 "The Word Is ‘Freedom’"
(Excerpt)
by David M. Fitzpatrick
They pursued him through the deluge,
mindless crusaders with a purpose. He’d been able see lights behind him
across the fields for the last hour, but in the past five minutes he’d
been able to hear them. The mad, howling storm was so intense that to hear
them at all meant they were dangerously close.
Horizontal rain stung his face like a plague of locusts. He leaned into
the screaming wind, squinting, hand out to break the rain from his eyes,
and pushed onward. He couldn’t be captured. If they acquired what he
carried, so many would suffer.
He stole a look over his shoulder. Over
the rise were the faint glows of many lights. He stumbled on the muddy
gravel but kept moving. They were damn close, and he was so tired. He’d
barely slept at all in the past five days. His body ached and cried out in
its exhaustion for him to stop, to just collapse and let sleep overtake
him. He couldn’t let that happen.
*
* *
“How do we know he has it, Captain
Gramwell?” the nervous young man hollered over the storm.
“Another of his kind told us all about
it,” Gramwell hollered back in the dimness of their lights. “It’s amazing
what those barbarians will say when you drive a few steel spikes through
their bodies.”
“I wonder what’s taking the skimmer so
long,” the kid said.
Gramwell smiled. “You tired of this,
kid?”
“No, sir,” the kid said, but his face
said otherwise.
“Not discouraged from the rain and the
wind?” he asked with a sardonic grin. Rain smacked his wrinkled face; wind
whipped his soaked hair around. He was the only one in the group not
wearing any headgear. The rest of them were bundled up as if ready for an
Arctic trip. “Not tired and hungry and wishing you were dry?”
“I suppose I am, sir,” the kid yelled.
“But I want to see him caught.”
“As well you should,” Gramwell said with
a chuckle. “And we’ll get him, son. We have to. He carries something we
need. So all of you remember,” he said, raising his voice, “as tempting as
it is, keep this one alive—and don’t damage him. We don’t know where it’s
hidden.”
“Sir, the skimmer is on its way,” came a
voice from the liquid darkness, and Gramwell smiled with satisfaction.
*
* *
He broke the rise and saw it. Straight
ahead, nearly invisible in the black torrent, he saw the dark outline: the
forest, several hundred feet away. A surge of hope exploded in his heart
like a firecracker and he surged drunkenly forward. If he could break the
treeline before they topped the ridge behind him, he’d be safe. Without
dogs or air support, they’d never track him in there. His heart was like a
woodpecker trapped inside a tree. His lungs felt like swelling balloons,
full of chilly air and cold water. If all he got out of this was
pneumonia, he’d be lucky.
His foot suddenly hit an unseen rock and
he went over the way they’d toppled what was left of the Washington
Monument when he was eight. He hit the ground sprawling, cursing the
precious lost seconds.
He clambered to his feet and snapped a
look back as he staggered into a clumsy sprint. He couldn’t see their
lights behind him. The trees loomed close before him. He was going to make
it. He ran again, fast and awkward, feeling like the scarecrow in a movie
he’d seen as a child. It was banned now, like most movies—especially a
fantasy like that, full of magic and all. The censorship was such a
tragedy—
The sky lit suddenly up above and before
him. He yelled in anguish, skidding to a stop as the massive hovercraft
roared into view over the treetops and dropped sharply between him and the
woods. Blinding spotlights targeted him as if he were some overrated stage
performer. The thirty-foot, silver-domed skimmer’s sensors were locked on
and he knew it wouldn’t lose him. He watched helplessly as it lowered to
the ground, blue-glowing pulse guns ejecting from their compartments with
hydraulic whirs.
He stood in the driving rain, pelted as if by countless nails, hands up
and fingers at his temples, waiting for the end. That was standard
procedure. He only hoped they opened up good, and aimed above his
shoulders. That ought to destroy his cargo.
Behind him, the voices were loud. He
looked over his shoulder to see the searchers herding toward him like
excited cattle. He spun back to the hovercraft, eyes wide.
“Do it!” he yelled above the din of the
storm, keeping his hands at his temples. “DO IT!”
They did it.
*
* *
He was on cold concrete, still wet. Every
joint was stiff. Every muscle ached. He had a pounding migraine. He tried
to sit up and could only groan in pain.
“Morning.”
