Doc nodded agreeably. “As you wish. However, the question still stands.”
Iwat smiled serenely. “The force of his personality, you ask. Yes, you might say that…and the sekhem energy that will be his to command once the pyramid is completed.”
“Those sticks the Incarnates used,” J.B. said uneasily. “That’s an example of the whatchamacallit energy?”
Chuckling patronizingly, Iwat replied, “The ‘sticks’ channel mena energy, which is the opposite of the sekhem. The mena effects are debilitating, not fatal. We seldom use lethal weapons.”
“That’s real decent of you,” Ryan commented.
“Pharaoh is benevolent by nature. He wishes only to pass on the blessings of his kingdom to all of his subjects. When new subjects like you and your friends come among us, we show you the many benefits to be gained from living as a citizen of Aten.”
“Such as?” Mildred inquired.
“Security, lack of want, shelter, education and a purpose in life. We remold people like you into the ideal Aten form. You are educated and corrected.”
“Corrected?” Ryan growled. “Brainwashed?”
Iwat’s face registered sincere displeasure. “Of course not! By correcting, I mean that all the unproductive habits and attitudes are tweaked and re-channeled into productivity. In Aten, all people know they are part of something larger, something better than they are. They work toward a common goal. Willingly.”
Ryan thought of the pyramid and the many laborers needed to construct it, but he didn’t raise the issue.
Iwat continued. “You will come to see how working together for the glory of Aten is superior to wandering across Deathlands. Once you have your audience with Akhnaton and receive your Aten name, and so on—”
“When do we meet your Pharaoh?” Ryan asked.
“What’s an ‘Aten name’?” J.B. demanded.
“What do you mean by ‘so on’?” Mildred inquired.
Iwat shook his head and held up his hands in a gesture of appeasement. “You will meet Akhnaton at a time of his choosing. Your Aten name comes with the makeover, so you will live among us in the ideal form.”
The three men and one woman simply stared at him.
Iwat touched his hair and rubbed his hands. “The color of your hair and skin must be changed. By dye and by stain.”
Doc laughed. “The very thought of these gray locks of mine dyed black and done up in the Egyptian style makes me incontinent.”
“No need to worry, old one,” Iwat replied. “Your advanced age excuses you from that part of the makeover.” He glanced toward Mildred. “And there is little point in subjecting you to it.”
“Thanks,” she said dryly.
Ryan kept his eye on Iwat, not finding the prospect of having their skin and hair altered the least bit amusing. Though Kela had urged patience, allowing his fate and that of his friends to rest in the hands of others wasn’t something he could lightly accept.
Iwat gestured to J.B. and Ryan. “You will follow me.” He minced his way into an adjacent room.
Ryan, J.B., Doc and Mildred all exchanged dubious glances, then J.B. and Ryan walked into a small room holding only two wooden tubs. They brimmed with a dark liquid. Ceramic jugs and big sponges lay on the floor.
“Climb in,” Iwat said.
Ryan regarded the tub’s contents suspiciously. “What is that shit?”
Iwat sighed in exasperation. “As I thought I explained, it will convey upon you the color of Aten.”
Mildred called out, “Don’t worry, guys, it’s just some kind of vegetable dye. The stain isn’t permanent.”
J.B. took off his spectacles, placing them carefully on a wall shelf, stripped off the kilt and stepped into a tub. He sat with the liquid sloshing around him and grimaced.
After another moment of hesitation, Ryan followed suit, making sure his back was to Iwat when he removed his loin covering.
Only J.B.’s hair needed darkening, though both he and Ryan were forced to endure soaking for an hour in the tubs of oily brown liquid, with a tittering Iwat sponging their backs, necks and faces with it.
After Iwat announced enough time had passed, they stepped out of the tubs and into calf-length apronlike garments, identical to the ones worn by the men in the compound.