He turned the breakfast nook TV on, to tennis, making it easier not to talk until they’d finished the pizza. When it was gone, they looked at each other. “Let’s go in the living room,” Ben said, and turned off the game. “I’m going to put a cube in the player, the first step in your preparation. We’ll watch it together. It’s a talk Dove gave in Sacramento. Then we’ll watch one he gave in Denver, and another in Boston.” He paused long. “And then an especially important one he gave here two weeks ago. After that we’ll talk, but until then we’ll just listen. By that time you’ll understand what the tour’s about. And what Dove’s about. I don’t know what you’ll think of them, but at least you’ll know.”
* * *
She watched without arguing. The first three videos Lee found interesting enough, even thought-provoking, and of course informative on Dove’s theology, or philosophy—whatever they called it. But they were hardly compelling; not for her. Ngunda’s short farewell video, on the other hand, made her skin crawl. Not with fright, but it was definitely a strange sensation. When they’d watched it through to the end, she was quietly sober.
“Any questions?” Ben asked.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Fine. Anything that especially struck you?”
She shook her head. “Nothing in particular. The last one did seem—spooky. And it made me remember the dreams I had that night. I think it was the same night.”
“Yeah, that was the night.” Apparently, he decided, she hadn’t perceived Dove’s aura on video. Interesting.
“There’s something I would like to know, though,” she went on. “What this new role is I might have after the tour.”
“I honest to God don’t know,” Ben said. “Apparently Lor Lu wants to tell you himself. Lor Lu or Dove.”
“And I have three more days after today for preparations. What will they be? More videos?”
“No, sweetheart. We’ll watch another after supper.” He paused. “And tomorrow you’ll begin Life Healing. A start.”
She didn’t argue, just looked very very sober.
* * *
On her way to the scheduling director next morning, she felt—not bad, actually. Not eager by any means, but not fearful. Resigned, strangely relieved—and remarkably enough, curious.
They were ready for her; she’d already been fitted into the schedule. Her facilitator was female, her face familiar from the dining hall—young, pleasant-seeming . . . not sinister-looking at all. The woman got to her feet. “Good morning, Lee,” she said, “my name is Jenny Buckels. Please have a seat.” She gestured at a chair in front of her small worktable.
Lee glanced around as she sat. The room was pleasant enough. There were framed nature photos on the walls, fresh flowers on a stand and on the facilitator’s table. The flowers, she supposed, were from the greenhouse out back, like the flowers in the dining room. “I thought there’d be an aura analyzer,” she said.
“Some of us read auras clearly enough without equipment. Are you comfortable?”
Read auras without equipment? My god! Lee thought. “As comfortable as I’m likely to be.”
“Good.” Jenny smiled. “Were you hoping for an analyzer?”
“Well, yes. I hoped I could get you to sit in front of it, and let me look. So I could see what an aura looks like.”
The facilitator laughed. “You’re not the first person that’s told me that. We’ll borrow one afterward. Good enough?”
Lee’s smile was mostly politeness. “Afterward’s fine.”
Jenny’s fingers hovered relaxedly over a keyboard. The monitor stood between them, just below Jenny’s line of sight.
“Good. Have you had an adequate breakfast?”
“Yes.”
“A decent night’s sleep?”
“Yes I have.”
“All right, we’re ready then. I’ll read from a list of words and phrases, and note your aural reaction to each of them. You don’t need to say anything, but you may if you wish. After that you’ll have a short break while I set up what comes next.”
Her fingers were poised over a keyboard. “Okay,” she said, “start of procedure,” and began to read the list.
* * *
By noon, Lee had wept and laughed. Twice she almost fell from her chair, with a desperate grogginess that left as inexplicably as it had struck. She ate lunch with Ben and the girls, and said very little, while they made small talk. It wasn’t that she was depressed or preoccupied. Spaced-out was the word.