Authors: Robert A. Heinlein
Tags: #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Fiction, #Science fiction, #General, #Fiction - Science Fiction, #Science Fiction - General, #Adventure
It would be a mistake to assume that the PanAsian authorities had
watched the growth and spread of the new religion with entire satisfaction,
but at the critical early stage of its development they simply had not realized
that they were dealing with anything dangerous. The warning of the
experience of the deceased lieutenant who first made contact with the cult of
Mota went unheeded, the simple facts of his tale unbelieved.
Having once established their right to travel and operate, Ardmore and
Thomas impressed on each missionary the importance of being tactful and
humble and of establishing friendly relations with the local authorities. The
gold of the priests was very welcome to the Asiatics, involved as they were in
making a depressed and recalcitrant country pay dividends, and this caused
them to be more lenient with the priests of Mota than they otherwise would
have been. They felt, not unreasonably, that a slave who helps to make the
books balance must be a good slave. The word went around at first to
encourage the priests of Mota, as they were aiding in consolidating the
country.
True, some of the PanAsian police and an occasional minor official had
very disconcerting experiences in dealing with priests, but, since these
incidents involved loss of face to the PanAsians concerned, they were
strongly disposed not to speak of them.
It took some time for enough unquestioned data to accumulate to
convince the higher authorities that the priests of Mota, all of them, had
several annoying-yes, even intolerable characteristics. They could not be
touched. One could not even get very close to one of them-it was as if they
were surrounded by a frictionless pellucid wall of glass. Vortex pistols had no
effect on them. They would submit passively to arrest but somehow they
never stayed in jail. Worst of all, it had become certain that a temple of Mota
could not, under any circumstances, be inspected by a PanAsian.
It was not to be tolerated.
CHAPTER NINE
It was not tolerated. The Prince Royal himself ordered the arrest of
Ardmore.
It was not done as crudely as that. Word was sent to the Mother Temple
that the Grandson of Heaven desired the High Priest of the Lord of Mota to
attend him. The message reached Ardmore in his office in the Citadel,
delivered to him by his Chief of Staff, Kendig, who for the first time in their
relationship showed signs of agitation. "Chief," he burst out, "a battle cruiser
has landed in front of the temple, and the commanding officer says he has
orders to take you along!"
Ardmore put down the papers he had been studying. "Hmm-m-m," he
said, "it looks like we're getting down to the slugging. A little bit earlier than I
had counted on." He frowned.
"What are you going to do about it?"
"You know my methods. What do you think I'll do about it?"
"Well-I guess you'll probably go along with him, but it worries me. I wish
you wouldn't."
"What else can I do? We aren't ready yet for an open breach; a refusal
would be out of character. Orderly!"
"Yes, sir!"
"Send my striker in. Tell him full robes and paraphernalia. Then present
my compliments to Captain Thomas and ask him to come here at once."
"Yes, sir." The orderly was already busy with the viewphone.
Ardmore talked with Kendig and Thomas as his striker robed him. "Jeff,
here's the sack-you're holding it."
"Huh?"
"If anything happens so that I lose communication with headquarters,
you are commanding officer. You'll find your appointment in, my desk, signed
and sealed."
"But Chief"
"Don't `But Chief' me. I made my decision on this a long time ago.
Kendig knows about it; so does the rest of the staff. I'd have had you in the
staff before this if I hadn't needed you as Chief of Intelligence." Ardmore
glanced in a mirror and brushed at his curly blond beard. They had all grown
beards, all those who appeared in public as priests. It tended to give the
comparatively hairless Asiatics a feeling of womanly inferiority while at the
same time arousing a vague unallocated repugnance. "You may have
noticed that no one holding a line commission has ever been made senior to
you. I had this eventuality in mind."
"How about Calhoun?"
"Oh, yes-Calhoun. Your commission as a lineofficer automatically makes
you senior to him, of course. But I'm afraid that won't cut much ice in handling
him. You just have to deal with him as best you can. You've got force
majeure at your disposal, but go easy. But I don't have to tell you that."
A messenger, dressed as an acolyte, hurried in and saluted. "Sir, the
temple officer of the watch says that the PanAsian Commander is getting
very impatient."
"Good. I want him to be. Are the subsonics turned on?"
"Yes, sir, they make us all very nervous."
"You can stand it; you know what it is. Tell the watch officer to have the
engineer on duty vary the volume erratically with occasional complete letups. I want those Asiatics to be fit to be tied by the time I get there."
"Yes, sir. Any word to the cruiser commander?"
"Not directly. Have the watch officer tell him that I am at my devotions
and can't be disturbed."
"Very good, sir." The messenger trotted away. This was something like!
He would hang around where he could see the face of that skunk when he
heard that one!
"I'm glad we got these new headsets fitted out in time," Ardmore
observed as his striker fitted his turban to his head.
The turbans had originally been intended simply to conceal the
mechanism which produced the shining halo which floated above the heads
of all priests of Mota. The turban and the halo together made a priest look
about seven feet tall with consequent unfavorable effect on the psyche of the
Asiatics. But Scheer had seen the possibility of concealing a short range
transmitter and receiver under the turban as well; they were now standard
equipment.
He settled the turban with his hands, made sure that the bone
conduction receiver was firm against his mastoid, and spoke in natural low
tones, apparently to no one, "Commanding officer-testing."
Apparently inside his head, a voice, muffled but distinct, answered him,
"Communication watch officer-test check."
"Good," he approved. "Have direction finders crossed on me until further
notice. Arrange your circuits to hook me in through the nearest temple to
headquarters here. I may want Circuit A at any moment. "
Circuit A was a general broadcast to every temple in the country. "Any
news from Captain Downer?"
