Chapter Ten

   THE new stretch of road, while not paved, was an improvement over the route through Prone Valley, and it was evident that the topography was changing. The land was no longer desolate. Flocks of sheep and herds of cattle appeared here and there. An occasional barn and farmhouse could be made out in the distance. Chris let the Mustang roll down the winding slope until its engine cooled and began to function more normally. Water became an immediate necessity, and he was vastly relieved to find a small settlement, complete with filling station, coming into view. He turned over his vehicle to the mercies of a straw-haired young attendant, decided against discussing the adventure he had just come through, and went in search of food. He found none. A three-minute survey of the village's business establishments drew a blank; he was forced to return and open communications with the youth at the petrol pump.

   "Any eating places around here?"

   "Nope."

   'What do you call this—ah—"

   "Airport City."

   "Not really?"

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    "Really."

   "Then where's the airport and where's the city?"

   "Yer in the city. This road'll take you right past the airport. Ja know yer oil's down?"

   "How's the water?"

   "I ain't checked."

   "Check out everything. And wash it."

   An hour later his car was gleaming, ready to roll; and since Chris had ascertained from his petrol attendant that a restaurant existed at the airport, he lost no time covering the few miles between. Approaching the site, he was disconcerted to find it unlike any airport he had ever patronized. A weird hush enveloped the scene. No planes were taking off or landing; dandelions bloomed at the landing strips; huge hangars stood bare with doors gaping; letters were missing from the road signs; taxicabs, limousines and car rentals were non-existent; only a few badly weathered cars were in the parking lot. Porters were absent from the terminal entrance, where a sign read (of all things) NO LUGGAGE ALLOWED.

   Chris parked the car and pushed through a door that had once been automatic. He found himself in a dimly lit waiting room with a few people sitting in it. Obviously the place had not had any caretaker service for some time. Newspapers were strewn about; cobwebs festooned the telephone stalls. How long the people in the waiting room had been there he could only guess, but they seemed very much at home.

   A buzz at one end of the lobby drew his attention. It was coming from the coffeeshop, and he proceeded

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toward it. As he entered he found the restaurant offering a vivid contrast to the rest of the complex. It was crowded with people, some waiting, some eating, some sipping coffee, some holding intense discussions over open Bibles. Chris became aware that all eyes looked at him. He paused, embarrassed, while a man perhaps five years his senior emerged from an alcove and came toward him with hand outstretched.

   "Chris Anders! God in your heart!" he cried. "It's me, Rusty Ness. From Doomsdale!" Chris took the hand and muttered, "Rusty!" He vaguely recalled a man by that name who had sold computers for a rival firm some years before. But that face! He definitely had seen that face recently. The stranger produced a card from his pocket, and Chris examined it.

   "You mean you left Doomsdale?" Chris asked tentatively.

   "Man," boomed the other, "I left two months before you did. Have you eaten?"

   "No. I—I'd like to."

   "Sit down. I'm about to order."

   The coffee shop resumed its conversational tone,

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and soon Chris and his friend were devouring steaks and sharing their harrowing experiences in a series of constant mutual interruptions. Ness had also been dismayed by his personal life and by the turn of world events; and having just come through a long siege of terminal cancer with his wife, he too had walked out of the door (with some help from Ernie van Gelst) and had headed for the transmitter.

   "That's where I saw you!" exclaimed Chris.

   "Where?''

   "It was a slide. The Major showed it. I remember his saying you had become a guide or something."

   Ness smiled and continued his narration. He had run into a totally different set of circumstances from Chris, apparently, and had managed to get through to Life City, where he spent some time in a training programme and was now making his first road trip on volunteer assignment. His eyes danced as he talked about it. "My job will be to organize tours to Life City. Can you imagine anything more exciting?"

   "Well," deadpanned Chris. "I can think of a little excitement you might run into. Are you really going to shuttle people over this road from Poopout Hill?"

   "Chris," said Ness, more quietly, "the road is not the same for everybody. I can't explain it, but it's true. I have a lot to learn. Probably I won't be stepping into the assignment in depth for at least a year, but that's the goal."

   "So what do you do meanwhile?"

   Ness made a face. "I've been assigned here," he said.

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   "Here!"

