REVOLT IN 2100 By ROBERT A. HEINLEIN

Zeb sighed as if he were very tired. ‘Johnnie, I certainly did not intend to get into an argument about religion with you. I’m not the aggressive type-you know that. I had to be pushed into the Cabal.’ He paused. ‘You say the doctrines are a matter of logic?’

‘You’ve explained the logic to me yourself. It’s a perfect consistent structure.’

‘So it is. Johnnie, the nice thing about citing God as an authority is that you can prove anything you set out to prove. It’s just a matter of selecting the proper postulates, then insisting that your postulates are “inspired”. Then no one can possibly prove that you are wrong.’

‘You are asserting that the First Prophet was not inspired?’

‘I am asserting nothing. For all you know, 1 am the First Prophet, come back to kick out the defilers of my temple.’

‘Don’t be-I was all wound up to kick it around further when there came a knock at Zeb’s door. I stopped and he called out, ‘Come in!’

It was Sister Magdalene.

She nodded at Zeb, smiled sweetly at my open-mouthed surprise and said, ‘Hello, John Lyle. Welcome.’ It was the first time I had ever seen her other than in the robes of a holy deaconess. She seemed awfully pretty and much younger.

‘Sister Magdalene!’

‘No. Staff Sergeant Andrews. “Maggie”, to my friends.’

‘But what happened? Why are you here?’

‘Right at the moment I’m here because I heard at dinner that you had arrived. When I didn’t find you in your own quarters I concluded that you would be with Zeb. As for the rest, I couldn’t go back, any more than you or Zeb-and our hideout back in New Jerusalem was getting overcrowded, so they transferred me.’

‘Well, it’s good to see you!’

‘It’s good to see you, John.’ She patted me on the cheek and smiled again. Then she climbed on Zeb’s bed and squatted tailor-fashion, showing a rather immodest amount of limb in the process. Zeb lit another cigarette and handed it to her; she accepted it, drew smoke deep into her lungs, and let it go as if she had been smoking all her life.

I had never seen a woman smoke-never. I could see Zeb watching me, confound him!-and I most carefully ignored it. Instead I grinned and said, ‘This is a wonderful reunion! If only -,

‘I know,’ agreed Maggie. ‘If only Judith were here. Have you heard from her yet, John?’

‘Heard from her? How could I?’

‘That’s right, you couldn’t-not yet. But you can write to her now.’

‘Huh? How?’

‘I don’t know the code number off hand, but you can drop it at my desk-I’m in G-2. Don’t bother to seal it; all personal mail has to be censored and paraphrased. I wrote to her last week but I haven’t had an answer yet.’

I thought about excusing myself at once and writing a letter, but I didn’t. It was wonderful to be with both of them and I didn’t want to cut the evening short. I decided to write before I went to bed-while realizing, with surprise, that I had been so much on the go that, so far as I could remember, I hadn’t even had time to think about Judith since . . . well, since Denver, at least.

But I did not get to write to her even later that night. It was past eleven o’clock and Maggie was saying something about reveille coming early when an orderly showed up: ‘The Commanding General’s compliments and will Legate Lyle see him at once, sir.’

I gave my hair a quick brush with Zeb’s gear and hurried away, while wishing mightily that I had something fit to report in, rather than a civilian suit much the worse for wear.

The inner sanctum was deserted and dark except for a light that I could see in the far inner office-even Mr. Giles was not at his desk. I found my way in, knocked on the door frame, stepped inside, clicked my heels and saluted. ‘Legate Lyle reports to the Commanding General as ordered, sir.’

An elderly man seated at a big desk with his back to me turned and looked up, and I got another surprise. ‘Ah, yes, John Lyle,’ he said gently. He got up and came toward me, with his hand out. ‘It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?’

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