He rolled sideways, pushed himself
painfully into a sitting position. He was in a jail cell, barely eight
feet on a side, without any beds or mats. A single dim overhead light down
the hall weakly illuminated the cell through the thick bars. Distant
voices were barely evident.
“How long?” he asked, hoarse and raspy.
“About ten hours.” He was a young man,
blond and athletic, dressed in a black prison jumpsuit. He sat in one
corner with an arm resting on an upright knee. “It was late last night.
They didn’t even get you dry clothes. What’d you do, anyway?”
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Nice dodge. I’m Thomas. You?”
He regarded the kid for a moment, then
answered, “Clevalis.”
“Can’t say I’ve ever heard a name like
that.”
“No. My parents created it.”
“Something wrong with James or Peter or
Matthew, or any other normal name?”
“Yes,” Clevalis said evenly. “They’re
Christian names.”
Understanding crossed Thomas’s face like
a dark cloud over the sun. “I see. You’re one of them.”
“Interesting way of putting it. What them are you talking about?”
“You’re Godless,” Thomas said, visibly
astonished. “That’s why they treated you so badly. They’re never nice to
sinners in here, but you… they dumped you in here like… garbage.” He said
the last word as if he’d actually tasted it.
Clevalis winced as he leaned against the
wall. The concrete was rough, but the coldness felt good against his
burning back muscles. “You think I’m garbage, kid?”
“Doesn’t matter to me. Matters to the
Church. I’m not sure why I deserved you as a roommate, but if you don’t
mess with me, I’ll stay on my side of the cell.”
Clevalis cocked his head curiously.
“That’s quite judgmental for someone also in here for breaking a moral.”
“My immorality doesn’t compare to yours.”
“Do tell.”
Thomas shrugged. “I was caught stealing.”
Clevalis raised his brow. “Oh, not just
any moral—you broke a Commandment. They’ll crucify you for that.”
“Just for a few hours, and no spikes.”
“Ah, yes—typical Christian hypocrisy. The
Church has decided God’s will: stealing gets you strapped up for a while,
but not honoring God is punishable by death.”
“That’s because ‘Thou shalt have no other
gods before me’ is first on the list. You broke the primary Commandment.”
Clevalis laughed, shaking his head. “So
much for ‘judge not, lest ye be judged.’ Anyway, the logic is flawed.
Being an Atheist isn’t the same as having another god, you know.”
Thomas blinked. “Being a what?”
“An Atheist—you know, godless types. But
I suppose they don’t teach you about that.”
“They sure don’t, mister.”
“So how many times have you been up on
the cross?”
“Is that your business?”
“I’m trying to make it my business.”
The kid considered it. “This will be my
fourteenth. But I’ve never been spiked. They’ve all been minor thefts…
well, I got caught lying once when I was in school, and I skipped daily
service once a few years back and got caught.”
Clevalis gave a low whistle. “You don’t
learn, do you?”
“I just have a… theft problem. I don’t
get caught often. I have some nifty tech gear that usually gets me out of
trouble.”
“Tech gear is very immoral for citizens
to possess,” Clevalis said. “You get caught with that…”
“No kidding. The only reason I’ve gotten
caught at all is because I didn’t want them to see me using my tech gear.”
He shrugged, smiling under his blond mop. “So once in a while things go
wrong and I get tied up for a while.”
“So what’s your tech gear?” Clevalis
pressed.
Thomas shook his head. “Sorry, I don’t
tell anyone that.” He shifted uncomfortably on the floor, changing which
knee was up and leaning the opposite way. “So why are you locked up? They
usually crucify you guys immediately.”
“I’m a special Atheist.”
Thomas grunted in amusement. “That’s an
oxymoron. What’s so special about you?”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t care.”
“Hey, you wanted to make things your
business. Now it’s my turn.”
Clevalis nodded with a raised brow. “Fair
enough. I have a cybernetic implant in my body. The Church wants it.”
“So why don’t they just kill you and take
it?”
“They don’t know where it is. It’s
microscopic. It could be anywhere. They don’t dare risk damaging it. But
soon, an expert with the right equipment will be here to find it. Then
they’ll spike me.”
Thomas was visibly interested now,
leaning forward a bit, eyes slightly wider than before, mouth slightly
open. “What’s in that implant?”
“Names,” Clevalis said. “Names of
Atheists hidden in society, pretending to be just like you. People whose
lives will be ended if they’re discovered.”
Thomas scoffed. “Well, you’re asking for
it, you know. Your beliefs are clearly against the morals of the Church.
