The 97th Step (32 page)

He could stop the bleeding, bandage it, and go from there. He stood and went to the fresher, returning in a moment with the aid kit. He pumped lympocytic iodofoam into the wound, slapped stikseals over the holes, and sponged away the rest of the blood.

"Do you want a medic?"

Vaughn shook his head. "No medics. It's not bad, I think it cleared the kidney."

"He will be well," came a soft voice from behind Pen.

Pen turned. "If you're a medic, why weren't you here doing this?"

"I am no medic, my son. But I know."

It took a second for Pen to recognize the man. Babaji Ananda!

He must have spoken it aloud, for the man said, "Yes." Then Babaji looked at the injured Vaughn. "You will recover. Even now, you improve." He waved one hand at Vaughn, as if blessing him.

"Thank you, Babaji."

Pen looked at the two men. Something passed between them, he could feel it, but he could not have said what it was. "Somebody want to tell me what's going on?"

"I must go and meditate," Babaji said, smiling. He turned and walked away.

Vaughn managed to prop himself into a sitting position. "I owe you an explanation. But first—did you work on the problem I left you?"

Pen stared at Vaughn as if the man had suddenly grown horns and a tail. "Vaughn—!"

"Indulge me, please."

"Yes, I worked on the problem."

"And your conclusions?"

"Christo, Vaughn—!"

"Pen…"

"All right. It is morally justified to oppose evil. Satisfied?"

"Why?"

"Because I
say
so!"

Vaughn smiled. "Most satisfactory. We always knew you had the potential."

We? Since when did Vaughn begin using the royal 'we'? "Come on, Vaughn. That's a through-and-through gunshot wound in your side. You want to tell me about it? And how you came by Babaji Ananda, who has wandered into the bedroom and back off into lotus land?"

"One more question. What would you consider the major evil in our galaxy today?"

"I should have let you bleed to death." Pen paused, took a deep breath, and said, "Ignorance. Or the Confed, I suppose. Both together."

"Good."

"Dammit, Vaughn—!"

"The Confed kidnapped Babaji. I went to fetch him. They were not happy with my actions, and sought to stop me. Hence, this." He pointed at the bandage on his side.

Pen knew an incomplete explanation when he heard one. And he wasn't about to let it pass. "Why did you go after Babaji? And how did you know where he was? And how did you manage to get him away from what I suspect were heavily armed guards?"

"Always questions."

"But never enough answers. Come on, Vaughn."

So Vaughn explained. "There is a faction of Confederation Intelligence that would like very much to establish itself on Koji. You may not know that a fair number of criminals find their way here, looking for sanctuary. Since the Confed must be careful nosing around after such people on the Holy World, many of these criminals remain free. Some repent, change their ways, and follow one Way or another. Some merely wait until they think it safe to flee back into the galaxy at large."

"All right, the Confed wants to catch crooks. So?"

"Many of these escapees have committed political crimes. Not moral wrongs, but actions deemed treasonable by the state. Some of these men and women have champions on Koji. That makes it difficult for them to be captured."

"You aren't trying to tell me that sweet-faced saint in the other room harbors political criminals?"

"Babaji? Hardly. He sees good in everyone, regardless, but he doesn't have the guile to hide anything.

No, not Babaji, but some of his more militant followers dabble in politics. The Confed thought to slay several birds with a single stone by taking Babaji. A trade, for certain badly wanted fugitives, and a free hand to plant several sub rosa agents within the Zendu community, for the little father's safe return."

"Not the most legal of maneuvers, was it?"

"The Confed seldom worries itself over niceties such as law when it wants something, Pen. You should have learned that by now."

"Maybe so. I expect I’ve learned something else from this conversation, too. I take it that you are one of Babaji's more militant followers?"

Vaughn smiled. "I confess that I am."

"Great. I go looking for a holy teacher and wind up with a revolutionary. I don't much like it, Vaughn."

"You are not required to like it. Merely understand it."

"Yeah, well, I appreciate your position, but I have better things to do than fight the Confed."

"I doubt it. I don't think there is anything more important for men of conscience to be doing these days."

