Islands in the Net Read Free Page B

what to make of her. She looked like a pharaoh’s widow. “This is her,” Mrs. Rodriguez told the stranger. “Laura, our manager.”
    â€œCoordinator,” Laura said. “I’m Laura Webster.”
    â€œI’m the Reverend Morgan. I called earlier.”
    â€œYes. About the City Council race?” Laura touched her watch, checking her schedule. The woman was half an hour early. “Well,” she said. “Won’t you come around the desk? We can talk in my office.”
    Laura took the woman into the cramped and windowless little suboffice. It was essentially a coffee room for the staff, with a data-link to the mainframe upstairs. This was where Laura took people from whom she expected the squeeze. The place looked suitably modest and penurious. David had decorated it from his wrecking expeditions: antique vinyl car seats and a modular desk in aged beige plastic. The ceiling light shone through a perforated hubcap.
    â€œCoffee?” Laura said.
    â€œNo, thank you. I never take caffeine.”
    â€œI see.” Laura put the pot aside. “What can we do for you, Reverend?”
    â€œYou and I have much in common,” Reverend Morgan said. “We share a confidence in Galveston’s future. And we both have a stake in the tourist industry.” She paused. “I understand your husband designed this building.”
    â€œYes, he did.”
    â€œIt’s ‘Organic Baroque,’ isn’t it? A style that respects Mother Earth. That shows a broad-minded approach on your part. Forward-looking and progressive.”
    â€œThank you very much.” Here it comes, Laura thought.
    â€œOur Church would like to help you expand services to your corporate guests. Do you know the Church of Ishtar?”
    â€œI’m not sure I follow you,” Laura said carefully. “We at Rizome consider religion a private matter.”
    â€œWe Temple women believe in the divinity of the sexual act.” Reverend Morgan leaned back in her bucket seat, stroking her hair with both hands. “The erotic power of the Goddess can destroy evil.”
    The slogan found a niche in Laura’s memory. “I see,” Laura said politely. “The Church of Ishtar. I know your movement, but I hadn’t recognized the name.”
    â€œIt’s a new name—old principles. You’re too young to remember the Cold War.” Like many of her generation, the reverend seemed to have a positive nostalgia for it—the good old bilateral days. When things were simpler and every morning might be your last. “Because we put an end to it. We invoked the Goddess to take the war out of men. We melted the cold war with divine body heat.” The reverend sniffed. “Male power mongers claimed the credit, of course. But the triumph belonged to our Goddess. She saved Mother Earth from the nuclear madness. And She continues to heal society today.”
    Laura nodded helpfully.
    â€œGalveston lives by tourism, Mrs. Webster. And tourists expect certain amenities. Our Church has come to an arrangement with the city and the police. We’d like an understanding with your group as well.”
    Laura rubbed her chin. “I think I can follow your reasoning, Reverend.”
    â€œNo civilization has ever existed without us,” the reverend said coolly. “The Holy Prostitute is an ancient, universal figure. The Patriarchy degraded and oppressed her. But we restore her ancient role as comforter and healer.”
    â€œI was about to mention the medical angle,” Laura said.
    â€œOh, yes,” said the reverend. “We take the full range of precautions. Clients are tested for syphilis, gonorrhea, chlamydia, and herpes, as well as the retroviruses. All our temples have fully equipped clinics. Sexual disease rates drop dramatically wherever we practice our art—I can show you statistics. We also offer health insurance. And we guarantee