Unseen Worlds: SciFi Challenges

Take me to Church

The Church of Humanity was not what it once had been.  Where pews had once been full to over flowing, illuminated by stained glass proclaiming the diversity of the human race, now weak light fought through dusty windows on a few stragglers that seemed to occupy the space as much for warmth and diversion as piety. 

The truth was people had changed.  Cybernetic implants and genetic manipulation were no long considered unusual.  Most people had a flexible view of what made someone human.

'Most' was, of course, the operative word.  Some people clung to the old ways, the old prejudices.  And those people were the ones who still made it to the Church of Humanity every Sunday, listening to the fire and brimstone preacher.  His carefully coiffed wife sat flanked on either side by their son and daughter, whose imperfections had been preserved by parental fiat.  Jorge wore large glasses and Julia's crooked teeth had never been disciplined.  They were wholly and undeniably human, as were their parents.  So committed were the Pastor and his wife that when a staph infection ravaged the Pastor's heart, demanding new valves and a pace maker, the couple had staunchly refused.  The Pastor died, proud and defiant to the very end.

* * * *

Jorge was living a lie. Not just living, but preaching a lie.  He didn't hate the cybers or splicers.  In many ways he envied them.  He envied them their perfect vision, straight teeth, and parents living into their nineties, hundreds, and beyond.  After his father had died he'd been forced to take over the "family business".  He had his father's voice, his father's face, but not his father's heart.  It was a burden he'd never wanted or asked for. 

It was this man, broken and hopeless, that saw Moira Haggerty walk into his church.  At first blush she blended right in.  But her eyes were too blue.  Her smile was perfect in shape and shade. Her long sleeves and floor length skirt hid most of her enhancements, but their faint lines could be seen pressing through the fabric.  And she was beautiful.  So beautiful that Jorge had a hard time looking away. 

After the service he stood at the entrance as always, shaking hands and thanking everyone for their attendance.  Moira shook his hand and gave him a card.

"Do you think we could talk?  Maybe sometime this week?  I would like to do a piece about your church."

She offered no details beyond that and quickly departed.  But later he was able to get a closer look at the card.  It had her name and her occupation - Journalist. 

Now he was off balance.  He felt like a trap was about to be sprung on him and he was holding the trigger.  He didn't know what compelled him, but he called the number on the card, both scared and exhilarated. 

When the line was live he spoke first.  "Moira please?"

"This is she.  How can I help you?" She sounded so polite.  Almost harmless.  Not like someone who wanted to destroy him, his life, and his entire church. 

"This is Pastor Jorge Alexander.  You came to my church yesterday.  You said you were interested in doing a piece about the church?"

"Oh yes!  I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting you to call.  I would love to talk to you about your church and your dogma.  Can we set something up?  Meet somewhere, neutral ground."

"Um, sure, how about... Llewellyn's Pub?  Tomorrow at six in the evening?"

"It's a date," she said before hanging up.

A date.  He knew she didn't mean romantically.  But his heart jumped at the phrase.  It took all his effort to still it.

* * * *