Whenever she spoke, the men seemed a bit uncom- fortable. I had the impression she was getting off on it.

Arlene looked over at me and winked. We'd fought enough battles to read each other's expressions and body language. Her expression told me that things were looking up as far as she was concerned, but she couldn't resist getting in the act: "I like an M-14," she said.

Jesus, it was like going shooting with Gunnery Sergeant Goforth and his redneck buddies!

The men started to warm to her a little. "Good choice for a military gal," said Albert. We all just kind of stood there for a moment, smiling at each other, and then Albert broke the ice by changing the subject.

He asked, in the same friendly tone of voice: "You wouldn't happen to be in league with those ministers of Satan invading our world?"

"We were wondering the same thing about you,"

said Arlene. I gave her a dirty look for that.

The beefy kid with the double-barreled duck gun chuckled. "Don't mind her saying that, mister. It shows a proper G.o.dly att.i.tude. I hope you both check out; I like you. We talk the same language. But we can't take any chances."

They searched us both thoroughly, found the knife, and impounded it. We were weaponless. In a way, I was glad. These guys weren't acting like ama- teurs . . . which meant they had a chance against the invaders.

"Okay," said the man with the bird gun, "we'll take you to the President of the Council of Twelve."

Arlene grimaced, which told me she knew what he was talking about; but she kept her promise. Not aword came out of her about the religious stuff. The t.i.tle sounded impressive enough to tell me that the Church of Jesus Christ of the Latter-Day Saints was still in business big-time.

Maybe she was right, and they were a cult; but I don't know any difference between a cult and a religion except as a popularity contest. They had survived, and we needed allies against the monsters.

I knew one more thing about the Mormons that I hadn't mentioned to Arlene during our little chat in the desert. A friend I trusted with Washington con- nections told me that a good part of Mormon self- reliance was to really prepare for every eventuality.

After their tumultuous history, extreme caution was understandable. Result: there were a lot of Mormons in the government ... in the FBI, in the various services, in the CIA, even in NASA. G.o.d help anyone who tried to play Hitler with the Mormons as the Jews! The Mormons should be ideal allies against a literal demonic invasion.

Arlene and I would find out soon enough.

8.

As we were led through the streets of SLC, I allowed myself to hope that Arlene and I had lucked out by landing here. If I were still a praying man, I'd burn candles and say a few Ave Marias that we wouldn't find a spidermind sitting in the Mormon Tabernacle . . . which loomed closer and closer, obvi- ously our destination.

The people in the street gave us a wide berth as we pa.s.sed, but they didn't act unfriendly-just cautious.

No one acted like an idiot. I hoped it stayed that way.

Suddenly, a man on a big motorcycle roared over to us and stopped a few inches away, kicking up dust. He wore a business suit. "Hey, Jerry," he said.

"Hey, Nate," said Jerry. "Folks, this is my brother, Nate. I'd introduce you, but I don't know your names,"

"Now, Jerry," said Albert, "you know better than that. The President of the Twelve hasn't interviewed them yet. They should give their names to him."

"Sorry."

"Sounds like they know your names already," said the man on the cycle, taking off his helmet. These guys were twins.

Although Arlene kept her promise about not dis- cussing theological matters, she leapt into any other waters that gurgled up around us. "That's a bad machine," she said.

Nate proved to be his brother's brother: "You like this?" he asked with a big grin.

"They have good taste in guns," said Jerry, spurring them on. Albert groaned.

Nate was on a roll: "BMW Paris-Dakar, 1000 cc's ..." He and Arlene went on about the bike for a few minutes.

Part of me wanted to strangle the girl; but another part appreciated what she was doing. Putting the other guys at their ease is a critical strategy. There were a lot more men in the street than women, but ourcaptors-hosts?-remained respectful and polite in Arlene's presence. A very civilized society.

". . . and the glove compartment can hold five grenades!" announced Nate, topping off his presenta- tion.

"That does it," said Albert. "If these nice people are spies, why don't you just give them mimeo- graphed reports?"

