Sam had not told me when the meeting between Julian and Lampret was set to take place, however, and as I waited I was tempted again by sleep, for the day was warm, and so was my uniform, and a barrel of salt pork nearby had drawn a crowd of flies whose droning became a kind of lullaby, and the resinous boxboards sweating in the sunlight gave off a dolorous perfume. My chin dipped from time to time; and I was afraid I would be found here, hours later, dreaming contentedly, only to discover on waking that Julian had been shipped off to Schefferville or points north. I used this unpleasant prospect to torture myself into alertness; nevertheless I was relieved when I caught sight of Julian approaching across the parade ground, his head erect and his uniform clean and square.

"Reporting as ordered," Julian said when he arrived, and although I could no longer see him his voice was as crisply audible as if he had spoken into my ear.

"Julian Commongold," said Major Lampret said. "Private Commongold-or should I call you Pastor Commongold?"

"Sir?" Julian asked.

"I understand you've been lecturing the troops on religious subjects."

Since I was unable to see either party to this conversation I mean to transcribe it as if it were dialogue in a Play: that is, without benefit of observation, for that is how I experienced it, thus: JULIAN: "I'm not sure I know what you mean, sir."

LAMPRET: "Let's be straightforward with one another. I've had my eye on you for a while now. You're not like the other men, are you?"

JULIAN (hesitating): "No two of us are alike, as far as I can see."

LAMPRET: "You're literate, for one thing, and obviously well-read. You have opinions on current events. And I've been a few places, Private Commongold, and I know a Manhattan accent when I hear one."

JULIAN: "Is that so uncommon?"

LAMPRET: "Quite the opposite. One of your type turns up in every regiment sooner or later-if not a Manhattan cynic, then a barracks lawyer from Boston or a would-be Senator with a rural address. I'm just trying to sort out which kind of problem you are. Raised in New York, and you had a comfortable life there, by the look and bearing of you ... Who was your father, Julian Commongold? Some up-and-coming rag merchant? A mechanic with enough money to buy the illusion of prosperity and a storefront education for his son? Toadying before his betters by day and cursing them at night in the privacy of his kitchen? Is that why you decided to leave your family and join the Army? Or did you just get drunk and end up on the wrong train, like a lost schoolboy?"

JULIAN (coolly): "The Major is very perceptive."

LAMPRET: "Or if not that, something similar ... I suppose you were the sort of boy who always had his way on the playground? A few impressive words and everyone wants to be your friend?"

JULIAN: "No, sir-not everyone."

LAMPRET: "No-there's always the inconvenient few who see through the charade."

JULIAN: "The Major is surprisingly well-informed about life in New York City. I was under the impression that he had spent most of his time in Colorado Springs."

That was a daring and dangerous thing for Julian to say. The Dominion Academy in Colorado Springs had produced some fine Strategists and Tacticians; it had also produced, and in greater abundance, a legion of spies and informers. According to Sam the Dominion Military College was once an authentic Military Academy, back when the Union still operated an Air Force-that is, a battalion of Airplanes, and Air-Men to fly them.* But that institution declined with the End of Oil, although strategic stockpiles, it's said, kept the Air Force flying a few years into the False Tribulation. After that the Air Force Academy came increasingly under the sway of the Dominionist center of power at Colorado Springs-became, ultimately, a sort of institutional liaison between the Dominion and the Generals.

Dominion men are full officers, and entitled to issue orders. But their real power is disciplinary. Unlike other COs, a Dominion Officer can bring up a man on charges of Impiety or Sedition. A soldier convicted of those crimes might face anything from Dismissal with Prejudice to ten years in a stockade.

It was a power seldom exercised, for the relationship between the Army and the Dominion had always been a delicate one. Dominion Officers were generally not well-liked, and were often regarded as priggish and potentially dangerous interlopers. A good Dominion Officer, from the point of view of the men of the line, was one who would do his share of the work, who would foster piety by example rather than punishing its absence, and whose Sunday sermons were brief and to the point. Major Lampret was well-enough liked by the men, for he seldom threatened them. But he was aloof in their company, and watched them carefully from a distance. There was about Major Lampret something of the aspect of a well-fed Colorado Mountain Lion: lethargic, but muscular, and ready to pounce the moment his appetite revived.

