Sixth Column (20 page)

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."