" 'The morality of opposing evil?' "

"Just so."

"It won't buy me a ticket back to Moon." He had told Vaughn all about Moon, of course.

"It might. It might take you to a place where you can find out what you need to know."

Pen shook his head. "
You
don't understand, about Moon, about me and the Siblings. You couldn't."

Vaughn smiled, and stood.

"You okay? You ought not to be moving around."

Vaughn's smile faded slightly, then held. "I am sore, stiff and more than a little tired, but these will all pass.

I'm going to my room, to change clothes. When I come back, I think I can convince you I know what I'm talking about."

"Good luck," Pen said, his voice sarcastic.

Vaughn left him alone in the central room, and Pen fought the urge to pace as he waited. Another twist in his convoluted life—Jesu, couldn't things stay simple, just for a little while? For just a little fucking while, couldn't it all slow down? He couldn't think of anything more surprising than to find out his teacher, supposedly a holy man, was some kind of insurgent. Nothing could have rocked him any harder, he thought.

He was wrong. He found that out when he looked and saw Vaughn standing in the doorway. He knew it was Vaughn, from the eyes and hands, all that, he could see of his teacher. The reason he couldn't see any more was simple:

Vaughn stood wrapped in the full costume of the Siblings of the-Shroud.

Thirty-Two

PEN STARED, UNABLE to speak. At first, he thought it might be some kind of joke, but even from here, he could see that the cloth of the shroud was the unique shimmery-gray found only in true
kawa
.

The only way to get that material was from the Siblings. It was sent to members of the order on request, but to no one else. Even if a clever thief could steal a shroud, unlikely he would be able to wear it with the sense of tightness that Vaughn had. One had to grow into the costume over time. On the man Pen faced, the drape of the cloak was perfect.

Finally, Pen found his voice. "Vaughn…?"

"Close," the man said.

That was the final clue. The rest of it came to Pen, all in a rush. The use of "we" when talking about his potential. That early sense of having seen or known Vaughn before. And the name—of course—how could he have missed it? Armahno Vaughn. Armahno—hermano—brother.

Brother Vaughn.

No, not quite.

Brother
Von
.

Oh, shit!

"It is you, isn't it? Von?"

"Yes. I hope you will pardon the masquerade. I'll explain as best I can."

Pen shook his head. He had the feeling this was going to be one hell of an explanation.

It was.

Von said, "Sometimes the best disguise is no disguise at all. I have been a sibling for nearly twenty years.

The shroud is almost like a second skin to me. Siblings do not remove their garb in public, the Confed knows that."

Pen said, "So the best way to hide a sibling is to shed the identifiable clothing."

"Just so. Early on. Diamond's decision to enshroud the order was debated rather hotly. Someone wearing full sibling costume is altogether too obvious, and there are some drawbacks to being so ostentatious. Sometimes, it is easier to hide a thing in plain view. Sometimes the best disguise is an obvious disguise."

"All right. I can see that."

"You have been taught much about the Confed and our general attitude of passive opposition to its policies."

"Yes. I used to wonder about that. What happened to those who washed out—about how they'd be dangerous to the order. A word in the right ear and all."

"But you don't wonder anymore?"

"In the four years I was there, nobody ever washed out."

"That's because we choose our trainees carefully. It has happened, no system is perfect, but when it has, certain memories of their experiences have been… deleted."

Pen thought about that. Brain scrambling. That was bad enough, to have some simadam rummaging around in your mind, erasing chunks of it. But he also remembered the Confed rep and his quad, who had smashed into the ocean like a big rock. Moon had caused that—

Moon. God, Von and Moon had been lovers before he had arrived. Even afterward. And here he had been for the last few months filling Von's ears with stories of Moon, how much he loved her, and how he would do anything to get back to her. Jesu damn! How must that have made Von feel? He might still have longings for Moon himself. Knowing Moon, how could he not?

"But we are not passive," Von continued. "When a brother or sister is at a stage where we feel they can know the truth, they are told. We actively oppose the Confed. We know it cannot endure, and by opposing it, we seek to hasten its downfall. Out integratic projections are less than perfect at this point; but we know it will happen relatively soon. Within the next fifty to seventy-five years."

