Sixth Column (17 page)

afterwards."

"O. K., O. K.-I'm switching off." 'Bye."

Services were crowded by now. Thomas did not fool himself that the

creed of the great god Mota was the drawing card; even while the service

proceeded, at the sides of the hall tables were being piled high with food,

purchased with Scheer's fine gold. But Alec put on a good show. It seemed to

Jeff, as. he listened to him preach, that the old mountain man had somehow

reconciled his strange new job with his conscience so thoroughly that he

actually believed that he was preaching his own religion, in symbols of

course and with odd ritual-but his voice carried conviction.

"If he keeps that up," Jeff told himself, "we'll have women fainting in the

aisles. Maybe I should tell him to soft-pedal it."

But without untoward incident Alec reached the final hymn. The

congregation sang with verve, then trooped toward the tables. Sacred music

had at first been a problem until Jeff had hit on the dodge of putting new

words to the commonest American patriotic music. It served a double

purpose; anyone who listened closely could hear the old words, the true

words, being sung by the bolder spirits present.

Jeff circulated around among his flock while they ate, patting the heads

of children, pronouncing blessings-and listening. As he passed a man got up

from his place and stopped him. It was Johnson, the former real estate

salesman. "A word with you, Holy One?"

"What is it, my son?"

Johnson indicated that he wanted to speak privately; they drew away

from the crowd over into the shadow of the altar. "Holy One, I don't dare go

back to my room tonight."

"Why not, my son?"

"I still haven't been able to get my work card validated. Today was my

last day of grace. If I go home it's the camps for me."

Jeff looked grave. "You know that the servers of Mota do not preach

resistance to mundane authority."

"You wouldn't turn me out to be arrested("

"We do not refuse sanctuary. Perhaps it is not as bad as you think it is,

my son; perhaps if you stay here tonight, tomorrow you may find someone to

hire you and validate your card."

"I can stay, then?"

"You may stay." Thomas decided that Johnson might as well stay from

then on; if he measured up, he would be sent to the Citadel for final test. If

not, Johnson could stay as an unenlightened helper around the temple -the

temple needed more help every day, especially in the kitchen.

When the crowd had gone Jeff locked the door, then checked through

the building personally to make sure that none but the resident help and

those who had been granted overnight sanctuary were still inside. There

were more than a dozen of these refugees; Jeff was studying some of them

as prospective recruits.

Inspection completed and the place tidied up, Jeff shooed everyone but

Alec upstairs to the second-floor dormitory rooms; he locked the door to the

staircase after them. This was a nightly routine; the altar with its many

marvelous gadgets was safe from snoopers, as it had a shield of its own,

controlled by a switch in the basement nonetheless Jeff did not want anyone

attempting to get at it. The avowed reason for the nightly lock up was, of

course, a piece of holy mumbo jumbo having to do with the "sacredness" of

the lower floor.

Alec and Jeff went down into the basement, locking after them a heavy,

steel-sheathed door. Their apartment was a large room, housing the power

unit for the altar, the communicator back to the base, and the same two cots

Peewee Jenkins had gotten for them on their first day in Denver. Alec

undressed, went into the adjoining bath, and got ready for bed. Jeff peeled

off his robes and turban, but not his beard; it was now homegrown. He put on

overalls, stuck a cigar in his mouth, and called the base.

For the next three hours he dictated, over Alec's snores. Then he, too,

went to bed.

Jeff woke up with a feeling of unease. The lights had not switched on;

therefore it was not the morning alarm that had wakened him. He lay very still

for a moment, then reached down beside him on the floor and recovered his

staff.

Someone was in the room, other than Alec, still snoring on the other cot.

He knew it, although at the moment he could hear no sound. Working by

touch alone he carefully set his shield to cover both cots. He switched on the

lights.

Johnson was standing in front of the communicator. Some sort of

complicated goggles covered his eyes; in his hand was a black-light

projector.

"Stand where you are," Jeff said quietly.

The man whirled around, then shoved the goggles up on his forehead.

He stood for a moment, blinking at the light.

Quite suddenly a vortex pistol appeared in his other hand. "Don't make

any sudden moves, Pop," he snapped. "This is no toy."

"Alec!" Jeff called out. "Alec! Wake up."

Alec sat up, at once alert. He glanced around and dived for his staff. "I've

got us both screened," Jeff said rapidly. "Now you grab him but don't kill him."

"Make a move and you get it," warned Johnson.

"Don't be foolish, my son," Jeff answered. "The great god Mota protects

his own. Put down that gun.

Without wasting time on speech Alec was setting the controls on his

staff. It took him some time; he had had only practice drills in the use of the

tractor and pressor beams. Johnson watched him fumbling, looked uncertain,

then bred at him point blank.

Nothing happened; Jeff's shield soaked up the energy.

Johnson looked amazed; he looked still more amazed and rubbed his

hand a moment later when Alec snatched the gun from his hand with a

tractor beam. "Now," said Jeff, "tell us, my son, why you saw fit to violate the

mysteries of Mota?"

Johnson looked around at him, his eyes showing apprehension but still

defiant. "Stow that Mota stuff. I wasn't kidded.."

"The Lord Mota is not mocked."

"Stow it, I tell you. How do you explain that stuff?" He hooked a thumb at

the communicator.

"The Lord Mota need not explain. Sit down, my son, and make your

peace with him."

"Sit down, my eye. I'm walking straight out of here. If you bird s don't want

this place swarming with slanties, you won't try to stop me. I wouldn't turn in a

white man unless he made trouble for me."

"You are implying that you are a common thief?"

"Watch what you call me. You guys have been throwing gold around;

anybody is bound to take an interest in it."

"Sit down."

"I'm leaving."