   "That's right. For the next three months I'm the airport liaison officer."

   Chris snorted. "This is no airport," he said. "There's no traffic, nothing. What are all these people doing here?"

   "They're not doing anything. They're waiting."

   "For what?" Chris asked.

   A waitress came and filled their coffee cups. Ness lowered his voice. "They think they're going to Life City direct by air," he said.

   "From here?"

   "From here!"

   Chris took a covert look at the tables and alcoves, and whistled under his breath. The discussions had now reached a pitch of intensity; here and there voices were being raised.

   "So what do you plan to tell 'em?" he asked.

   Ness took a long swallow before answering. "I'll just talk to them. Try to share with them what I've learned."

   "Such as?"

   "It's important to hit the road."

   Chris shook his head. "That road is a headache," he said. "If I thought there was an airlift to Life City I'd wait right here with them."

   "Exactly," said Ness, leaning over and speaking very softly. "I'd be waiting with you. Of course it could take place any time, but meanwhile look at what's happening. They're perched around here like pigeons. This place is getting run-down and the

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people ingrown. Do you think the Lord will honour that? It seems as if all these people can think about is, 'Will there be a seat saved for me?' "

   "No flight schedules are posted," Chris observed.

   "That's the point. Nobody knows when the airport will become operational. But meanwhile all over the world the devil and his Principalities are working overtime, and there are millions of people, I can tell you, who have never even heard there is a Life City."

   "Tell me about the city," said Chris, mentally switching channels. "What is it really like?"

   "My pleasure," said Ness. "It's the most intriguing, the most enticing, the most challenging place you ever saw. I can hardly wait to get back."

   "I've heard all that," said Chris. "Try to be specific."

   "All right.'' Ness took out a pencil and began scratching on a paper napkin. "Life City is divided into two parts. Ever been to Budapest? Or Kansas City? It's kind of like that. Two cities with a broad river between, only it's the same city. Now, this side of Life City is the only part I've visited. It's the same side those other people have come from that you've met—Van Gelst, the four sisters, the transmitter staff, and so on. They operate out of this side. But the airport is across the river, you see, and once you get over there, your volunteer service on this side is all done. I mean, it's finished. Now these people"—he waggled his pencil at the crowd in the restaurant—"want to fly direct to the Life City airport. I've been given the job of trying to convince them that they should go by

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road and check in on this side, so they can join the rest of us on volunteer assignments until it's time to be picked up and go across the river."

   Chris shook his head. "Good luck," he said. His further reflections were cancelled out by a thin, dignified gentleman with white hair and a shiny serge suit who stopped by their table. ''I happened to see you come in," he said, clearing his throat and smiling a hollow sort of smile, "and I just thought I'd leave you gentlemen something to read." Pulling a wrinkled tract from his pocket, he dropped it ostentatiously on the table. It was printed in small type on newsprint under the bold heading, PREPARE TO MEET THY GOD.

   "That's very nice of you," said Chris, waiting for him to depart; but the man was not so disposed.

   "I've been up yonder on the observation deck all day watching," he said, "and I just asked the Lord to send me somebody to warn. Always looking for little ways to serve Him, making the moments count."

   "My name's Ness," said Rusty, holding out his hand, "and this is Mr. Anders. We're glad to meet you, brother."

   "I tell you," said the older man, "we're living in perilous times. I do believe—"

   "That reminds me," interrupted Chris, "did Red China fire its bomb?"

   "Not yet," murmured Ness. "Soviet Russia just got into the act." He turned to the visitor. "Excuse us, brother—what did you say your name was?"

   "I didn't say," was the reply. "It's Quacious L. O. Quacious. Now if I may just sit down here a

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moment, brethren, I would like to discuss one of the more important issues of life with you." Ness moved over and Mr. Quacious seated himself with a sigh. "I do like profitable conversation, he said. "There are so many promises and consolations in the Word, and so many false opinions about, that I find it a signal ministry just to talk to people and help them understand the need for faith and watchfulness, and for a work of grace in the soul.''

   "What was the issue you wanted to talk about?" inquired Ness.

   "Anything you like. Things on earth or things in Heaven; things past or things to come; things moral or things spiritual—just so it be profitable, mind you. Would you ask the waitress to bring some coffee?"