Had Julian whetted Major Lampret's appetite for apostates and contrarians? That was the question I asked myself as I listened from my nest of ropes and boxes.

LAMPRET: "You might want to consider your tone of voice, Private Commongold. May I offer you a lesson in Civics? There are three centers of power in the modern Union, and only three. One is the Executive Branch, with its supporting host of Owners and Senators. One is the Military. And the last is the Dominion of Jesus Christ on Earth. They're like the tripod feet of a stool: each supports the other, and they work best when they're equal in reach. But you're not a propertied person, Mr. Commongold, as far as I know; and you're certainly not a Clergyman; and the Army in its wisdom has put you in the lowest possible rank. Your position doesn't entitle you to an opinion, much less the loose expression of it."

JULIAN: "There is proverb, sir, that opinions are like-like-"

LAMPRET: "Say noses."

JULIAN: "Noses, in the sense that everyone has one."

LAMPRET: "Yes, and like noses, some opinions are less noble than others, and some are thrust in where they don't belong. You may have all the opinions you want, Mr. Commongold, but you may not share them if they undermine the piety or preparedness of American troops."

JULIAN: "I have no love for the Dutch, sir, or any intention of undermining American soldiers."

LAMPRET: "That's a guarded denial! Do you think I'm a bully, Private Commongold, looking for an excuse to exercise my authority? On the contrary. I'm a realist. By and large, the men under my command are untutored and ignorant. I understand that and I accept it. For these men religion is little more than their mothers' half-forgotten admonitions and the promise of a better world to come. But that's what serves them, and I expect that's how the Lord intended it. I don't want my men to go into battle harboring doubts about their personal immortality-it makes them poorer soldiers."

JULIAN: "Not in my experience. I fought beside those men, and they gave exemplary service. The Major may not have noticed, since he wasn't there."

That was a gauntlet thrown at Lampret's feet, and my concern for Julian escalated to real fear. It was one thing to argue with the Major, it was another thing to bait him. Dominion Officers were traditionally excused from combat. They carried pistols, not rifles, and they were more useful behind the lines, where they ministered to the spiritual needs of the troops. The commonest slur made against Dominion men was that they were cowards, hiding behind their angel's-wing badges and their big felt hats. I could not, of course, see the Major's reaction to Julian's statement; but a kind of steely silence radiated from the tent like the heat from a smoldering coal-pile.

Then there was a sound of rustling paper. Major Lampret spoke next, evidently quoting from a document.

LAMPRET: " 'On consecutive Sundays Private Commongold was observed speaking to soldiers on the parade ground behind the Meeting Tent. On these occasions he talked without restraint or decency about the Holy Bible and other matters that fall within the purview of the Dominion.' Is that correct?"

JULIAN (less audibly, no doubt surprised by the written evidence): "In so far as it goes, I suppose it is; but-"

LAMPRET: "Did you, for instance, suggest to these men that there's no evidence of Divine Creation, and that Eden is a mythical place?"

JULIAN (after a lengthy pause): "Perhaps I compared the Biblical account of Genesis to other mythologies-"

LAMPRET: "To other mythologies-suggesting that it is one."

JULIAN: "Sir, if my remarks are to be taken out of context-"

LAMPRET (reading again): " 'Private Commongold went on to assert that the story of the expulsion of the first man and woman from Eden might be understood in unorthodox ways. He claimed that, as it seemed to him, the chief virtue of Eden was the relative absence from it of God, Who created the First Couple in His image and then left them undisturbed in their innocent revels. Private Commongold also suggested that the Tree of Knowledge and its forbidden fruit was a hoax worked up by the Serpent, who wanted the Garden all to himself; and that Adam and Eve had probably been expelled by trickery when God wasn't looking, since God, the Private said, was an incorrigably inattentive Deity, judging by the sins and enormities He habitually leaves unpunished.' "

JULIAN (in an even quieter voice, since he must have realized by now that Lampret had a spy among the troops, and that he was at risk of more than an upbraiding): "It was only a sort of joke, Major. Really nothing but a pleasing paradox."

