other heavies as they streamed down toward the temple below. Already stripped of the life murals that had once graced its walls, and defaced with illegible alien graffiti, the temple stood as a mute reminder of how helpless they were.
A shadow passed over him and Wexel-15 knew without looking that it was an Il Ronnian flying machine. Ominous things that hovered over the work parties, patrolled the streets, or simply sat while their weapons probed the air for enemies.
Wexel-15 joined the line that snaked toward the temple's entrance. A light stood in front of him. She was slender like all of her kind and a good four inches taller than Wexel-15. She had six fingers instead of his four and wore a long flowing cloak.
The female was subtle about it, but Wexel-15 noticed the care with which she separated herself from both him and the heavy directly in front of her. Lights avoided physical contact with heavies whenever they could. They claimed it was part of their basic programming but the heavies didn't believe it.
Wexel-15 moved closer and watched her shoulders tense.
The line moved in fits and starts, halting occasionally when someone crowded in, then starting again. Finally, after ten laks or so, Wexel-15 approached the entrance. A male light, his skin glowing pink, held a tray.
The female light paused, took one of hundreds of shiny black disks from the tray, and pressed it to her forehead. It stayed as if glued in place. She moved ahead.
Wexel-15 took her place, selected a disk, and slapped it into place.
The door was tall and thin like those who had designed it. Though the light in front of him entered without difficulty the door frame brushed both of Wexel-15's massive shoulders.
He entered an enormous room. Row upon row of ornate benches filled the hall. The lights were bunched together toward the front of the room with heavies pressed in all around them. The lights were visibly annoyed.
Wexel-15 felt no desire to participate in the game and chose the nearest seat. His back hurt where it pressed against cold stone. The injury mattered very little. The pain and all signs of tissue damage would be gone by tomorrow.
The lights referred to the building as a "temple" but no one knew what it was for sure. The Lords had been fond of grandiose architecture and it was hard to tell which structures had been important and which were overdecorated.
But God had been known to speak within this particular building, when he felt like it, which was very seldom. The last pronouncement had come seventeen dars ago, long before the alien invasion, and had concerned itself with impending geological activity in the southern hemisphere.
The entire population of lights and heavies had been evacuated from that region and many versions had been saved. The ensuing earthquakes had destroyed much of city twelve and most of city thirteen. Now both castes came to gathering after gathering, uncertain about what to do, hoping for divine guidance.
Fifteen laks passed before a wizened old light appeared, held up his hands, and delivered the traditional invocation.
"We are constructs, Lord, and seek your guidance. Speak to us that we might know your will and act accordingly."
God came with a powerful suddenness. Wexel-15 felt himself transported as waves of pleasure rippled through his body. The sensation was like that of an orgasm only much more powerful. It lasted for an entire lak. Then it was gone and the voice of God flowed into their minds.
"Greetings, constructs. Listen carefully for there is little time. The invaders have the means to detect our communications and are headed this way. My instructions are as follows:
"As with evil, salvation shall fall from the sky, and wear strange skins. Take salvation into your homes and ask for guidance. But know this: Nothing comes from nothing and the slowest shall lead."
God's words still echoed in Wexel-15's head when fifteen or twenty Sand Sept troopers poured into the hall and took up
A shadow passed over him and Wexel-15 knew without looking that it was an Il Ronnian flying machine. Ominous things that hovered over the work parties, patrolled the streets, or simply sat while their weapons probed the air for enemies.
Wexel-15 joined the line that snaked toward the temple's entrance. A light stood in front of him. She was slender like all of her kind and a good four inches taller than Wexel-15. She had six fingers instead of his four and wore a long flowing cloak.
The female was subtle about it, but Wexel-15 noticed the care with which she separated herself from both him and the heavy directly in front of her. Lights avoided physical contact with heavies whenever they could. They claimed it was part of their basic programming but the heavies didn't believe it.
Wexel-15 moved closer and watched her shoulders tense.
The line moved in fits and starts, halting occasionally when someone crowded in, then starting again. Finally, after ten laks or so, Wexel-15 approached the entrance. A male light, his skin glowing pink, held a tray.
The female light paused, took one of hundreds of shiny black disks from the tray, and pressed it to her forehead. It stayed as if glued in place. She moved ahead.
Wexel-15 took her place, selected a disk, and slapped it into place.
The door was tall and thin like those who had designed it. Though the light in front of him entered without difficulty the door frame brushed both of Wexel-15's massive shoulders.
He entered an enormous room. Row upon row of ornate benches filled the hall. The lights were bunched together toward the front of the room with heavies pressed in all around them. The lights were visibly annoyed.
Wexel-15 felt no desire to participate in the game and chose the nearest seat. His back hurt where it pressed against cold stone. The injury mattered very little. The pain and all signs of tissue damage would be gone by tomorrow.
The lights referred to the building as a "temple" but no one knew what it was for sure. The Lords had been fond of grandiose architecture and it was hard to tell which structures had been important and which were overdecorated.
But God had been known to speak within this particular building, when he felt like it, which was very seldom. The last pronouncement had come seventeen dars ago, long before the alien invasion, and had concerned itself with impending geological activity in the southern hemisphere.
The entire population of lights and heavies had been evacuated from that region and many versions had been saved. The ensuing earthquakes had destroyed much of city twelve and most of city thirteen. Now both castes came to gathering after gathering, uncertain about what to do, hoping for divine guidance.
Fifteen laks passed before a wizened old light appeared, held up his hands, and delivered the traditional invocation.
"We are constructs, Lord, and seek your guidance. Speak to us that we might know your will and act accordingly."
God came with a powerful suddenness. Wexel-15 felt himself transported as waves of pleasure rippled through his body. The sensation was like that of an orgasm only much more powerful. It lasted for an entire lak. Then it was gone and the voice of God flowed into their minds.
"Greetings, constructs. Listen carefully for there is little time. The invaders have the means to detect our communications and are headed this way. My instructions are as follows:
"As with evil, salvation shall fall from the sky, and wear strange skins. Take salvation into your homes and ask for guidance. But know this: Nothing comes from nothing and the slowest shall lead."
God's words still echoed in Wexel-15's head when fifteen or twenty Sand Sept troopers poured into the hall and took up
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