Prodigal Son

deceived?"
        "Deceived? No. Of course not."
        The second ring could have been left by Father Duchaine's glass. He might have moved it to where it stood now, leaving the ring. He hoped that Victor would consider that possibility.
        As Victor continued around the study, he said, "I'm curious. You've had some years of experience with your parishioners. Do you think they lie to their god?"
        Feeling as though he were walking a tightrope, the priest said, "No. No, they mean to keep the promises they make to Him. But they're weak."
        "Because they're human. Human beings are weak, those of the Old Race. Which is one reason why my people will eventually destroy them, replace them."
        Although Harker had slipped out of the study, he must have taken refuge somewhere. In the living room once more, when Victor didn't return to the front hall but went instead toward the adjoining dining room, Father Duchaine followed nervously.
        The dining room proved to be deserted.
        Victor pushed through the swinging door into the kitchen, and Father Duchaine followed like a dog afraid that its hard master would find a cause for punishment.
        Harker had gone. In the kitchen, the door to the back porch stood open. The draft entering from the storm-dark twilight smelled faintly of the rain to come.
        "You shouldn't leave your doors open," Victor warned. "So many of God's people have a criminal bent. They would burglarize even a priest's home."
        "Just before you rang the bell," Father Duchaine said, amazed to hear himself lying so boldly, "I stepped outside for a breath of fresh air."
        "Fresh air is of no special value to those of you I've made. You're designed to thrive without exercise, on any diet, in fresh air and in foul." He rapped his knuckles on Father Duchaine's chest. "You are an exquisitely efficient organic machine."
        "I'm grateful, sir, for all that I am."
        From the kitchen to the hall, from the hall to the foyer, Victor said, "Patrick, do you understand why it's important that my people infiltrate organized religion as well as every other aspect of human society?"
        The answer came to the priest not from thoughtful consideration but from programming: "Many years from now, when the time comes to liquidate those of the Old Race who remain, there must be nowhere they can turn for support or sanctuary"
        "Not to the government," Victor agreed, "because we will be the government. Not to the police or the military… or to the church."
        Again as if by rote, Father Duchaine said, "We must avoid a destructive civil war."
        "Exactly. Instead of civil war… a very civil extermination." He opened the front door. "Patrick, if you ever felt in any way… incomplete… you would come to me, I assume."
        Warily, the priest said, "Incomplete? What do you mean?"
        "Adrift. Confused about the meaning of your existence. Without purpose."
        "Oh, no, sir. I know my purpose, and I'm dedicated to it."
        Victor met Father Duchaine's eyes for a long moment before he said, "Good. That's good. Because there's a special risk for those of you who serve in the clergy Religion can be seductive."
        "Seductive? I don't see how. It's such nonsense. Irrational."
        “All of that and worse," Victor agreed. “And if there were an afterlife and a god, he would hate you for what you are. He would snuff you out and cast you into Hell." He stepped onto the porch. "Good night, Patrick."
        "Good night, sir."
        After Father Duchaine closed the door, he stood in the foyer until his legs became so weak that he had to sit.
        He went to the stairs, sat on a riser. He clutched one hand with the other to quell the tremors in them.
        Gradually his hands changed position until he found them clasped in prayer.
        He realized that he had not locked the door. Before his maker could open it and catch him in this betrayal, he made fists of his hands and beat them against his thighs.

CHAPTER 90
        
        STANDING AT the folding table that served as Harker's desk in the go-nuts room, Deucalion sorted through the stacks of books.
        "Anatomy Cellular biology Molecular biology. Morphology. This one's psychotherapy But all the rest… human biology."
        "And why did he build this?" Carson asked, indicating the light box on the north wall, where X-rays of skulls, spines,