“Did we miss another announcement?” Jan asked.
“Yes. Although it appears to be a repetition of an earlier one. Georges and Marjorie each is supposed to report to the nearest police station. I don’t recommend it. Georges is going to ignore it, play dumb, and say that he didn’t know that they meant to include permanent residents. Of course they might parole you. Or you might spend all next winter in some very drafty temporary barracks. There is nothing about this silly emergency that guarantees that it will be over next week.”
I thought about it. My own stupid fault. On a mission I never travel with only one sort of credit and I always carry a healthy amount of cash. But I had uncritically assumed that a vacation trip did not call for the cynical rule of a crown of cash per click in iron money. With plenty of cash a cowan can bribe his way into an esbat and out again, with his tail feathers unsinged. But without cash?
I hadn’t tried living off the country since basic training. Perhaps I was going to have to see if that training had stuck. Thank God the weather was warm!
Georges was shouting. “Turn up your sound! Or come out here!”
We hurriedly joined him.
“-of the Lord! Pay no heed to vain boasts of sinners! We alone are responsible for the apocalyptic signs you see all around you. Satan’s minions have attempted to usurp the Holy work of God’s chosen instruments and to distort it to their own vile ends. For this they are now being punished. Meanwhile the worldly rulers of mundane affairs here below are commanded to do the following Holy works:
“End all trespass into the Heavenly realm. Had the Lord intended man to travel in space he would have given him wings.
“Suffer not a witch to live. So-called genetic engineering mocks the Lord’s dearest purposes. Destroy the foul dens in which such things are done. Kill the walking dead conjured up in those black pits. Hang the witches who practice these vile arts.”
(“Goodness,” Georges said. “I do believe they mean me.” I didn’t say anything-I knew they meant me.)
“Men who lie with men, women who lie with women, any who lie with beasts-all shall die by stones. As shall women taken in adultery.
“Papists and Saracens and infidels and Jews and all who bow down to idolatrous images-the Angels of the Lord say unto you:
Repent for the hour is at hand! Repent or feel the swift swords of the Lord’s chosen instruments.
“Pornographers and harlots and women of immodest demeanor, repent!-or suffer the terrible wrath of the Lord!
“Sinners of every sort, remain on this channel to receive instruction in how you may yet find the Light.
“By order of the Grand General of the Angels of the Lord.”
The tape ended and there was another break. Ian said, “Janet, do you remember the first time we saw Angels of the Lord?”
“I’m not likely to forget. But I never expected anything as ridiculous as this.”
I said, “There really are Angels of the Lord? Not just another nightmare on the screen?”
“Um. It’s hard to connect the Angels Ian and I saw with this business. Last March, early April, I had driven to the port to pick up Ian. The Concourse was loaded with Hare Krishna freaks, saffron robes and shaved heads and jumping up and down and demanding money. A load of Scientologists was coming out the gates, heading for some do of theirs, a North American convention I think it was. Just as the two groups merged, here came the Angels of the Lord, homemade signs and tambourines and clubs.
“Marj, it was the gaudiest brawl I have ever seen. No trouble telling the three sides apart. The Hare Krishners looked like clowns, unmistakable. The Angels and the Hubbardites did not wear robes but there was no trouble telling them apart. The Elronners were clean and neat and short-haired; the Angels looked like unmade beds. They carried the ‘stink of piety,’ too; I got downwind of them once, then moved quickly.
“The Scientologists, of course, have had to fight for their rights many times; they fought with discipline, defended themselves, and disengaged rapidly-got out, taking their wounded with them. The Hairy Krishners fought like squawking chickens and left their wounded behind. But the Angels of the Lord fought as if they were crazy-and I think they are. They moved straight in, swinging clubs and fists, and didn’t stop until they were down and unable to get up. It took about as many Mounties to subdue them as there were Angels . . . when the usual ratio is one Mounty, one riot.