The CRES code

Chapter Fourteen - The Infirmary

     The contrast between the priest's infirmary and the rest of the building was striking.

     The nave, the reception room and the meeting rooms branching off from it had walls of stone and were lit by oil lamps whose lazily coiling wisps of rising smoke had created sooty patches on the ceiling and the walls behind them. The floors were polished wooden planking and the ceilings were textured plaster, grey and cracked with age. In contrast, the infirmary was made of smooth white plasteel that seemed to glow with newness and freshness. Randall could almost imagine a new car smell filling the air. The lighting was concealed behind panels up near the ceiling and was so even and diffuse that there was not a single shadow to be seen anywhere they looked.

     It was also warm, and the four hibernators felt their bodies coming back to life as they soaked up the heat. Randall felt his bruised and tortured feet start to throb and ache as the warmth of the floor penetrated the scraps of potato cloth that had been the only things protecting them from the cold, hard and uneven ground. Soon the ache turned into genuine pain, but it was a good pain that told him that his feet had come through the ordeal pretty much intact, despite the blood that had soaked through the thin, dirty fabric in a couple of places.

     Randall stared around in wonder and relief as if he were waking up from a terrible nightmare. It was such a simple thing, he thought. Nothing but bare walls and a warm floor, but it told him that he was back in civilisation. Back in a controlled environment where science and engineering shielded him from the harsh and unforgiving natural world. What do the common people think, he wondered, that their priest lives in a place like this while they have to go home to their cold, straw beds and their draughty brick houses. Maybe they simply thought that it was right and proper that the representative of God should live better than they did. Maybe, if the priests had some of the other benefits of civilisation, like guns and spy drones, the common people didn't dare complain.

     The room on the other side of the door was instantly recognisable as a doctors surgery, little changed from the ones in which each of the hibernators had been diagnosed with their terminal illnesses a thousand years before. Three hospital beds were lined up along the far wall surrounded by monitors and scaffolds ready to be hung with saline drips and bags of medication. One of the beds was occupied by an elderly woman dressed in a hospital gown, her hand being held by an elderly man sitting in the chair beside her.

     "Good morning, Madame Gosling," said the priest, going straight over to her and looking up at the monitors. "How are you feeling now?"

     "Much better, thank you Father," replied the woman, lifting herself up onto one elbow and pulling her hand free from her husband's grasp. "God has entered into me and taken away the curse."

     "A miracle!" said her husband, standing and going to take the priest's hand. He pumped it repeatedly with gratitude. "Thank God for what you've done for her! Thank God!"

     Jane started forward but Loach held her back. "This isn't the time," he hissed into her ear. "Save your indignation for after he's healed us."

     "You think I'd accept help from this blasphemer? I'd rather die! At least my soul will remain pure!"

     "Fine, then wait outside while he heals the rest of us."

     Jane glared at the former crime boss, then turned her back on him and went to stand in the corner of the room where she glowered silently.

     The priest, meanwhile, was touching his fingers to the woman's neck. "Your heart seems to be completely healthy, Madame Gosling," he said. "You should have plenty of healthy years ahead of you. Both of you."