Baynes stuck a finger straight up in the air. "Which way is that?"
"Up," said Remo.
"You're now a navigator on a semischeduled airline. "
"I want to move among the passengers," Remo said.
"We can make you a flight attendant."
"Sure," said Remo. "Both of us."
On the next just Folks flight from Denver to New Orleans, there was no coffee, tea, or milk. The two flight attendants just sat all the passengers down and watched them. There were no complaints. When one of the pilots asked for a glass of water, he was thrown back into the cockpit and told to wait until he got home.
Chapter Four
Number 107.
Holly Rodan's mother was delighted. When she heard that her daughter's new religion did not involve dating minorities, everything took on a positive glow. It was a real community kind of religion but Holly would not have to live there all the time. Just occasionally, for formal prayers and ceremonies, such as tonight, when Holly would be inducted, and then return home in a few days.
"Do you need any special dress like for First Holy Communion or something like that?" her mother asked.
"No," said Holly.
"I see you have an airplane ticket. Is your church far away?"
"Mother. I have found a meaningful involvement. Are you going to try to ruin it now?"
"No, no. Father and I are really happy for you. I just thought I might help. After all, we can afford to help. We would be happy to give you the price of a full fare on a scheduled airline. You don't have to be poor or anything for your faith, do you?"
Holly was a beautiful girl with a blond cherub's face, innocent blue eyes, and a ripe milkmaid's body.
"Gawd, will you ever leave me alone," she said.
"Yes, yes, dear. Sorry."
"I have found a place for myself in this world."
"Absolutely, dear."
"I have done this despite the oppression of wealth . . ."
"Yes, Holly."
"A family environment devoid of a meaningful sharing . . ."
"Yes, dear."
"And parents who have never failed to fail me. Despite all this, I have found a place where I truly belong."
"Yes, dear."
"Where I am needed."
"Absolutely, dear."
"So get off my back, bitch," said Holly.
"Absolutely, dear. Can I give you something to eat before you leave?"
"Only if you want to saute your heart," Holly said.
"God bless you, dear," said her mother.
"She does," said Holly Rodan.
She did not say good-bye to her mother and she did not tip the cabdriver who took her to the airport. She took her just Folks cardboard ticket to a counter, where someone checked it against a handwritten list of passengers, then made a mark on the back of her hand with a rubber stamp. She was then directed to a waiting area, where someone was renting stools to sit on.
Holly steadied herself and thought of the prayers she had been taught. She chanted silently to herself and then knew that whoever she selected would be a demon and deserved to be killed for Her. Because She was the mother of all destruction and required that demons be killed so that other humans might live. All it took was killing, Holly realized. Kill, she thought. Kill. Kill for the love of Kali.
She walked around the waiting room looking for a suitable demon to sacrifice.
"Hello," said Holly to a woman with a paper bundle. "Can I help you get that onto the plane?"
The woman shook her head. Apparently she did not believe in speaking to strangers. Holly smiled her warm smile and tilted her head winningly. But the woman wouldn't even acknowledge that she was there. Holly felt the first chill finger of panic. What if she couldn't get anyone to trust her? They had to trust you first, she had been told. You had to win their trust.
An old man was sitting on a rented stool reading a newspaper. Old men had always seemed to trust her. "Hi," she said. "That's an interesting newspaper you're reading."
"Was reading," the man corrected.
"Can I help?" she asked.
"Usually I do my reading solo," he said. It was a cold smile he returned.
Holly nodded and walked away, frightened now. Nobody is going to let me help. Nobody is going to let me be friendly.
She tried to calm herself but she knew she was going to fail. She would be the first to fail. Every other initiate had passed. It was supposed to be so easy because people traveling were supposed to feel vulnerable, grateful for help, but there was no one in the sparse waiting room of just Folks Airlines who would let her help.
She tried a young boy reading a comic book and he physically kicked her away.
"You're not my mommy and I don't like you," he snarled.
The world was like that. She was going to fail. She had failed emotional development at the consciousness institute. All the marches for peace, for support to revolutions, to end all arms-they had all failed, because there was still no peace. Governments refused to sponsor and support revolutions, and there were still arms. All failures, and now, in the most crucial test of her life, she was failing again. She cried.
A young man with a face of acne that looked ready to harvest with a hard rub of a washcloth asked if he could help.
"No, dammit, I'm supposed to be the one helping," she said.