even start assuming that any time someone does something bad to you you must have deserved that too. I think Evangeline would say that's a jit kind of logic.”
“Yeah, she would wouldn't she? What's she think about your God?”
“Guess,” Alice replied with a grin.
Cecilia thought for a bit and realised she knew the answer, “You four shared a wedding, didn't you?”
“Yes.”
“I guess my four best friends on board are actually religious fanatics.”
“Is that a problem?” Alice asked, “Not that I accept the fanatic label.”
“I guess it helps explains why you weren't scared of me.”
“Scared of you?” Simon asked, “Are people normally scared of you?”
“Most of the normal people, anyway. Some of the unusual people think I'm easy prey before they discover otherwise.”
“You like that feeling,” Simon challenged, “the sense of power it gives you over people.”
“Yeah, a bit,” Cecilia replied, wondering how he knew, and down-playing how great it felt.
“There's not much point lying to either of us, Cecilia,” Alice said, “You know that, don't you?”
“Not well enough not to try,” Cecilia admitted. “Does that make me a bad person?”
“What, lying?” Alice asked.
“No, liking it that people are scared of me?”
“It's understandable,” Alice said, “It's not great, and it's something that could turn you into a nasty person, but you're not there yet and it's pretty understandable that you've gone someway along that route.”
“Lying is probably just as big a problem,” Simon added. “Especially lying to yourself.”
“Lying to myself?”
“Convincing yourself that you can cope with life without God, for instance,” he expanded.
“Hey! I'm not that bad.”
“Not that good either, not by God's standards. `If we say we have not sinned, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us.'”
“You sound like you're quoting.”
“Yes. From the Bible.”
“What about 'God helps those who help themselves?'”
“Not in the Bible,” Alice said firmly, “But what is in there is 'all have sinned and fallen short of God's glory', and 'God so loved the world he gave his only Son, so whoever believes in Him will not perish, but have eternal life.'”
“Oh, yeah. I've heard that one, nice reassuring verse that.”
“Have you heard the verse which comes really soon after, about people who don't believe?” Simon asked.
“Don't think so,” Cecilia replied.
“Without looking it up, it roughly says 'Whoever believes is not condemned, but whoever does not believe stands condemned already.'”
“Not so reassuring, that one.”
“Exactly, I thought you needed to get the full picture. This is important, stuff we're talking about. God's not going to feel threatened by you, and nor does he want you to be intimidated, but he does want you to take him seriously, and not dismiss him as irrelevant to you.”
“That's roughly where we started from, isn't it?”
“Yes.”
Cecilia replayed the conversation in her mind, “So, what you're saying is that I'm not scary, because you've got God on your side, and I'm not in his good books. And if I want to feel forgiven, I need to sort that out, and then I can be a happy little religious extremist too?”
“You like that phrase, don't you. What's the opposite of an extremist in your book?”
“Boring; I don't like boring.”
“I'd have never guessed,” Alice said, “What would you call yourself?”
“I'm an extreme irreligious rebel,” Cecilia said.
“I think you might like to read about Jesus. He didn't think much about religion, either.”
“It won't work; I'm too rebellious.”
“You didn't drop out of school, though,” Alice pointed out.
“'course not.”
“Some people might see that as not being very rebellious at all,” Simon pointed out.
“Dropping out of school is just daft. All that lovely education? For free?”
“So... you're rebelling against the commonest form of rebellion?” Alice asked, “I'm guessing that's because you've weighed up the costs and benefits and decided you like the benefits a lot.”
“Exactly.”
“But so far,” Simon said, “at least to me, it seems like you're submitting to the boring norm of brainless rejection of God without weighing up much at all.”
“Simon, you're tired, go to sleep,” Cecilia said, feeling attack was the best form of defence.
“I know what you're thinking,” Simon said, sing-song fashion.
“Yeah? What?”
“Attack's the best form of defense. In other words you've got a nasty feeling I've got a point, yes?”
“Why did you two decide to ruin my life?” Cecilia asked, plaintively.
“How is encouraging you to think clearly about important things ruining your life?” Alice asked, bemused.
“It's another form of defense, Alice. Also known as trying to change the subject,” Simon said, yawning. “But she does have a point, I think I'm falling asleep.”
“My immortal soul is that boring, Simon?” Cecilia asked.
“No. Nice to know you admit you've got one. But, like you said I'm tired. You've got a good brain, Cecilia. Use it sometime, eh? Look at the evidence.”
“It was all made up by his followers,” Cecilia claimed, trying to stir up some outrage. It was getting uncomfortable.
“Do you really think that?” Alice asked.
“Naah.”
“Just, you know, it's not a particularly hard one to tear to shreds.”
“Hey, I admit it, OK? I'm running. You seem like a nice couple of extremists, I even like you. But all this God stuff is too scary.”
“Why's it scary?”
“Because if God goes and proves he's real then I'm probably going to need to keep my promise to the old biddy, aren't I?”
Alice guessed she was talking about the foster mother's grandmother.
“Is that bad?”
“Terrible.”
“Anything you can share?”
“I make sure I marry 'a nice sensible Christian boy'. Me can you imagine? Why would I want to marry someone nice and sensible?”
“You want a nasty idiot?” Simon asked, mid-yawn.
“'course not. I want a crazy extremist nut-case, like I am. A natural-born risk-taker.”
“Oh. A Martian, you mean?” Alice asked, with a grin. “I think you're going to the right place.”
“So you won't hold my promise against me?”
“Look, Cecilia, nice is in the eyes of the beholder, Christian is only right if you're a Christian. Sensible? I'd see sensible is someone you can live with the rest of your life. Just don't go marrying someone you need to do all the joined-up thinking for.”