"Pinpoint accuracy isn't one of our strong points, is it?" Pen said.

Von grinned under the shroud. Easy enough to see.

"We'll get better."

There was a short pause, and the question welling inside Pen since he had first seen Vaughn-as-Von finally surfaced.

"My being here is no accident, is it? Not coincidence."

Von moved to the window, and looked out at the snow. "Perhaps we should go for a walk," he said.

"All right."

Outside, the cold tried and failed to chill Pen under his shroud. He and Von walked; their Boots made squeaky sounds on the dry snow, and their breaths fogged the crisp air.

They moved along mostly empty streets, occasionally passed by a fan car that blew white powder up in frozen clouds.

"Moon loves you, you know," Von said.

"How does that make
you
feel?" Pen asked.

"Privileged. She loves me, too. How can I begrudge her another, or a dozen others? Love isn't finite, you must understand. You don't run out of it. The more you give, the more you have."

"That's very idealistic."

"And you don't believe it. Well, you'll learn. True, one only has so much time, and that has to be apportioned, sometimes a difficult task. But I left and Moon stayed. What could it matter to me whether she slept with you or alone? It was all the same to me—I couldn't enjoy her favors."

"I still have trouble with that, Von."

Von shrugged.

"And what's Moon loving me got to do with being here with you?"

"We—she—knew you were coming to Koji."

"Don't try to tell me integratics gave her that."

"Not at all. Psychology. You were her student as well as lover, Pen. She knew. And she knew I was here—"

"And the two of you set me up for all this."

"In-a manner of speaking."

Another car slowly fanned past. Tiny crystals blew into his eyes. Pen blinked them away. "Why?"

"You needed more training, but not on Earth. Sort of postgraduate work."

"Why the disguise? I can't see any reason at all for that."

They reached a corner, and Von turned to the left. At the end of the narrow street was the Confed garrison. It contained only a token number of troops, but even on Koji the Confed had to be contended with, in essence if not physical presence.

"Because," Von said, "she didn't want your brain scrambled."

"What!?"

"If my teaching as Vaughn didn't take, there would be no problem. I could be a revolutionary and if I failed to sway you, the Siblings lost nothing. As Von, it would be a different story."

"You would have had me mindwiped?"

"Certainly."

Pen walked silently, save for snow squeaks. Then, "How do you know you can trust me? I don't come from the most reliable of stock!" He was angry, at being fooled, at being so blind, for still not understanding.

"I know," Von said. "I can trust you with my life, and the lives of our entire order."

"How? How can you know?"

"Babaji told me."

"Babaji?" Pen stopped. They were only a few hundred meters from the garrison's entrance, staffed by a pair of cold-looking guards in overcoats and hats. "Babaji is a sweet old man, a mystic!"

"That's how he knows. He's connected to the cosmic in a way you and I aren't. I couldn't tell about you, Pen. I had a feeling you were ready, but the lessons were going slowly. You weren't getting what
you
wanted, and that clouded my vision. But not Babaji's. He
knows
."

"Shit."

"You don't believe, that's your problem. You've never believed in anything, not really. Without faith, you can do a lot, but with it, you can do miracles. Babaji can see the soul of a person in a way I can't. He knows what we've always suspected about you. Pen. You have much more to give than you know."

Pen saw the pair of gate guards look at them. How odd we must look, two figures wrapped in grays, arguing in the cold.

"I
don't
see how being a revolutionary enters into anything."

"The opposition of evil, remember?" Von said. "Spiritually, the Siblings make few claims. Pragmatics is another topic. What do you think all of your training has been for, save to put it to use? We concern ourselves with the evolution of man. Through our work, some of the brothers and sisters achieve a cosmic connection, but that is not our main intent. That kind of thing is up to the individual. Your path up the mountain personally is your problem. As a group, we must think of every human and mue's path. On the most basic of levels, we must first try to give everyone the chance to grow. Under the lash of the Confed, too many people never get that chance."