"One just this moment came in, sir; I've just sent it to your office," the
inner voice informed him.
"So? Yes, I see." Ardmore stepped to his desk, flipped a switch which
turned off a shining red transparency reading Priority, and tore a sheet of
paper from the facsimile recorder.
"Tell the Chief," the message ran, "that something is about to bust. I can't
find out what it is, but all the brasshats are looking very cocky. Watch
everything and be careful." That was all, and that little possibly garbled in
word of mouth relay.
Ardmore frowned and pursed his mouth, then signaled his orderly. "Send
for Mr. Mitsui."
When Mitsui came in, Ardmore handed him the message. "I suppose
you've heard that I am to be arrested?"
"It's all over the place," Mitsui acknowledged soberly, and handed the
message back.
"Frank, if you were Prince Royal, what would you be trying to accomplish
by arresting me?"
"Chief," protested Mitsui, distress in his eyes, "you act as if I were one of
those . . . those murdering-"
"Sorry-but I still want your advice."
"Well-I guess I'd be intending to put you on ice, then clamp down on your
church."
"Anything else?"
"I don't know. I don't guess I'd be doing it unless I was fairly sure that I
had some .way to get around your protections."
"No, I suppose so." He spoke again to the air. "Communication office,
priority for Circuit A."
"Direct, or relay?"
"You send it out. I want every priest to return to his temple, if he is now
out of it, and I want him to do it fast. Priority, urgent, acknowledge and
report." He turned back to those with him.
"Now for a bite to eat, and I'll go. Our yellow friend upstairs ought to be
about done to a turn by then. Anything else we should take up before I
leave?"
Ardmore entered the main hall of the temple from the door in the rear of
the altar. His approach to the great doors, now standing open, was a stately
progress. He knew that the Asiatic commander could see him coming; he
covered the two hundred yards with leisured dignity, attended by a throng of
servers clad in robes of red, of green, of blue, and golden. His own
vestments were immaculate white. His attendants fanned out as they neared
the great archway; he marched out and up to the fuming Asiatic alone. "Your
master wishes to see me?"
The PanAsian had difficulty in composing himself sufficiently to speak in
English. Finally he managed to get out, "You were ordered to report to me.
How dare you-"
Ardmore cut him short. "Does your master wish to see me?"
"Decidedly! Why didn't you-"
"Then you may escort me to him." He moved on past the officer and
marched down the steps, giving the Asiatics the alternatives of running to
catch up with him, or trailing after. The commander of the cruiser obeyed his
first impulse to hurry, nearly fell on the broad steps, and concluded by
bringing up ignominiously in the rear, his guard attending him.
Ardmore had been in the city chosen by the Prince Royal as his capital
before, but not since the Asiatics had moved in. When they debarked on the
municipal landing platform he looked about him with concealed eagerness to
see what changes had been made. The skyways seemed to be runningprobably because of the much higher percentage of Asiatic population here.
Otherwise there was little apparent change. The dome of the State capitol
was visible away to the right; he knew it to be the palace of the warlord. They
had done something to its exterior; he could not put his finger on the change
but it no longer looked like Western architecture.
He was too busy for the next few minutes to look at the city. His guard,
now caught up with him and surrounding him, marched him to the escalator
and down into the burrows of the city. They passed through many doors,
each with its guard of soldiers. Each guard presented arms to Ardmore's
captor as the party passed. Ardmore solemnly returned each, salute with a
gesture of benediction, acting as if the salute had been intended for him and
him alone. His custodian was indignant but helpless; it soon developed into a
race to see which could acknowledge a salute first. The commander won, but
at the cost of saluting his startled juniors first.
Ardmore took advantage of a long unbroken passageway to check his
communications. "Great Lord Mota," he said, "dost thou hear thy servant?"
The commander glanced at him, but said nothing.
The muffled inner voice answered at once, "Got you, Chief. You are
hooked in through the temple in the capitol." It was Thomas' voice.
"The Lord Mota speaks, the servant hears. Truly it is written that little
pitchers have long ears.'
"You mean the monkeys can overhear you?"
"Yea, verily, now and forever. The Lord Mota will understand igpay
atinlay?"
"Sure, Chief-pig latin. Take it slow if you can."
"At-thay is oodgay. Ore-may aterlay." Satisfied, he desisted. Perhaps the
PanAsians had a mike and a recorder on him even now. He hoped so, for he
thought it would give them a useless headache. A man has to grow up in a
language to be able to understand it scrambled.
The Prince Royal had been impelled by curiosity as much as by concern
when he ordered the apprehension of the High Priest of Mota. It was true that
affairs were not entirely to his liking, but he felt that his advisers were
hysterical old women. When had a slave religion proved anything but an aid
to the conqueror? Slaves needed a wailing wall; they went into their temples,
prayed to their gods to deliver them from oppression, and came out to work
in the fields and factories, relaxed and made harmless by the emotional
catharsis of prayer.
"But," one of his advisers had pointed out, "it is always assumed that the
gods do nothing to answer those prayers."
That was true; no one expected a god to climb down off his pedestal and
actually perform. "What, if anything, has this god Mota done? Has anyone
seen him?"
"No, Serene One, but-"
"Then what has he done?"
"It is difficult to say. It is impossible to enter their temples-"
"Did I not give orders not to disturb the slaves in their worship?" The
Prince's tones were perilously sweet.
"True. Serene One, true," he was hastily assured, "nor have they been,
but your secret police have been totally unable to enter in order to check up
for you, no matter how cleverly they were disguised."