The Treasure of Lei Fong Wu

Chapter Fifty-Four

The Major shook Book awake roughly. He was in a small machine room, the hub of dozens of conduits and pipes that controlled . . . God knew what. Something unimportant. It did not have the feel of a room that was visited often. One wall was curved, the exterior of one of the big reactors he guessed. He was sitting in a cheap folding metal chair, the kind you saw in poor churches and cheap banquet halls. His hands were still bound behind his back, his shoulders uncomfortably numb from the long time he had assumed that position. The room smelt of lubricants and stale air, cleaning chemicals and reactor coolants. The sole illumination came from a portable harsh white utility light near the door.

“Good morning, Shepherd,” the Major said pleasantly. “I trust you slept well?”

Book did not answer immediately. His mouth was dry. When he finally did summon the moisture to speak clearly, he focused on the issue foremost in his mind.

“Tell me he’s dead,” he whispered. “Tell me he died in the revivification.” It happened, sometimes. People did not always come out of hibernation properly, especially when they had been down for a long time.

“Oh, our dear Master is very much alive and well. In full possession of his critical faculties, I assure you. He lives.”

“God . . . must be sleeping,” he choked out.

“I’ve heard your God is dead, Shepherd. In the ancient Kuo Ming dynasty, they considered all of the gods to be dead. Emperor Mao was quite adamant about it.”

“He ain’t dead. You think that, you ain’t paying proper attention to the ‘verse.”

The Major smiled. “Perhaps. Would you care for a drink?”

Book eyed the younger man – who was a man grown four generations before Book had been born – with suspicion. “I’d love one.”

The Major took a canteen off of his belt and uncapped it. He gently held it to the Shepherd’s lips, and waited for the man to drink his fill.

“Thank you,” the old man said when he was done. “You’ve done me a kindne