Job: A Comedy of Justice
Read Job: A Comedy of Justice Online
Authors: Robert A Heinlein
Teaser
JOB
IS PARTLY OUTRAGEOUS,
INCREDIBLY THOUGHT-PROVOKING
AND ENDLESSLY FASCINATING!
“FOLLOWING WORLD WAR II ROBERT A. HEINLEIN EMERGED AS NOT ONLY AMERICA’S PREMIER WRITER OF SPECULATIVE FICTION, BUT AS THE GREATEST WRITER OF SUCH FICTION IN THE WORLD. HE REMAINS TODAY AS A SORT OF TRADEMARK FOR ALL THAT IS FINEST IN AMERICAN IMAGINATIVE FICTION.”
—Stephen King
“JOB is an exhilarating romp through the author’s mental universe.”
—
New York Times Book Review
“I COULDN’T PUT
JOB
DOWN… IT IS A GRIPPING NOVEL, ONE OF THE BEST.”
—Larry Niven
“Heinlein’s latest novel pits human faith against cosmic whim. Displaying both his crusty, irreverent humor and his genuine respect for the fate of his characters, this novel will please Heinlein’s legion of readers.”
—
Library Journal
“
JOB
IS FUNNY, EXCITING AND THOUGHT-PROVOKING… READ IT!”
—Isaac Asimov
“The author’s willingness to push his assumptions to their limits is clearly in evidence here…it may, in fact, be his strongest work in nearly two decades.”
—
Newsday
“IN MY OPINION, THIS IS SIMPLY THE FINEST HEINLEIN I HAVE EVER READ!”
—Robert Bloch
“Fire-and-brimstone religion is not a topic one expects to find in a science fiction novel, but, heck, why not? It’s a treat to trot along with Heinlein as he creates with a madman’s glee—and a master’s expertise.”
—
USA Today
“HEINLEIN’S DONE IT AGAIN…
JOB
IS THE BEST THING HE’S WRITTEN FOR YEARS!”
—Arthur C. Clarke
“Funny, philosophical, sometimes scary, always gentle, the book is as inventive as anything Heinlein has written.”
—
Seattle Times
By Robert A. Heinlein
Published by Ballantine Books:
THE DOOR INTO SUMMER
DOUBLE STAR
FRIDAY
GRUMBLES FROM THE GRAVE
JOB: A COMEDY OF JUSTICE
THE NUMBER OF THE BEAST
THE PUPPET MASTERS
CopyrightA Del Rey® Book
Published by The Random House Publishing Group
Copyright © 1984 by Robert A. Heinlein
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Del Rey Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.
Del Rey is a registered trademark and the Del Rey colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 84-3091
ISBN 0-345-31650-9
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Hardcover Edition: September 1984
First Paperback Edition: November 1985
Tenth Printing: November 1992
Cover Art by Michael Whelan
www.delreybooks.com
OPM 29 28 27
To Clifford D. Simak
Epigraph
Behold, happy is the man whom God correcteth:
therefore despise not thou the chastening of
the Almighty.
Job 5:17
When thou walkest through the fire,
thou shalt not be burned.
Isaiah 43:2
The fire pit was about twenty-five feet long by ten feet wide, and perhaps two feet deep. The fire had been burning for hours. The bed of coals gave off a blast of heat almost unbearable even back where I was seated, fifteen feet from the side of the pit, in the second row of tourists.
I had given up my front-row seat to one of the ladies from the ship, delighted to accept the shielding offered by her well-fed carcass. I was tempted to move still farther back…but I
did
want to see the fire walkers close up. How often does one get to view a miracle?
“It’s a hoax,” the Well-Traveled Man said. “You’ll see.”
“Not really a hoax, Gerald,” the Authority-on-Everything denied. “Just somewhat less than we were led to expect. It won’t be the whole village—probably none of the hula dancers and certainly not those children. One or two of the young men, with calluses on their feet as thick as cowhide, and hopped up on opium or some native drug, will go down the pit at a dead run. The villagers will cheer and our kanaka friend there who is translating for us will strongly suggest that we should tip each of the fire walkers, over and above what we’ve paid for the luau and the dancing and this show.
“Not a complete hoax,” he went on. “The shore excursion brochure listed a ‘demonstration of fire walking.’ That’s what we’ll get. Never mind the talk about a whole village of fire walkers. Not in the contract.” The Authority looked smug.
“Mass hypnosis,” the Professional Bore announced.
I was tempted to ask for an explanation of “mass hypnosis”—but nobody wanted to hear from me; I was junior—not necessarily in years but in the cruise ship
Konge Knut.
That’s how it is in cruise ships: Anyone who has been in the vessel since port of departure is senior to anyone who joins the ship later. The Medes and the Persians laid down this law and nothing can change it. I had flown down in the
Count von Zeppelin,
at Papeete I would fly home in the
Admiral Moffett,
so I was forever junior and should keep quiet while my betters pontificated.
Cruise ships have the best food and, all too often, the worst conversation in the world. Despite this I was enjoying the islands; even the Mystic and the Amateur Astrologer and the Parlor Freudian and the Numerologist did not trouble me, as I did not listen.
“They do it through the fourth dimension,” the Mystic announced. “Isn’t that true, Gwendolyn?”
“Quite true, dear,” the Numerologist agreed. “Oh, here they come now! It will be an odd number, you’ll see.”
“You’re so learned, dear.”
“Humph,” said the Skeptic.
The native who was assisting our ship’s excursion host raised his arms and spread his palms for silence. “Please, will you all listen!
Mauruuru roa.
Thank you very much. The high priest and priestess will now pray the Gods to make the fire safe for the villagers. I ask you to remember that this is a religious ceremony, very ancient; please behave as you would in your own church. Because—”
An extremely old kanaka interrupted; he and the translator exchanged words in a language not known to me—Polynesian, I assumed; it had the right liquid flow to it. The younger kanaka turned back to us.
“The high priest tells me that some of the children are making their first walk through fire today, including that baby over there in her mother’s arms. He asks all of you to keep perfectly silent during the prayers, to insure the safety of the children. Let me add that I am a Catholic. At this point I always ask our Holy Mother Mary to watch over our children—and I ask all of you to pray for them in your own way. Or at least keep silent and think good thoughts for them. If the high priest is not satisfied that there is a reverent attitude, he won’t let the children enter the fire—I’ve even known him to cancel the entire ceremony.”
“There you have it, Gerald,” said the Authority-on-Everything in a third-balcony whisper. “The build-up. Now the switch, and they’ll blame it on us.” He snorted.
The Authority—his name was Cheevers—had been annoying me ever since I had joined the ship. I leaned forward and said quietly into his ear, “If those children walk through the fire, do you have the guts to do likewise?”
Let this be a lesson to you. Learn by my bad example. Never let an oaf cause you to lose your judgment. Some seconds later I found that my challenge had been turned against me and—somehow!—all three, the Authority, the Skeptic, and the Well-Traveled Man, had each bet me a hundred that
I
would not dare walk the fire pit, stipulating that the children walked first.
Then the translator was shushing us again and the priest and priestess stepped down into the fire pit and everybody kept very quiet and I suppose some of us prayed. I know I did. I found myself reciting what popped into my mind:
“Now I lay me down to sleep.
“I pray the Lord my soul to keep—”
Somehow it seemed appropriate.
The priest and the priestess did not walk through the fire; they did something quietly more spectacular and (it seemed to me) far more dangerous. They simply stood in the fire pit, barefooted, and prayed for several minutes. I could see their lips move. Every so often the old priest sprinkled something into the pit. Whatever it was, as it struck the coals it burst into sparkles.