All you have to do is accept God when you’re up on that cross tomorrow and
you’ll be spared.”
“That will never happen,” Clevalis said
through gritted teeth.
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t believe.”
“Why not?”
“We could debate this all day,” Clevalis
said. “My clock’s running down, kid; I don’t have time to try to stir up
the logic and reason I know is buried in that head of yours somewhere.”
“Maybe you’re not clear on this,” Thomas
said carefully. “As soon as they get the implant, they’ll string you up on
a cross and they’ll pound spikes through your hands and feet. They’ll
leave you up there for an hour, a day, a week—however long it takes. It’s
not going to be some anti-Church statement. It’s not going to make you a
martyr, because nobody will care. It’s going to be painful and terrible
and will result in your death. So give them what they want and convert,
man!”
Clevalis chuckled. “I can’t give up my
intellect in favor of fairy tales—not even to save my own ass.”
Thomas shook his head in disbelief. “Then… lie! Just tell them you
believe. Hell, I don’t think anyone should be tied up on a cross for
stealing or lying, but man, I tell them that’s what I believe. You just
have to play the game their way if you wanna live. After all, if you have
Atheists living in society who are pretending to be like us, why can’t you
do the same?”
“The mindlessness never ceases to amaze
me,” Clevalis said, closing his eyes and leaning his head heavily back
against the cold wall. “Listen to yourself, will you? Preaching about how
righteous you are and how terrible godlessness is… talking about what’s
good and what isn’t… and at the end of it all, advising me to lie about
believing to save my ass—and telling me how you do the same. If you could
truly hear how ridiculous you sound… maybe you’d learn to think
differently.”
*
* *
“Captain Gramwell?”
Gramwell looked up from his paperwork at
the face of the cop leaning in his doorway. “Go ahead, officer.”
“Bringing the prisoner, as ordered.”
Gramwell’s face hardened. “All right.”
The young cop came in, Clevalis in tow
and in handcuffs. Two other cops followed. The office was spacious, the
far wall open glass; the spires and bell towers of countless cathedrals
standing tall in the backdrop of the cloudy sky could be seen for miles.
The walls were adorned with the decorations Clevalis expected: Christ on
the cross, painting of the Last Supper, a few assorted Psalms, portraits
of Church leaders. Bookcases full of Bibles and other religious texts
lined every wall.
Clevalis, now in a prison issue black
jumpsuit, took it all in as he was led before the monstrous mahogany desk.
Gramwell, decked out like the officers in his dress whites, blue field
with a superimposed red cross huge on his chest, leaned back in his chair
and regarded the prisoner for a few long moments.
“You sad bastard,” Gramwell finally said.
“Standing there in your godless glory, nothing but a filthy animal.
Running free in our good society, corrupting the lives of good Christians…
running from the acolytes as they chase you all over God’s Creation.
Pitiful, Clevalis—shameful and embarrassing.”
“I’m not ashamed or embarrassed,” Clevalis said quietly.
Gramwell rocketed forward in his chair,
slamming both hands on his desk with a resounding smack. The white-clad
officers jumped at the sudden sound. Clevalis didn’t flinch.
“I’m ashamed because of you!” Gramwell
snarled, his dark face a mask of rage. Age lines in his face hardened into
steel grooves. “I’m embarrassed that you’re living in my world. I’m
offended by the very smell of you, you evil little punk. You and your kind
disgust me.”
He calmed abruptly, smiling lightly and
clasping his hands before him. “But that can all be past you. Everything
can change. We give you people a chance—the chance you’re deserved as a
child of God. Officer, get this man a book.”
The first cop scrambled to a bookcase
behind him, fished out a volume, and scurried to the desk. He set it down,
bowed his head briefly with his hands together before him, then backed off
to his original position.
Clevalis regarded the book,
disinterested. It was big, thick, and white, with black letters emblazoned
across the cover:
THE HOLY BIBLE
THE PERFECT AND DIVINE WORD OF ALMIGHTY GOD
NEW MODERN CHRISTIAN AUTHORITATIVE
ULTIMATE FINAL VERSION REVISED
VERSION 12, REVISION D
“That is a Bible,” Gramwell said. “It
will be your very own Bible when you leave here. It will be your personal
understanding of God’s word and His will, carried with you everywhere you
go, for consultation whenever you need it—if you make the right choice.