In the short time we'd been prisoners, I'd learned that there was no genuine military discipline here. I had mixed feelings about this. The good thing was that I couldn't believe these casual people had been co-opted by the invaders. They still talked and acted like free men. Very loquacious free men!

As far as getting their president to cooperate with us, it could go either way. In the land of the civilians, the Marine is king ... or a fall guy. I was impatient to find out which.

"Oh, I almost forgot," said Nate. "I have a message for you. The President hasn't returned yet."

"You should have told us that right off," said Albert peevishly. "We'll take them to Holding."

We entered the Tabernacle. It was nice and cool, with a fresh wood smell that was clean and bracing.

The floors were highly polished. You wouldn't notice anything different from the world I'd left on a court- martial charge that now seemed to belong to a differ- ent universe.

Arlene wasn't the only one with a lot of reading under her belt. I didn't know a whole lot about the Mormons, although I knew a bit more than I told her-but I'd read the Bible all the way through, enough to recognize things the Mormons took for inspiration from what they accepted as the earlier Revealed Word.

In addition, the nuns taught a little about compara- tive religion, probably so we'd be better missionaries.

I remembered that G.o.d was supposed to have given Moses directions for the construction of the Taberna- cle. The structure was to be a house constructed of a series of boards of a special wood, overlaid with gold, set on end into sockets of silver. In other words, it wasn't Saint Pete's, but it was no Alabama revival tent either. The Mormons adapted the idea for a perma- nent standing structure.

Right outside the Tabernacle were some more con- ventional office buildings. We entered one, and were led into an office by Albert. "I'll bring you something to eat and drink," he said. I was hungry and thirsty enough to settle for bread and water. A minute later Albert returned with bread and water, then left us alone.

"d.a.m.n," I said; "I was hoping for a more splendor- ous galley."

I walked over to a small table, and picked up the sole object on it: the Book of Mormon: Another Testament of Jesus Christ. I felt puckish and decided to tease Arlene a bit. I thought she'd pushed the envelope too much, encouraging the more talkative of our captors."Bet you can't remember all the books in here, Arlene."

She gave me that look of hers. "Will you bet me the next decent weapon we find?"

"Deal," I said.

"Okay," she replied, and rattled them off: "First and Second Books of Nephi, Jacob, Enos, Jarom, Omni, the Words of Mormon, Book of Mosiah, Alma, Helaman, Third and Fourth Nephi, Book of Mormon, Ether, Moroni. You're not getting out of this, Fly. I get first pick on the next piece!"

"d.a.m.n!" I said, thoroughly impressed.

"Watch what you say near a holy place."

"Don't worry about it," came a third voice. Albert had rejoined us without knocking.

"Don't you knock?" asked Arlene.

"As soon as you're no longer prisoners," he said, closing the door behind him. "I just wanted you to know that I don't think you're spies for the demons."

"We call them aliens," I said. The medieval termi- nology didn't bother me when Arlene and I were using it to distinguish the different kinds of monsters. It seemed very different when talking to a deeply reli- gious perseon. These things from s.p.a.ce could be killed. They were created by scientific means. In no way should they be confused with immortal spirits against which all the firepower in the galaxy would mean nothing.

"I understand," said Albert. "Would you mind telling me who you are and how you came to be here?"

"Won't the President ask us that?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Then why should we tell you?" asked Arlene.

"Because I don't have to be as cautious, and I'm a fellow soldier."

"So you should tell us about yourself," I said.

"In time. You don't have to tell me anything either, but you should consider it."

"Well," I said, thinking on my feet, "if we talk to one Mormon, we should probably talk to the leader."

Albert laughed. "We're not all Mormons here," he said. "Just most of us."

"Oh?" I said, unconvinced.

"Uh, I am," he cautioned. "Think about it. We're fighting the common enemy of mankind. We don't care if you're Mormons. We care that you can be trusted."

"Makes sense," admitted Arlene in a tone of voice so natural that I realized she'd been subtly mocking them before.

"I'm of the Church," continued Albert, "but Jerry and Nate are Jehovah's Witnesses."

"I thought they didn't fight," said Arlene, surprised.