LAMPRET: "Pleasing to whom, though?" (clearing his throat): " 'Private Commongold further hinted that the Dominion, though it claimed to speak with the authority of Holy Writ, was more akin to the voice of that Serpent, sowing fear and shame where there was none before, and no pressing need for it.' Did you in fact say this?"

JULIAN: "I suppose I must have ... or words that might be mistaken for it."

LAMPRET: "The report is lengthy and detailed. It cites apostasies too grotesque and numerous to mention, capped with your enthusiastic endorsement of the ancient and discredited creed of Biological Evolution. Need I go on?"

JULIAN: "Not on my account."

LAMPRET: "Is there any doubt in your mind that these remarks constitute a breach not just of decency but of explicit regulations for the conduct of enlisted men?"

JULIAN: "No doubt whatsoever."

LAMPRET: "Do you understand that one of the fundamental services the Dominion of Jesus Christ performs is to prevent harmful or mistaken religious ideas from circulating among the gullible classes?"

JULIAN: "I do understand."

LAMPRET (lightening his tone abruptly): "I'm not in the business of harassing infantrymen without cause. I've spoken to your commanding officers, and they all say you're a competent soldier, and useful in battle, in so far as you've been tested. Some even think you might have command potential, when your greenness and arrogance begin to rub off. And the rank and file seem to approve of you-if they scorned your apostasies we wouldn't need to have this discussion, would we?"

JULIAN: "I don't suppose so."

LAMPRET: "Then let's get to the meat of the matter. These atheistic lectures must stop. Is that understood?"

JULIAN: "Sir, yes, sir."

LAMPRET: "They must stop completely, along with any denigrating mention of the Dominion of Jesus Christ on Earth, or any other duly constituted arm of the government. Do you understand?"

JULIAN (a whisper): "Yes."

LAMPRET: "I hope you're sincere about that-I won't be so generous in the case of a second offense. Remember, Private Commongold, it's not your soul I'm worried about. I can't control your thoughts-those are between you and your maker. You can absorb heresies until they bleed out your pores, for all I have to do with it. But I can, and will, stand between your vulgar jokes and the integrity of the Army of the Laurentians. Is that clear? Innocent men must not be sent into battle with their immortal souls at risk, just because Julian Commongold is bound and determined to go to Hell."

JULIAN: "I understand, sir. And I expect I'll see you there." (a pause): "In battle, I mean, of course."

I have been asked many times whether Julian when I first knew him was an Atheist or an Agnostic.

I'm not a Philosopher, much less a Theologian, and I don't understand the distinction between those two species of nonbelievers. In so far as I have an image in my mind, I picture the Agnostic as a modest man, politely refusing to kneel before any Gods or Icons in which he does not place his complete confidence; while the Atheist, although operating from the same principles, brings a hammer to the event.

Readers may draw their own conclusions about Julian's later career and the convictions he carried into it. As for his Biblical heresies, these must have seemed novel and alarming to Major Lampret; but I had heard them all before-I was an old customer, and jaded. I thought his stories were, in a way, testimony to the close attention with which Julian had read the Bible, even if his interpretations of it were too imaginative by half. I'm an indifferent student of Scripture, myself, and I prefer the sensible parts of that Book, such as the Sermon on the Mount, while I leave the more perplexing passages-the ones that mention seven-headed dragons, the Whore of Babylon, or any of that crew-to scholars, who relish such conundrums. But Julian read the Bible as if it were a work of contemporary fiction, open to criticism or even revision. Once, when I queried him about the purpose of his unusual reinterpretations, he said to me, "I want a better Bible, Adam. I want a Bible in which the Fruit of Knowledge contains the Seeds of Wisdom, and makes life more pleasurable for mankind, not worse. I want a Bible in which Isaac leaps up from the sacrificial stone and chokes the life out of Abraham, to punish him for the abject and bloody sin of Obedience. I want a Bible in which Lazarus is dead and stubborn about it, rather than standing to attention at the beck and call of every passing Messiah."