That choice is this: you place your hand on this Bible and proclaim
acceptance of Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior. Then, like any good
citizen, you’ll have a Guardian Angel device implanted in your body. That
will enable us to keep track of you, in case you’re ever led astray.”
Gramwell smiled, leaning back in his
chair once again, visibly pleased with himself. Clevalis regarded him with
the same neutrality he’d exhibited since being brought in. “So are you
ready to make that choice?”
“I see no choice,” Clevalis said in monotone.
“Then open your eyes, boy. You choose
what I’ve told you, or you go to the cross. Now, for a lot of things, we
just tie them up for their sins and let the catcalls and thrown stones
teach them the error of their ways; but not for you Atheists. Disbelief is
the worst offense, and we’ll spike you for it. We’ll nail you up there and
let you bleed to death. So that’s your other choice, Atheist… and from
where I’m sitting, the first one is a whole lot better.”
“That’s no choice,” Clevalis said.
“That’s the Church forcing people into submission. That’s the Church
controlling everyone—do it their way or die.”
“You’re starting to catch on,” Gramwell
said, his face hardening again.
“I’ll never surrender intellect and
reason in exchange for mindless child beliefs,” Clevalis said. “I choose
crucifixion.”
Gramwell’s eyes darkened and he said
through clenched teeth, “What the hell is it with you people? All you have
to do is make the right choice and you’ll live, boy! And you’re not
protecting anyone—our specialist will be here tomorrow morning and we’ll
find that implant and have those names. Then, it won’t matter if you
accept God or if you die screaming in agony on that cross like a stuck
pig. And when we find the rest of the Atheist scum, they’ll all face the
same choice as you—become members of Church society or die bloody deaths!”
Clevalis regarded him coolly, lips
pursed. “If that’s what we have to endure for exercising the free will
your own God has given all of us, so be it.”
“Don’t you blaspheme my religion,”
Gramwell hissed.
“How am I blaspheming? It’s your own
rules!” For the first time, Clevalis was showing emotion beyond his stony
face and flat voice. “Free will is guaranteed by your God—regardless of
who we are. And nobody but God is supposed to pass judgment. Yet the
Church has molded society into its own will, not God’s—made all the
decisions, spoken on behalf of God, interpreted everything to its own
benefit!”
“You’re Satan, quoting Scripture to your own purpose!” Gramwell said,
gripping the arms of his chair with hydraulic fingers. His nostrils
flared; his eyes were flame.
“And you’re a hypocrite,” Clevalis said,
shaking his head. “All of you… nothing but an army of mindless hypocrites.
Robots reciting what you’ve been told to believe, ignoring logic and
reason when you can’t explain your way around the fallacies and
contradictions of your worshiped mythology.”
“That will be all,” Gramwell said, still
holding his chair arms in death grips and trembling with anger. “Take this
Godless scum back to his cell.”
*
* *
“Good thing you have that implant, or
they’d have roughed you up,” Thomas said to him later. “They usually do.”
“That’s the ‘convert or we’ll beat you
until you do’ technique,” Clevalis said from his corner of the cell. He
lay on his back, one arm over his eyes, and chuckled. “You seem like a
reasonably intelligent guy, Thomas. You mean to say you can’t see how
silly that is?”
“I never said it wasn’t silly,” Thomas
said. “I told you before I don’t agree with everything the Church says.
It’s just that… I believe in God and you don’t.”
“That’s not the point. Your religion
supports free will and your Church doesn’t.”
“I support free will. Heck, I’ve made
free choices to break more morals and Commandments than anyone I know, but
that doesn’t mean I don’t believe.”
Clevalis looked from under his arm at
him. “Okay, I’ll go out on a limb. There’s no way I’m ever going to accept
your god or your religion, or this fascist society that requires me to do
so. Knowing that, do you think I should be allowed to live free or should
I be put to death?”
“What you’re really asking,” Thomas said
slowly, “is whether I think anyone, regardless of beliefs, should be
allowed to live in our society without Church control.”
Clevalis smiled. “Like I said, you’re a
reasonably intelligent guy.”
Thomas returned the smile. “You’re pretty
sharp yourself, for a disbeliever.”
Clevalis grunted his way into a sitting
position, legs crossed, and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.
“So how about it?”
“Well, first off, I think you’re wrong to
disbelieve. I can’t imagine how you’re unable to see the truth.”
