Excerpt from Forbidden Sanctuary

"I believe in One God, the Father, the Almighty, Maker of Heaven and Earth..."
Some days it was hard to pray. Angela's mind would float off in any direction but Heavenward. Today, for example, it started on music (what would be the Numian word for counterpoint? For that matter, what was it in Italian?); music was her job, today, and she wanted, as always, to do a good job. Then it drifted back (as it often did) to when she got the job: walking out of her class in Advanced Spanish and seeing the man dressed in the gray suit, incongruously formal for a California fall. "Ms. Summers?"
"Yes?"
"How long do you think it would take you to learn a language from scratch—just from hearing it spoken by someone who doesn't know any English?"
"Depends on the language."
"Would you like to give it a try?"
"Don't mind if I do."
"I believe in Jesus Christ, His Son our Lord..."
Well, her religion had caused them a minor problem or two, but she was too good; they had to have her. Her mind skipped to Bacquier, looking harried, a million decisions to be made, her little request one of the least of them. "All right, all right," he had said. "But you can't go alone. Security, you see. Can't have you people running around alone out there."
Security was all right by her—as long as her request was granted.
"I believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the Giver of Life, who proceeds from the Father and Son. With the Father and Son He is worshiped and glorified..."
Now the end was in sight: something about the number of cycles that had been completed. And what had come of all of it? Enough to keep scholars busy for quite a while—until the ship returned. If it was going to return.
"They've got to come back," Colin had said. "We have too much to offer."
"That's right. Too much," Natasha had countered. "They're afraid of us."
Angela didn't like to speculate, but she did have one thought on the matter. "What if," she had asked, "they can't find their way back?"
There were still far more questions than answers....
The priest plunged ahead. As usual, there had been no sermon. He had nothing to say, Angela supposed, especially to five old ladies and one stranger. That was all right: it was the ritual that mattered to her, even when it was trampled through by an overweight middle-aged man eager to get to his morning coffee and newspaper. Ex opere operato, she thought. She knew Latin too.
Numian was a bit like Latin, actually. Highly inflected, relatively few irregular verbs. She and her co-workers would write it all up, of course, and someday it might be declassified. It was odd, really, but more than one person had compared the Numoi to the Romans. There might be something to that; there might be something to a lot of things.
She left her pew to receive communion. The old ladies stared at her. She gave them something to talk about, anyway. She shouldn't be thinking of them, though, she should be praying. Why was it difficult to pray?
Her life was too full, too much had been happening the past few months. Her mind was too busy processing information. She was just a go-between, but so much of it stuck, and got in the way of what was more important. When it was all over...
But when she thought about it being over, she was sad. There would never be another job like this one.
"The Mass is ended. Go in peace, to love and serve the Lord."
"Thanks be to God."
The priest shuffled from the altar, and Angela slid quickly out of the pew, feeling vaguely guilty over her dilemma. She genuflected and walked out into the cold and windy New England morning.
Her driver was waiting patiently at the curb, gloveless and hatless. Didn't he feel the cold? She hurried down the steps and into the jeep. The soldier barely nodded to her. As soon as her door was shut he sped off toward the compound.
She wished Paddy Maloney was still driving her. The ride was a lot of fun with him at the wheel. But shifts had changed or something, and now she had this tight-lipped Canadian who made sure she understood what an imposition this idiosyncrasy of hers was.
"Is this extra duty for you?" she asked as the white countryside slipped by.
He shook his head.
"Well, I'm sorry you have to stay outside in the cold. You could come in, you know. It's a little warmer inside."
He shrugged. "I'm used to the cold."
So much for apologies. They were nearly at the compound before he spoke again. "I used to go," he said.
"To church?" she asked hesitantly.
He nodded.
"Why did you stop?"
The high fence appeared in the distance. "I just stopped." He slowed the jeep.
"You could always start again," she felt obliged to say.
He shrugged once more. "Too late," he said. The guards waved them through.