That was appalling enough that I hastily dropped the subject; but it hinted at some of the motives behind Julian's early apostasies.

I made my way out of the maze of boxed and barreled supplies shortly after Julian left Major Lampret's tent. Since Julian hadn't been sent off to Schefferville, I felt no pressing need to add my penny's-worth to the dialogue Sam and Julian must already be having. But I wanted Sam to know I had done what he asked of me, so I slow-walked back to our encampment, and came in on the end of an argument.

Their raised voices stopped me from interrupting. I gathered Sam had begun to lecture Julian on the importance of not attracting undue attention, or creating any controversy that might snag the attention of the Executive Branch. "We're a fair distance from the Presidential Palace," Julian retorted as I entered the tent.

"Not as far as you think," Sam said angrily. "And the very last thing you need is to become prominent in the eyes of the Dominion. Major Lampret is no Deklan Comstock, but he could have you sent to the trenches just by snapping his fingers-especially now that General Galligasken is fighting battles up the Saguenay. You don't act as if you realize that."

"But I do realize it!" said Julian, returning Sam's anger ounce-for-ounce. "I'm bitterly aware of it! I just stood in the presence of a man not fit to polish my boots, and listened without objection to his insinuations and his sneers! I looked him in the eye, Sam, and as he barked and whined I thought how little he suspected what I could do to him, and how quickly he would genuflect if that truth came out! I wasn't raised to grovel before an Army parson! And yet I did it-I swallowed my pride, and I did it-but that's not enough for you!"

"You might have swallowed your pride a little sooner, and thought twice about holding classes in sedition for the enlisted men! In fact I recall forbidding you to do any such thing."

"Forbidding me!"

Julian stood up so stiff-spined he seemed an inch taller than he really was.

"I was entrusted by your father with the duty of protecting you," Sam said.

"Do it, then! Do as you were told, and protect me! But don't mother me, or censor me, or question my judgment! That was never your province! Do what you were asked to do, and do it like any other sensible servant!"

The words struck Sam as if they had real weight and momentum. His face contorted, then stiffened into a soldierly mask. He seemed full of words, unspoken or unspeakable; but what he said, in the end, was, "All right, Julian-as you prefer."

It was a servile response, and Julian was quite undone by it. All the rage went out of him in a rush. "Sam, I'm sorry! I was just-well, the words came without thinking. You know I don't think of you as a servant!"

"I wouldn't have said so, until now."

"Then forgive me! It isn't you I'm unhappy with-never you!"

"Of course I forgive you," said Sam.

Julian seemed ashamed of himself, and he hurried away without acknowledging me.

Sam was a silent a long while, and I began to wonder if I had become altogether invisible; but just as I was about to clear my throat to signal my presence he looked at me and shook his head. "He's a Comstock, Adam. A Comstock heart and soul, for better or for worse. I let myself forget that. Don't make the same mistake."

"I won't," I said-but only to reassure him.

Major Lampret made a display of singling out Julian at the next Sunday meeting, in a sermon on Unhelpful Thinking. He denounced Julian's apostasies, and mocked them, and ridiculed the idea of an Army private giving out opinions on theological matters. Then he told us weekend leave was canceled, not just for Julian but for all the men of our company, to punish Julian for treading on the angels' coat-tails and us for being foolish enough to listen to him. It was tactic meant to make Julian unpopular among his peers, and undo some of the goodwill the other soldiers felt toward him. And the ploy was successful, at least for a time. Disparaging remarks were made in Julian's presence by men cruelly deprived of the opportunity to squander their pay in Montreal whore houses; and Julian was cut by these barbed comments, though he was careful to say nothing in return.