“I believe as I do because I’ve used logic and reason to direct my life,”
Clevalis said. “Now tell me how you believe what you do.”
Thomas shrugged. “I was brought up that
way. I learned from my parents… from living in our society. It’s all
around us… it’s in everything we do.”
There was a long silence in the dark
cell. Thomas and Clevalis stared at one another for the long moments;
Thomas’ face blank and searching, Clevalis’ anticipatory. Presently,
understanding washed over Thomas and he smiled weakly. “I get it. You’re
saying I believe because I’ve been programmed to believe.”
Clevalis shrugged. “I’m not saying
anything. I just asked a question. You’re the one making the connections.”
“Well, it isn’t like that.”
“Maybe not. But it was nice to see the
intellect that I know is hiding in that head of yours kicking in for a
brief moment.”
Thomas glared at him. “So you want to
know if I think Atheists should be allowed to live.”
“I already know your answer,” Clevalis
said.
Thomas rolled his eyes. “Now Atheists are
telepathic, I suppose.”
“I don’t need to be. You’re not a
mindless robot like the rest of them, Thomas. There’s a stronger humanity
in you than most of the believers in this society—certainly more than
those who run it. I can see the good in you as clearly as I can see the
senselessness, the hypocrisy, the evil in the Church.”
With that, he returned to his prone
position on the cold concrete floor, arm back over his face. Thomas
watched him, mouth agape, anticipation still coating him like a glass
shell. Finally, he said, “Well… what do you think I was going to say?”
“You think Atheists should be allowed to
live as Atheists,” Clevalis said simply. “You think it’s a tragic
injustice for them to be forced into your beliefs. You feel it the same
way you feel it’s a tragic injustice to be strung up on a cross even for
lying or stealing—and the way you feel it’s a tragic injustice for the
Church to pervert your religion into a society of people afraid to be who
they want to be.”
Thomas thought for a moment before
saying, “You seem pretty sure you have me all figured out.”
“It’s obvious to me,” Clevalis said.
*
* *
Thomas dreamed he was running, barefoot,
from the acolytic police. They were chasing him through the streets of the
cathedral-populated city. No matter where he ran, people crowded on the
sidewalks shouted insults and threw stones. Some of the faces were people
who were sure of themselves in their righteousness. Others were far more
doubtful—insulting and stoning because they knew they were supposed to. In
the crowds were plenty of metallic robots, too.
“Thief!” they screamed at him.
He ran faster, but his pants were loose
and trying to fall down. He hauled them up and kept running, but there
were always people—and there always acolytes not far behind. They
commanded that he stop. He tried to fly, but of course he was barefoot and
beltless.
Eventually the crowds thickened and
spilled off the sidewalks, and his path down the street narrowed. Soon the
road was completely blocked by thousands of people pointing fingers—all
accusing, all judging, all condemning.
“I need to fly!” he hollered to the
heavens, hoping his God would hear him. He tried to leap into the air,
tried to fly without his gear, but he fell to the ground and collapsed in
a heap.
The acolytes were upon him, beating him
to the ground. He begged for them stop, but there was no mercy for one who
had broken a Commandment—and run from those who would take the Lord’s
vengeance on His behalf.
He was hauled up to a cross that standing
in the street behind him, and they lashed him to it with the restraining
straps—wrists and arms, ankles and legs, torso and neck. He struggled the
whole time, but the crowd liked it when he did. They cheered, drunk with
satisfaction. Everyone loved a good show of barbarism.
“Thief!” they all screamed in primitive
ecstasy.
“You are charged with breaking the
Commandment against stealing,” Captain Gramwell called out, and the crowd
roared its approval. “And with possession of immoral tech gear enabling
you to escape your crime scenes.”
Then the cops stepped up with steel
spikes and mallets, and Thomas began screaming again: “It’s just stealing…
they never spike for stealing… it’s just stealing!”
“You are also charged with violating the
most important Commandment of all,” Gramwell bellowed, and suddenly his
eyes glowed red and horns sprouted from his temples. “For committing the
ultimate mortal sin, violating the Commandment that prohibits having other
gods before Him, the penalty is death.”
The crowd went insane. Thomas was
thunderstruck. “But I believe!” he hollered above the intense noise.
“You’ve got it wrong! I believe!”
“But you’ve been listening to an
Atheist,” Gramwell said, and with that they drove the first spike through
his hand.
