To Prime the Pump - A. Bertram Chandler [40]
She did not resist. As Lobenga moved to a position directly behind the altar, between it and the cross, she allowed herself to be led forward and then, quite willingly it seemed, lay down upon the dark, gold-embroidered altar cloth. She was beautiful of face, her body perfectly formed. Even in this supine posture her breasts did not sag. She was young, or was she? On this world, thought Grimes, she could be any age at all.
Lobenga had raised his knife. Above the now-muted drums rose the voices of the communicants. "The sacrifice! The sacrifice!"
Grimes was half out of his seat. "Marlene! What's your bloody Monitor doing about it? What are you doing?"
"Be quiet, damn you!" she snarled.
"The sacrifice!" cried the people on the screen.
And those about the altar laid hands upon the girl, one to each ankle, one to each-wrist, spread-eagling her.
"The sacrifice!"
"De white goat!" shouted Lobenga, knife upraised.
The white goat . . . the goat without horns . . .
"Marlene!" Grimes' hand was on her arm. "Marlene, we must do something. Now. Before it's too late."
She shook him off. "Be quiet!"
And suddenly there was a white goat, bleating, struggling. Two men threw the animal on its side to the ground, grasping its feet, lifting it. They set it down on the girl's naked body, its back to her breasts and belly, its head between her legs. The drums throbbed softly, insistently. The priest's knife swept down; the animal's cries ceased in mid-bleat, although its now released limbs kicked spasmodically. The girl, free herself from restraining hands, held the dying body to her.
The drums were clamorous now, ecstatic, yet maintaining a compelling rhythm. All over the clearing men and women were throwing aside their white robes, had begun to dance, to prance, rather, and there was no doubt as to what the outcome would be. Lobenga had lifted the blood-spattered woman off the altar, was carrying her into the darkness. The way that her arms were twined about his neck was proof of her willingness.
"I think," said Grimes, "that I'm going to be sick."
"Karl will escort you to your quarters," said Marlene.
As he walked unsteadily through the doorway of the Monitor Vault he looked back. The girl was still staring raptly into the screen.
Chapter 19
Not surprisingly he dreamed that night, when at last he fell into an uneasy sleep.
There was the nightmare in which naked women and huge white goats, erect on their hind legs, danced to the music of Ravel's Waltz Dream, while across the mirror floor, scattering the dancers, stalked Baron Samedi.
There was that other dream, even more frightening.
It seemed that he half woke up but was unable to stir a muscle, to open his eyes more than the merest slit. There was a strange, acridly sweet smell in the air. There were low voices of a man and a woman. He could just see them, standing there by his bed. He thought that, in spite of the darkness, he could recognize them.
"Are you sure?" asked the woman.
"I am sure," replied the man. Although there was now no trace of accent, that deep, rolling baritone was unmistakable. "The white goat."
"The goat without horns." Then, "But I do not like it."
"It must be done."
"Then do it now. Get it over with."
"No. The . . . conditions must be right. You do know enough about these matters."
"After what I watched on the Monitor, I am not sure that I want to know any more than I know already."
"But you watched."
"Yes. I watched."
"Did he?"
"Some of it."
"Come." The larger of the two figures was already out of range of Grimes' vision.
"All right."
And then both of them were gone, and Grimes slept deeply until morning.
Chapter 20
He was awakened by the inevitable disembodied voice calling softly at first, then louder, "Lord,