But that wasn't the end of the matter. Just about then-and for weeks thereafter, in a steady crescendo-a certain libel about Major Lampret began to circulate and gain currency: that the Major was a Colorado Springs cloud salesman who was careful never to get in the line of fire, because of all the immortal souls entrusted to his care his own took first place, and was too precious to be exposed to flying lead-in other words, that he was a coward who reveled in his noncombatant status.

There was no discernible source for this talk; it passed like a fog from one group of soldiers to another, never adhering to anyone in particular; but I noticed Julian always smiled when he heard it.

I was as upset as anyone else over missing my first opportunity to return to Montreal, for I wanted to seek out Calyxa and make myself better known to her. But I consoled myself with the hope that I might get another chance, and I used the empty time to finish my report about the Battle of Mascouche, and deliver it to Mr. Theodore Dornwood, the journalist.

Dornwood had forgotten his agreement to read my work, and I had to remind him of it; but at last he relented and took the papers from me. While he read them I admired his typewriter once more. I took my time looking over the mechanical device, and even fingered the keys, in a gingerly manner, and watched the greased levers rise and fall, and felt the intoxicating power to make Letters-solid booklike letters, not pencil scratches-appear on a blank white page. I was determined to get one of these machines for myself. No doubt they were expensive. But I would save my pay, and eventually I would buy a typewriter, even if I had to go all the way to Manhattan to acquire one. This I solemnly resolved.

"Not actually bad," Dornwood said, in a thoughtful tone, when he had finished reading my work.

It was as much praise as I had expected from him-more, in fact. "It's all right, then?"

"Oh, yes."

"Would you say you liked it?"

"I'd go that far."

"You might even call it good?"

"I suppose so-in its way, quite good, actually."

I savored that word, good, coming as it did from a genuine New York City newspaper correspondent, even at the expense of a little prodding. And not just good, but quite good. I was beside myself with pride.

"Not that you haven't got a thing or two to learn," Dornwood added, deflating me.

"How's that?" I asked. "I tried to write it as truthfully as possible. I didn't include elephants, or anything of that nature."

"Your restraint is admirable-perhaps even excessive." Dornwood paused to gather his thoughts, which could not have been a trivial task, given how much liquor he had consumed (judging by the empty flasks scattered about the place) and how the aroma of hemp smoke still suffused the air. "As much as I like what you've written-it's clear, grammatical, and orderly-this piece would have to be 'punched up' if it were submitted for newspaper publication."

"How so?"

"Well, for instance, here. You say, 'Private Commongold walked ahead of me, very steadily, toward the fighting.' "

"That's how it happened. I was careful about the phrase."

"Too careful. A reader doesn't want to hear about someone walking steadily. It's not dramatic. You might say, instead, 'Private Commongold ignored the shot and shell exploding all around him to such devastating effect, and strode with fierce determination straight into the beating heart of the battle.' You see how that livens it up?"

"I guess it does, though at the expense of a degree of accuracy."

"Accuracy and drama are the Scylla and Charybdis of journalism, Adam.* Steer between them, is my advice, but list toward drama, if you want a successful career. In fact, 'Private Commongold' is a little tepid, regarding rank, though the name itself is good-so let's promote him. Captain Commongold! Doesn't that have a ring to it?"

"I suppose so."

"Leave these papers with me," Dornwood said, casting a glance at his typewriter, which had been silent lately, perhaps due to his consumption of fiery spirits. "I'll give the subject further thought, and render you more useful advice next week. In the meantime, Adam, in the event of further military action, please repeat the exercise: write it up, as dramatically as the facts allow, and bring it to me. If you do that, I may be willing to show you how to work that typewriter you love to stare at, since you're an aspiring writer of some talent. How does that sound?"

"Excellent, Mr. Dornwood," I said, all unsuspecting.