*
* *
Thomas woke with a violent shudder and
stifled cry. It was dark in the cell, even darker than usual. At night,
they killed the main lights down the hall and left just the emergency
lighting.
“You okay?” came a soft voice from the
darkness.
It took his muddled brain a moment to
focus. “I’m fine,” he said shakily. “Just… bad dream.”
“What were they doing to you?”
“Who?”
“The Church. ‘It’s just stealing, they
don’t spike for that,’ and other stuff. What did you do to deserve
spiking?”
“If you must know, I was charged with
violating the First Commandment… for listening to you.”
Clevalis whistled lightly. “Well, I don’t
think they spike for that in the real world—yet.”
They lay quietly for a few minutes, until
Thomas’ eyes had adjusted to the darkness. He said, “So what does this
specialist do to you when he arrives in the morning?”
“He’ll use a tech device to scan me. In
five seconds they’ll know where it is.”
A few silent moments passed before Thomas
said, “You were right in your assessment of me. What they’re doing to
Atheists is wrong. What they do to liars and thieves is wrong. Just about
everything they do is wrong. I want to believe, I want to keep believing…
but the Church has twisted everything.”
“It’s hard to expect anything less from the followers of a religion filled
with contradictions and illogic.”
Thomas sighed, exasperated. “I’m trying
to communicate with you, and you’re crapping on my religion—and you’re not
backing your mouth up with any facts. Give me some examples of how my
religion is contradictory and illogical.”
“I could give you a thousand, but I’m due
to be crucified in a few hours; so I’ll leave you with one good one: if
God is all-powerful and perfect, why does he need to be worshiped?”
“How is that contradictory or illogical?”
“Because he either needs people to
worship him, in which case he isn’t all-powerful; or he wants people,
which makes him vain and thus imperfect. An all-powerful, perfect God who
wants or needs anything is nothing short of a totally illogical
contradiction.”
“We can’t presume to understand God’s
reasoning—”
“But there isn’t any gray area here—he
either needs or wants worshipers. No Supreme Being, no Creator, would ever
have needs or wants. Is there a Higher Power? I don’t know. Maybe, maybe
not. But if there is, I’m certain it doesn’t need worshiping.”
Thomas sighed again. “I admit there are a
lot of holes… and I’ve questioned them myself, believe me. And points like
those make me question everything about the Church and society.”
“As well it should. Now I have a question
for you.”
“Okay.”
“Are you gonna tell me about your tech
gear?”
Thomas laughed aloud. “No! What makes you
ask that?”
“Well, you have my curiosity,” Clevalis
said. “I’ll be dead in a few hours, and before I go, I’d like to know what
nifty, immoral tech gear you have. I mean, who am I gonna tell?”
“Sorry, man,” Thomas said with a grin.
Clevalis chuckled. “Can’t blame me for
trying.”
“Tell me something about the names of the
Atheists in your implant… why carry them at all? Why put them at risk?”
“There are lots of us. The Church can
track every other form of communication, but we need to coordinate
somehow. It’s a necessary risk.”
“But why live with us like they do? The
cause seems so hopeless… why live among us, risking their lives?”
“Because everyone should have a choice,”
Clevalis said simply. “Every human should choose for himself and not be
forced into anything—not Christianity, not Atheism, nothing. Not long ago,
there were many other religions on this planet. Now there’s only one,
because the Church runs the world and nobody has a choice. We live among
you because this is our planet, too. We work to educate others.
Eventually, we hope people will unite against the Church and make Earth
once again a world where everyone can choose to follow any religion—or no
religion. That’s the way this planet has to be.”
“But the Church is too powerful and
far-reaching,” Thomas said. “Your cause is beyond hopeless. There’s a word for why you do what you
do. That word is ‘insanity.’”
“No,” Clevalis said, “the word is
‘freedom.’”
* *
* * * * * *
*
The closest thing Clevalis has to a
chance at survival, and the protection of the identities of the Atheists,
is Thomas... but is Thomas as free-thinking as he seems? And what is
Thomas' illegal tech gear? And how will Clevalis get out of this?
To read the whole story, visit www.Atheists.org and order a back issue of American
Atheist Volume 42, Issue 1, Winter 2003-2004. |
As a non-religious person, it was pleasant
to get my story "The Word Is 'Freedom'" finally published by the one magazine
that wasn't likely to be offended by non-religious views: American
Atheist Magazine. I sent this tale on to Frank Zindler, who liked this
one enough to publish it as well.