   "You know," said Chris, leaning back in his seat, "I'd like to hear about that business of a work of grace in the soul."

   Ness nodded. "All right, sir," he, said. "How does the saving grace of God reveal itself when it is in the heart of a man?"

   "Now there is an intelligent question." said Quacious, brushing the dandruff off his sleeve. "I have written an excursus on the subject which I hope to publish some day. Let me say first of all, and briefly, that where the grace of God is in the heart, it causes a great outcry against sin. Then second—"

   "Hold on," spoke up Ness. "I'm not sure I buy that."

   "Why not?" inquired Chris.

   "Because I think it is more accurate to say that the

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grace of God shows itself by inclining a man to give up his own sin—to abhor it, in fact."

   "But what difference is there,'' protested Quacious, "between crying out against sin and abhorring it?"

   "Look," said Ness, warming up, "it's the easiest thing in the world to sound off about sin. I can work up a head of steam about the way some character is acting and keep right on serving the devil in my heart. I seem to remember that Potiphar's wife had a great deal to say about sin; she said she had been raped, but she lied in her teeth. What's your second point?"

   Quacious' chin trembled slightly as he began again. "Why, I—I would say God was working in a man's heart if the man showed a great knowledge of Bible teaching."

   Ness shook his head. "I won't buy that either," he said earnestly. "A man can have all the Bible knowledge in the world without being a child of God. You can know every proof text, every commentary, every spiritual secret, every sign of prophecy, and still be lost and on your way to hell."

   Quacious sat bolt upright and smacked his lips. "This is certainly not an edifying conversation," he said.

   "Rusty," put in Chris, "you're working our friend over for his views, but you're not saying what you yourself think. Maybe you'd better tell us now about the signs of God's grace working in a man's heart."

   "Was I rude?" asked Ness. "I'm sorry. But I

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could wish someone had been a little ruder to me when I was mixed up all those years. I wish someone had taken time to show me the plan of salvation. Let me give you what I learned in Life City. When the Spirit of God convicts a man's heart, that's a sure indication that grace is at work. The man comes to understand that he is dead wrong in the eyes of God; that unless he finds mercy through faith in Jesus Christ, he is really on his way to eternal separation from his Lord. Then the grace of God is at work when a man makes a commitment, when he dedicates his life to Jesus Christ, and confesses his sin, and receives Christ as his Saviour and Lord. Finally, the Grace of God is shown when a man exhibits a holy life in his daily behaviour and shows love to his fellow man by reaching out to human need, while subjecting himself to the authority of God's Word."

   "Now, I like that," said Chris. "I sure hope I can get into a class like that when I get there."

   "I must say," said Mr. Quacious, rising to his feet and speaking in a quavering voice, "I find it very unsettling. Some of the new ideas being bandied about today are not my idea of the simple old Gospel. We have been warned about great swelling words and clouds without water. But I shall carry on." He picked the tract off the table and stuffed it into his pocket.

   "Wait a moment, Mr. Quacious," said Ness, trying to change his tone. "Aren't you getting tired of sitting on that observation deck? Wouldn't you like me to schedule you on a bus tour I'm working up that will be leaving soon for Life City? We could surely use

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your knowledge and background in some of the classes there."

   "I shall wait here," said the old man, rolling his eyes. "Watch and wait. Be sure you're not the ones left behind. Beware! Prepare!" And he was gone.

   There was a pause at the table. "At least he could have thanked you for the coffee," Chris commented.

   Ness smiled a rueful smile. "You have now been phased in to my current assignment," he said.

   "Ring-a-ding-ding," said Chris.

   "Oh, it's all right. I'll talk to him some more."

   "Look," said Chris, "this place is giving me the creeps. How about phasing out of it long enough to run a special tour?"

   "For you?"

   "Why not? There's the Mustang standing out there, all gassed up. Just roll me right on into Life City—that's your job, isn't it?"

   Ness took a miniature walkie-talkie from his jacket pocket and began a conversation with some distant communication centre. In a few moments he was receiving instructions. He looked up. "I can do it," he told Chris, "but it won't be easy."

   "That makes it par for the course," said Chris.

   "Beware!" grinned Ness.

   "Charge!" said Chris.

Chapter Eleven  ||  Table of Contents