The middle church supplied shock troops. Foster borrowed a trick from early-twentieth-century Wobblies; if a community tried to suppress a Fosterite movement, Fosterites converged on that town until neither jails nor cops could handle them-cops had ribs kicked in and jails were smashed.

If a prosecutor was rash enough to push an indictment, it was impossible to make it stick. Foster (after learning under fire) saw to it that prosecutions were persecution under the letter of the law; no conviction of a Fosterite qua Fosterite was ever upheld by the Supreme Court — nor, later, by the High Court.

Inside the overt church was the Inner Church — a hard core of fully dedicated who made up the priesthood, the lay leaders, all keepers of keys and makers of policy. They were «reborn,» beyond sin, certain of heaven, and sole celebrants of the inner mysteries.

Foster selected these with great care, personally until the operation got too big. He looked for men like himself and for women like his priestess-wives — dynamic, utterly convinced, stubborn, and free (or able to be freed, once guilt and insecurity were purged) of jealousy in its most human meaning — and all of them potential satyrs and nymphs, as the secret church was that Dionysian cult that America had lacked and for which there was enormous potential market.

He was most cautious — if candidates were married, it had to be both spouses. Unmarried candidates had to be sexually attractive and aggressive — and he impressed on his priests that males must equal or exceed in number the females. Nowhere was it recorded that Foster studied earlier, similar cults in America — but he knew or sensed that most such had foundered because possessive concupiscence of their priests led to jealousy. Foster never made this error; not once did he keep a woman to himself, not even those he married.

Nor was he too eager in expanding his core group; the middle church offered plenty to slake the milder needs of the masses. If a revival produced two couples capable of «Heavenly Marriage» Foster was content. If it produced none, he let the seeds grow and sent in a salted priest and priestess to nurture them.

So far as possible, he tested candidate couples himself, with a priestess. Since such a couple was already «saved» insofar as the middle church was concerned, he ran little risk — none with the woman and he always sized up the man before letting his priestess go ahead.

Before she was saved, Patricia Paiwonski was young, married, and «very happy.» She had one child, she looked up to and admired her much older husband. George Paiwonski was a generous, affectionate man with only one weakness — but one which often left him too drunk to show his affection after a long day. Patty counted herself a lucky woman — true, George occasionally got affectionate with a female client … quite affectionate if it was early in the day — and. of course, tattooing required privacy, especially with ladies. Patty was tolerant; she sometimes made a date with a male client, after George got to hitting the bottle more and more.

But there was a lack in her life, one not filled even when a grateful client gave her a snake — shipping out, he said, and couldn't keep it. She liked pets and had no snake phobia; she made a home for it in their show window and George made a beautiful four-color picture to back it: «Don't Tread on Me!» This design turned out to be popular.

She acquired more snakes and they were a comfort. But she was the daughter of an Ulsterman and a girl from Cork; the armed truce between her parents had left her with no religion.

She was already a «seeker» when Foster preached in San Pedro; she had managed to get George to go a few Sundays but he had not seen the light.

Foster brought them the light, they made their confessions together. When Foster returned six months later, the Paiwon skis were so dedicated that he gave them personal attention.

«I never had a minute's trouble from the day George saw the light,» she told Mike and Jill. «He still drank … but only in church and never too much. When our holy leader returned, George had started his Great Project. Naturally we wanted to show it to Foster — » Mrs. Paiwonski hesitated. «Kids, I ought not to tell this.»

«Then don't,» Jill said emphatically. «Patty darling, we don't want you ever to do anything you don't feel easy about. 'Sharing water' has to be easy.»

«Uh… I do want to! But remember this is Church things, so you mustn't tell anyone … just as I wouldn't tell anything about you.»

Mike nodded. «Here on Earth we call it “water brother” business. On Mars there's no problem … but here I grok there sometimes is. 'Water brother' business you don't repeat.»

«I … I “grok”. That's a funny word, but I'm learning it. All right, darlings, this is “water brother” business. Did you know that all Fosterites are tattooed?Real Church members, I mean, the ones who are eternally saved forever and a day — like me? Oh, I don't mean tattooed all over but — see that? Right over my heart? That's Foster's holy kiss. George worked it in so that it looks like part of the picture … so that nobody could guess. But it's his kiss — and Foster put it there hisself!» She looked ecstatically proud.

They examined it. «It is a kiss mark,» Jill said wonderingly, «like somebody had kissed you there wearing lipstick. I thought it was part of that sunset.»

«Yes, indeedy, that's how George fixed it. Because you don't show Foster's kiss to anyone who doesn't wear Foster's kiss — and I never have, up to now. But,» she insisted, «you're going to wear one, both of you, someday — and when you do, I want to tattoo 'em on.»

Jill said, «I don't understand, Patty. How can he kiss us? After all, he's — up in Heaven.»

«Yes, dearie, he is. Let me explain. Any priest or priestess can give you Foster's kiss. It means God's in your heart, God is part of you … forever.»

Mike was suddenly intent. «Thou art God!»

«Huh, Michael? Well — I've never heard it put that way. But that does express it … God is in you and of you and with you, and the Devil can't get at you.»

«Yes,» agreed Mike. «You grok God.» He thought happily that this was nearer to putting the concept across than he had ever managed before … except that Jill was learning it, in Martian. Which was inevitable.

«That's the idea, Michael. God … groks you — and you are married in Holy Love and Eternal Happiness to His Church. The priest or priestess kisses you and the mark is tattooed on to show it's forever. It doesn't have to be this big — mine is exactly the size and shape of Foster's blessed lips — and it can be placed anywhere to shield from sinful eyes. Any spot where it won't be noticed. Then you show it when you go into a Happiness gathering of the eternally saved.»

«I've heard of happiness meetings,» Jill commented, «but I've never known quite what they are.»

«Well,» Mrs. Paiwonski said judicially, «there are Happiness meetings and Happiness meetings. The ones for ordinary members, who are saved but might backslide, are fun — grand parties with only the amount of praying that comes happily, and plenty of whoop-it-up that makes a good party. Maybe a little real lovin' — but you'd better be mighty careful who and how, because you mustn't be a seed of dissension among the brethren. The Church is very strict about keeping things in their proper places.

«But a Happiness meeting for the eternally saved — well, you don't have to be careful because there won't be anybody there who can sin — all past and done with. If you want to drink and pass out… okay, it's God's will or you wouldn't want to. You want to kneel down and pray, or lift up your voice in song — or tear off your clothes and dance; it's God's will. There can't possibly be anybody there who would see anything wrong in it.»