Over the span of its previously shadowed existence, the Directorate had met in a number of secret places. Now it blatantly met wherever it chose. For this occasion, one historical monument from the early days of New York City had been selected. It had been a traditional church for generations; the building and grounds were located within sight of the ancient Empire State Building. Now the Commission leased the entire property to the G-O-D for $1 a year. Supposedly, all Christian symbolism had been effaced, leaving only the outer shell of the now deconsecrated sanctuary to suggest its earlier function.
Meeting here, Snowfeather thought, was intended to be their puerile little show of force. They should have built a teepee, she thought maliciously.
Who is that awful woman standing on the steps?
Louise had not weathered her ascent to power gracefully. Now so sallow that anemia seemed indicated, she stood in the doorway to the former sanctuary. Her head was shaved shiny bald. In her robes, which were a fungal gray color, she was a strange caricature of a medieval monk.
“Snowfeather, dear,” Tan said with forced friendliness, “so good of you to come.” Turning, she led Snowfeather into the former chapel.
Inside, the walls had been stripped, ceiling to bottom. There was no floor at all, just an expanse of scummy soil and twisting, tangled plants. Insect sounds filled the dank air. Immense dark green leaves, gray vines, thick black stems, swollen purple branches, entwined and twisting like snakes—these things and more grew everywhere, filling every available niche. The sensation of closeness and decay was overwhelming. Flickering yellow incandescent lamps were scattered in this cool, fetid jungle; and water dripped from the moldy ceiling. Snowfeather tripped over a root, and quickly regained her balance. Her heart was hammering.
The Directorate’s members were still seven in number, but K’s seat was empty for the moment. They were arranged in tree stump seats, making a semi-circle around a single empty rusted metal chair set—no doubt purposefully—slightly lower than the stumps. Without speaking, Tan had quickly taken the first stump. The other five members—Snowfeather ticked off their given names in her mind—were also dressed in robes in that appalling fungus shade. Every head was shaved, and their eyes cold and lifeless.
How could I ever have been part of this?
Tan spoke first. “We though this location would be more comfortable for you, Snowfeather.”
“More comfortable? Than what?” she snorted.
“Please sit down.”
“No, but thank you. I’ll think I’ll stand for the moment.”
“Sit!” the giant woman next to Tan hissed.
“Louise, your sarcasm is a good fit. It goes with your Sister’s rudeness,” Snowfeather said.
“My apologies,” Tan said.
“For what? Your sarcasm or her rudeness?” Then Snowfeather sat down on the rusty chair and smiled. “So what can I do for you?”
Berker didn’t immediately answer. In the silence, Snowfeather stared at the huge woman sitting next to her. “Cynthia? My God, is that you?” Snowfeather asked. Cynthia had changed so much she was almost unrecognizable. She was an inflated, red-faced woman with close set eyes and a sour expression. It was as though the self-importance she had acquired as a Sister had set off a malevolent growth hormone. Cynthia eventually nodded.
“Well,” Tan continued, “I would like an explanation. We are all…puzzled by your behavior.”
“I’m sorry you are confused. What can I do to enlighten you?”
“You left the movement at the height of your success.”
“That can happen.”
“Now you assume the dress and speech of an ancient man cult.”
Snowfeather laughed. “You don’t like my wardrobe?”
“A cult,” Tan continued, “that worships a deluded, long dead male, a cult that remains blind to the Earth Goddess Imperative, and to the criminal predations of humankind.”
“I see that conversion would be a challenge in your case,” Snowfeather said lightly. “Louise, in my tradition, there is only the Great Spirit, not this Gaia invention. But am I wasting my time with you? I think so.”
“You have defamed Gaia,” Tan hissed.
“Defame? Telling the simple truth is no defamation.”
Tan continued, adopting the stentorian tone of a criminal clerk reading charges: “You have defamed the Commission.”
“Same defense,” Snowfeather said. “Truth.”
“You have defamed our Directorate,” Tan said.
“Attacked,” Snowfeather said amiably. “Defamed means I was wrong. Which I was not.” Then Snowfeather stood, choosing the spot directly in front of Tan, who was still seated. She leaned down staring directly into Berker’s face. “Your parents named you Louise Berker.” Snowfeather’s voice was calm, reasonable. “They loved you, Louise.” Tan’s face went blank.
Snowfeather turned to Gloris. “Cynthia Thomas, have you completely forgotten your humanity? Jane Sing,” Snowfeather said, turning slightly, “Holly Burton, Dianne Alonoi, Susan Sanchez.” She paused. “Weren’t you all born of mothers, fathers?” Five angry faces sought to retain their composure while Berker looked on with cool amusement. “What? You sprung up out of the loam? Come on, girls. Have you truly given up on the human race that produced your families?”
“Humanity is a pathogen,” Tan finally said. Her tone was matter-of-fact.
“So you would poison humanity?”
“Gaia does that work for us, Snowfeather,” Tan said calmly.
“But you, you…attack our goals!” The words came from Gloris. “You challenge Gaia Herself!” She was shouting so loud that Snowfeather was momentarily speechless.
Tan stood, looking at her. “No need to raise your voice, Gloris. Discussion is pointless.” She faced Snowfeather. “One last warning: Stop these public appearances.” Tan paused, momentarily overcome with her own fury. “You must stop your obscene attacks.”
Snowfeather began shouting back. “Obscenity! You want to see a real obscenity! Why don’t you come with me to St. John’s Children’s hospital? Why don’t you see your precious handiwork first hand? Why don’t you get off your damn toadstools!?”
“Disease is Gaia’s Kiss. She claims her own,” Gloris hissed.
Snowfeather paused to swallow. Thunderstruck, she stared at the Directorate for what felt like a full minute. The sounds of water dripping, human breathing and distant traffic accompanied her chilling realization. This conversation is hopeless, she thought. I’ll be lucky to walk out of here alive. She looked at each Sister in turn. The ceiling dripped, insects buzzed. “So you found the final solution, the perfect cure, haven’t you? The modern version of smallpox infected blankets, this time for the white eyes, and for everyone else.” All six faces were now smiling. They resembled a pack of feral cats eyeing their prey. Snowfeather turned away from the Sisters, too angry to look at them any longer.
She went quickly for the door, but immediately stumbled on a root. Swallowing a curse, she glanced down; then stopped, momentarily held in place by her revulsion: The old cross from the original altar lay wrapped in a network of fine gray roots. Partly buried in putrescent soil, it was barely recognizable, blanketed with tiny, glistening slugs.
Snowfeather glanced back over her shoulder. The members were all seated, staring ahead. “You are all monsters!” she called out. Seething with anger, she climbed the steps to the door. “Thank you for reminding me of that.”
As the door closed behind Snowfeather, Tan spoke softly. “And you, my dear turncoat, are far too dangerous.”
After a moment, Gloris stood. “We must stop her. Let K kill her.”
“No. K has just killed that Bishop,” Tan said. “Even now, public opinion must still be considered. But I want Snowfeather followed…everywhere. Her time will come.”