He turned away. Jeff said, "Nail him, Alec!-but don't hurt him."

The injunction slowed Alec down. Johnson was halfway up the stairs

before Alec snatched his feet from under him. Johnson fell heavily, striking

his head.

Unhurriedly Jeff got up and put on his robes. "Sit on him, Alec, with your

staff. I'll reconnoiter." He went upstairs, was gone a few minutes, and

returned. Johnson was stretched on Alec's cot, dormant. "Not much

damage," Jeff reported. "The upper door's lock was merely picked. No one

was awake; I relocked it. The lower door's lock will have to be replaced; he

used something or other that melted it. That door really should have a shield;

I must speak to Bob about that." He glanced at the figure. "Still out?"

"Not really. He was coming to; I gave him sodium pentothal."

"Good! I want to question him."

"So I figured."

"Anesthesia?"

"No, just a babble dose."

Thomas nipped one of Johnson's earlobes with a thumbnail and twisted

viciously. The victim stirred. "Darn near anesthesia-must be the knock on his

head. Johnson! Can you hear me?"

"Mmm, Yes."

Thomas questioned him patiently for many minutes. Finally Alec stopped

him. "Jeff, do we have to listen to any more of this? It's like staring down into

a cesspool."

"It makes me want to .vomit, too, but we've got to get the dope." He went

on. Who paid him? What did the PanAsians expect to find out? How did he

report back? When was he due to report next? Who else was in the

organization? What did the PanAsians think of the temple of Mota? Did his

boss know that he was here tonight?

And finally: what had induced him to go against his own people?

The drug was wearing oil' now. Johnson was almost aware of his

surroundings, but his censors were still down and he spoke with a savage

disregard of what his hearers might think of him. "A man's got to look out for

himself, doesn't he? If you're smart you can get along anywhere."

"I guess we just aren't smart, Alec," Thomas commented. He sat still for

several minutes, then said, "I think he's told us everything he knows. I'm

trying to decide just what to do with him."

"If I give him another shot he may talk some more."

Johnson said, "You can't make me talk!" He seemed unaware that he

already had talked.

Thomas struck him across the face with the back of his hand. "Shut up,

you. You'll talk whenever we give you the needle. Right now you'll keep

quiet." He went on to Alec, "There is a bare chance that they might get more

out of him if we shipped him back to base. But I don't think so and it would be

difficult and dangerous. If we got caught with him or if he escaped, the jig

would be up. I think we had best dispose of him here and now."

Johnson looked stunned and tried to sit up, but Alec's staff kept him

pinned to the cot. "Hey! What are you talking about? That's murder!"

"Give him another shot, Alec. We can't have him raising Cain while we

work."

Howe said nothing, but quickly made the injection. Johnson tried to

squirm away from it, then struggled a little before he gave in to the drug.

Howe straightened up. His face was almost as disturbed as Johnson's had

been. "Did you mean that the way it sounded, Jeff? If so, I didn't sign up for

murder, either."

"It's not murder, Alec. We are executing a spy."

Howe chewed his lip. "It wouldn't bother me a bit, I guess, to kill a man in

a fair fight. But to tie him down and butcher him, like he was a hog, turns my

stomach."

"Executions are always like that, Alec. Ever see a man die in a gas

chamber?"

"But it is murder, Jeff. We don't have the authority to execute him."

"1 have the authority, Alec. I am a commanding officer, acting

independently, in war time."

"But consarn it, Jeff, you didn't even give him a drumhead court-martial."

"A trial is for the purpose of establishing guilt or innocence. Is he guilty?"

"Oh, he's guilty all right. But a man's entitled to a trial. "

Jeff took a long breath. "Alec, I used to be a lawyer. The whole purpose

of the complicated structure of western jurisprudence in criminal matters, as

built up over the centuries, has been to keep the innocent from being

convicted and punished through error. It sometimes lets the guilty go free in

the process, but that's not the purpose. I don't have the personnel nor the

time to form a military court and give this man a formal trial-but his guilt has

been established with much more certainty than a court could possibly

establish it and I don't propose to endanger my command and risk the

ultimate outcome of the war by extending to him the protections that were

devised to protect the innocent.

"If I could cut out his memory and turn him loose to report back that all

he found was a screwy church and a lot of hungry people eating, I would do

it, not to avoid the chore of killing him, but because it would confuse the

enemy. I can't possibly turn him loose-"

"I didn't want you to do that, Jeff!"

"Shut up, soldier, and listen. If I turn him loose with the knowledge he

has gained, the PanAsians will get it, the same way we made him talk, even

if he tried to hold it back. We haven't the facilities to keep him here; it is

dangerous to ship him back to base. I intend to execute him now." He

paused.

Alec said diffidently, "Captain Thomas?"

"Yes?"

"Why don't you call up Major Ardmore and see what he thinks?"

"Because there is no reason to. If I have to ask him to make up my mind

for me I'm no good on this job. I've just

one thing more to add: you are too soft and mush-headed for this job.

You apparently think that the United States can win this war without anyone

getting hurt you don't even have the guts to watch a traitor die. I had hoped to

turn this command over to you shortly; instead I am shipping you back to the

Citadel tomorrow with a report to the commander-in-chief that you are utterly

unfit to be trusted with work in the face of the enemy. In the meantime you

will carry out orders. Help me lug that hulk into the bathroom. "

Howe's mouth quivered, but he said nothing. The two carried the

unconscious man into the adjoining room. Before the temple was

"consecrated" Thomas had had a partition knocked out between the janitor's

toilet and the space adjoining and in that space had had an old-fashioned

bath tub installed. They dumped him in the tub.

Howe wet his lips. "Why in the tub?"

"Because it will be a bloody mess."

"You aren't going to use your staff?"