The Status Civilization

Chapter Six

“Evil,” the priest said, after he had settled comfortably into Barrent’s best chair, “is that force within us which inspires men to acts of strength and endurance. The worship of Evil is essentially the worship of oneself, and therefore the only true worship. The self which one worships is the ideal social being; the man content in his niche in society, yet ready to grasp any opportunity for advancement; the man who meets death with dignity, who kills without the demeaning vice of pity. Evil is cruel, since it is a true reflection of the uncaring and insensate universe. Evil is eternal and unchanging, although it comes to us in the many forms of protean life.”

“Would you care for a little wine, Uncle?” Barrent asked.

“Thank you, that’s very thoughtful,” Uncle Ingemar said. “How is business?”

“Fair. A little slow this week.”

“People don’t take the same interest in poisoning,” the priest said, moodily sipping his drink. “Not like when I was a boy, newly unfrocked and shipped out from Earth. However. I was speaking to you about Evil.”

“Yes, Uncle.”

“We worship Evil,” Uncle Ingemar said, “in the incarnate form of The Black One, that horned and horrid specter of our days and nights. In The Black One we find the seven cardinal sins, the forty felonies, and the hundred and one misdemeanors. There is no crime that The Black One has not performed—faultlessly, as befits his nature. Therefore we imperfect beings model ourselves upon his perfections. And sometimes, The Black One rewards us by appearing before us in the awful beauty of his fiery flesh. Yes, Nephew, I have actually been privileged to see him. Two years ago he appeared at the conclusion of the Games, and he also appeared the year before that.”

The priest brooded for a moment over the divine appearance. Then he said, “Since we recognize in the State man’s highest potential for Evil, we also worship the State as a suprahuman, though less than divine, creation.”

Barrent nodded. He was having a difficult time staying awake. Uncle Ingemar’s low, monotonous voice lecturing about so commonplace a thing as Evil had a soporific effect on him. He struggled to keep his eyes open.

“One might well ask,” Uncle Ingemar droned on, “if Evil is the highest attainment of the nature of man, why then did The Black One allow any Good to exist in the universe? The problem of Good has bothered the unenlightened for ages. I will now answer it for you.”

“Yes, Uncle?” Barrent said, surreptitiously pinching himself on the inside of the thigh in an effort to stay awake.

“But first,” Uncle Ingemar said, “let us define our terms. Let us examine the nature of Good. Let us boldly and fearlessly stare our great opponent in the face and discover the true lineaments of his features.”

“Yes,” Barrent said, wondering if he should open a window. His eyes felt incredibly heavy. He rubbed them hard and tried to pay attention.

“Good is a state of illusion,” said Uncle Ingemar in his even, monotonous voice, “which ascribes to man the nonexistent attributes of altruism, humility, and piety. How can we recognize Good as being an illusion? Because there is only man and The Black One in the universe, and to worship The Black One is to worship the ultimate expression of oneself. Thus, since we have proven Good to be an illusion, we necessarily recognize its attributes as nonexistent. Understood?”

Barrent didn’t answer.

“Do you understand?” the priest asked more sharply.

“Eh?” Barrent said. He had been dozing with his eyes open. He forced himself awake and managed to say, “Yes, Uncle, I understand.”

“Excellent. Understanding that, we ask, why did The Black One allow even the illusion of Good to exist in an Evil universe? And the answer is found in the Law of Necessary Opposites; for Evil could not be recognized as such without something to contrast it with. The best contrast is an opposite. And the opposite of Evil is Good.” The priest smiled triumphantly. “It’s so simple and clear-cut, isn’t it?”

“It certainly is, Uncle,” Barrent said. “Would you like a little more wine?”

“Just the tiniest drop,” the priest said.

He talked to Barrent for another ten minutes about the natural and charming Evil inherent in the beasts of the field and forest, and counseled Barrent to pattern his behavior on those simple-minded creatures. At last he rose to leave.

“I’m very glad we could have this little chat,” the priest said, warmly shaking Barrent’s hand. “Can I count on your appearance at our Monday night services?”

“Services?”

“Of course,” Uncle Ingemar said. “Every Monday night—at midnight—we hold Black Mass at the Wee Coven on Kirkwood Drive. After services, the Ladies Auxiliary usually puts out a snack, and we have community dancing and choir singing. It’s all very jolly.” He smiled broadly. “You see, the worship of evil can be fun.”

“I’m sure it can,” Barrent said. “I’ll be there, Uncle.”

He showed the priest to the door. After locking up, he thought carefully about what Uncle Ingemar had said. No doubt about it, attendance at services was necessary. Compulsory, in fact. He just hoped that the Black Mass wouldn’t be as infernally dull as Ingemar’s exposition of Evil.

That was Friday. Barrent was kept busy over the next two days. He received a shipment of homeopathic herbs and roots from his agent in the Bloodpit district. It took the better part of a day to sort and classify them, and another day to store them in the proper jars.

On Monday, returning to his shop after lunch, Barrent thought he saw the girl. He hurried after her, but lost her in the crowd.

When he got back to his store, Barrent found that a letter had been slipped under his door. It was an invitation from his neighborhood Dream Shop. The letter read:

Barrent put down the letter. He had no idea what a Dream Shop was, or how the dreams were produced. He would have to find out. Even though the invitation was graciously worded, it had a peremptory tone to it. Past a doubt, a visit to a Dream Shop was one of the obligations of a Free Citizen.

But of course, an obligation could be a pleasure, too. The Dream Shop sounded interesting. And a genuine memory-resurrection dream of Earth would be worth almost any price the proprietors wished to ask.

But that would have to wait. Tonight was Black Mass, and his attendance there was definitely required.

Barrent left his store at eleven o’clock in the evening. He wanted time for a stroll around Tetrahyde before going to the service, which began at midnight.

He started his walk with a definite sense of well-being. And yet, because of the irrational and unexpecting nature of Omega, he almost died before reaching the Wee Coven on Kirkwood Drive.