ped, Jim?"

"Number of things, Monty. They're hard to explain because--" the
sociologist shrugged, winced a little as the gesture pushed his
leg down on the edge of his bunk--"well, let me just mention
them.

"These people are the descendants of an old United States Army
platoon, yet they have a fully-developed religion centered on a
slain and resurrected god.

"Now, Monty, with all due respect to the old US Army, that just
doesn't make sense! Normally, it would take thousands of years for a
slain-god religion to develop, and then only in a special situation,
from the field-fertility magic of primitive agriculturists.

"Well, you saw those people's fields from the air. Some 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 cannot be the Bible--you
heard Tenant Jones say that they mentioned firearms that used
cartridges. That means they can't be older than 1860 at the
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."

Loudons picked up his cigar again. "By the way, 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 me. 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 platoon, by
the way--and then he sent the Reader out on some other errand,
undoubtedly to pass the word around not to talk to us about their
religion."

"I don't get that," Altamont said. "They showed me
everything--their gunshop, their powder mill, their defenses,
everything."

He smoked in silence for a moment, then added, in an apologetic
tone, "Jim, I'm sure you've thought of this: the slain god
couldn't be the original platoon commander, could he?"

"I've thought of it, and he isn't, Monty.

"No, definitely not, though they have the greatest respect for
his memory--decorate his grave regularly, drink toasts to him,