"They are not pacifists, but neither are they of the Latter-Day Dispensations," he said as warning bells went off in my head. I prayed I could count on Arlene's promise to keep her trap shut . . . but she pressed her lips pretty tight."Latter-day what?"

Albert was more succinct than his friends: "They believe all the world's governments are works of the devil. They won't fight their fellow man at the com- mand of a state. But they can fight unhuman monsters until Judgment Day."

"I get it," I said. "Draft protesters in World War Two-"

"But volunteers for this," Albert finished.

"What do you mean by, uh, 'dispensation'?"

He laughed. Apparently we'd fallen into the hands of someone lacking in missionary zeal, for which I was grateful. "The United States Const.i.tution was ordained by G.o.d. That's why we didn't like seeing it subverted. We never know if a governmental person is good or bad until we see where his loyalty lies. But you two made a wonderful impression on the Wit- nesses; I think you'll do fine with the President. If you change your mind about chatting with me, you will find me easily enough." He left us with the promise we would see the President soon.

Three hours later we were led to the office of the President of the Twelve. A clean-shaven, elderly man with pure white hair, a dark tan, and a tailored suit got up from behind a walnut desk and rested his hands on his blotter. He kept his distance. He had a judge's face, carved in stone. If we were a.s.sa.s.sins, he was giving us a clear shot at him. But Albert and Jerry continued to baby-sit, fingers on triggers.

Mexican standoff. He sized us up. We did the same to him. He reminded me of a senior colonel in the Corps, a man used to giving orders.

Finally, he coughed. "I'm the President here," he said.

"You make it sound like President of the United States," I said.

He didn't seem to mind. "Might as well be," he said, "under the circ.u.mstances. Who are you?"

We gave him name, rank, and serial number. Being a gentleman, I let Arlene go first. Then he asked the sixty-four-trillion-dollar question: "How is it you come to be here?"

Arlene laughed and let him have it: "Fly, here- that's his nickname-Fly and I single-handedly kicked the spit out of the entire Deimos division of the alien demons. They moved the Martian moon into orbit around Earth, but we cleaned their clocks."

The leader of the Mormons said, "This is a time for mighty warriors. We have many prophecies to this effect. In the Book of Alma there is a verse that I find indispensable for morale: "Behold, I am in my anger, and also my people; ye have sought to muder us, and we have only sought to defend ourselves."

He smiled, pausing before continuing.

"But behold, if ye seek to destroy us more we will seek to destroy you; yea, and we will seek our land, the land of our first inheritance."

"Those words were spoken by Moroni. We must gird our loins for battle against the ultimate enemy. Atsuch times as this even women must be used in a manner unnatural to them. Do you know how much Delta-V is required to move a moon, even one as small as Deimos? Why should I believe you?"

I blinked, nonplussed by the change in subject.

Glancing quickly at Arlene, I saw she was controlling her reaction to the "unnatural" crack, her face impas- sive. Good girl!

"We, ah, fight the same enemy," I said.

"This is what you purport. You also claim to have hopped out of orbit and landed on your feet. Pray that we may prove both to our satisfaction. Until such time, we must be careful. If what you say is true, you will be able to demonstrate this to us on a mission.

Only then, if you earn our trust, will you"-he pointedly stared at me, ignoring Arlene-"be allowed access to our special wisdom. The audience is over, and good luck to you."

I worried that Arlene might say something stupid when I saw her mouth open and the danger sign of her eyebrows rising faster than any rocket. h.e.l.l, I was worried about myself. But we were ushered out of there without any disasters.

"As far as I'm concerned," said Albert, leading us back to our room, accompanied by Jerry, "you just flunked spy school."

"Huh?"

"I don't imagine a spy would concoct so ridiculous a story and annoy the President so thoroughly."

I said nothing; privately, I thought that was exactly what a spy might do. It worked, didn't it?

We felt tension leaking from the corridor, like air escaping from the dome on Deimos. At least the President was taking some kind of chance on us. He didn't realize how big a chance he'd taken talking that way to Arlene.

"We belong to the brotherhood of man," Albert said. "If you think you have problems now, just wait until people begin believing your story. Then we'll start treating you like angels!"