hey had entered the
helicopter and prepared to retire. "We've run into some weird
communities--that lot down in Old Mexico who live in the church and
claim they have a divine mission to redeem the world by prayer,
fasting and flagellation, or those yogis in Los Angeles--"

"Or the Blackout Boys in Detroit," Altamont added.

"That's understandable," Loudons said, "after what their ancestors
went through in the Last War. But this crowd, here! The descendants of
an old United States Army infantry platoon, with a fully developed
religion centered on a slain and resurrected god--Normally, it would
take thousands of years for a slain-god religion to develop, and then
only from the field-fertility magic of primitive agriculturists. Well,
you saw these people's fields from the air. Some of the members of
that old platoon were men who knew the latest methods of scientific
farming; they didn't need naive fairy tales about the planting and
germination of seed."

"Sure this religion isn't just a variant of Christianity?"

"Absolutely not. In the first place, these Sacred Books can't be the
Bible--you heard Tenant Jones say that they mentioned firearms that
used cartridges. That means that they can't be older than 1860 at the
very earliest. And in the second place, this slain god wasn't
crucified or put to death by any form of execution; he perished,
together with his enemy, in combat, and both god and devil were later
resurrected. The Enemy is supposed to be the master mind back of these
cannibal savages in the woods and also in the ruins."

"Did you get a look at these Sacred Books, or find out what they might
be?"

Loudons shook his head disgustedly. "Every time I brought up the
question, they evaded. The Tenant sent the Reader out to bring in this
old lady, Irene Klein--she was a perfect gold mine of information
about the history and traditions of the Toon, by the way--and then he
sent him out on some other errand, undoubtedly to pass the word not to
talk to us about their religion."

"I don't get that," Altamont said. "They showed me everything they
had--their gunshop, their powder mill, their defenses, everything." He
smoked in silence for a moment. "Say, this slain god couldn't be the
original platoon commander, could he?"

"No. They have the greatest respect for his memory--decorate his grave
regularly, drink toasts to him--but he hasn't been deified. They got
the idea for this deity of theirs out of the Sacred Boo