Chapter 14
Jeffrey: “where the dreams cross”
By the time they were admitted into the presence of the Pontiff, Jeffrey felt like screaming. It was never easy spending time with the Honcho, and even less so when his father was in the mood to teach him. I've read the books. I know some of the roles the Church has played in history. Constantine, also, thought he could tame the Church for his own uses. But he was wrong. When they became the official religion of the Roman Empire, they ended persecution of Christians … and immediately set about the persecution of both older religions and younger cults. My father, led by the example of his father, is making the same mistake as Constantine.
But I shall not repeat his mistake, or continue it, when I am Honcho.
When the chamberlain entered the waiting room, he stood, without waiting for his father to do the same. He could see that the official was amused by this sign of youthful rebellion.
“His Holiness will see you now.”
Following his father into the audience chamber, he was amused to see that the Holy Father's minion had crafted him a papal throne, with a short row of lower chairs arranged in front of it. He could see the Honcho's eyes narrow at this, at the way the head of the TCC put him at a disadvantage – from the seats provided, they would be looking up at he who filled the shoes of the Fisherman. Jeffrey wondered how his father would make reply to this without drawing attention to it.
He did not have wait long for his answer. As they approached, His Holiness Pope Rodrigo, the Second of that name, did not stand; he was not a tall man, and it would not have contributed much to the effect his raised throne had already established. This was especially so because he was also not a thin man. He smiled innocently at them and raised his hand, extended his ring to be kissed.
The Honcho replied with just as innocent a smile, but reached forward and shook the Pontiff's hand.
Jeffrey stifled the urge to laugh out loud. The message had been delivered! We are not your flunkies. His Holiness's mask of cordiality slipped for just a second, as his eyes flashed with anger, then just as suddenly it was back in place, his smile broad, if a trifle forced. “We are always pleased to greet you, Your Excellency. Please be seated.”
Without that “please”, thought Jeffrey, I would have ignored him, and remained upright. He waited for his father to seat himself, then settled himself in the chair to the right of him. No disunity, but a united front. I am his right-hand man. As far as you know, “Holiness”.
“Now then, your Excellency,” the man on the throne continued, “to what do We owe the pleasure of this visit?”
The Honcho eyed him. “I suspect that you already know,” he said. “But in case your spies are less efficient than I thought, or haven't reported to you yet, I'll summarize. I'm planning a major offensive to expand the Empire, using some vehicles and weapons of the Ancients discovered in a buried Armory.”
The Pontiff blinked. “Is this a change in policy – consulting with Us on matters of military strategy?”
“No,” said Peter. “Unfortunately, we do not have any fuel for the motorized vehicles. My technicians assure me that they have adequate information to distill sufficient fuel from the crude oil available in the old wells, but there is a catch.”
“Word had reached me about the Armory you discovered,” Pope Rodrigo admitted. “But my operatives thought that there would be fuel stored along with the vehicles, as undoubtedly there is ammunition for the weapons.” He gazed at nothing for a moment. “You mentioned a catch. Let me see. You have the vehicles, and you have the old oil wells, and plans to distill usable fuel from the crude oil. So the question must be how to get the oil out of them. I've heard that there used to be wells called 'gushers' in the old days that literally spewed oil out of the ground when breached by a drill. I take it that you do not have any of those left?”
“None. We'll have to pump it out by force.”
Now His Holiness appeared to be confused. “But pumps are simple. Our monks use them all the time to get well water for drinking, cooking and watering crops.”
“We will need a lot of crude oil to make our fuel,” the Honcho told him. “And it is deep underground. Hand pumps won't do the job. We could devise rotary-operated pumps driven by teams of oxen, but they'd take forever to bring up the quantity required.”
The Pontiff absorbed that. “How did the Ancients solve this problem?” he asked.
“Machine pumps. But even if we could build them, they'd be useless.”
The heir of Saint Peter lifted his eyebrows. “Why?”
“Because they'd need a power source, either the same fuel we don't have and are trying to make…or the tamed lightning of the Ancients that we don't have anymore. There appears to be no conventional solution. We're going to have to think outside the box.”
The ecclesiastical eyes narrowed at that. “Now I begin to understand. No conventional solution, but you have thought of an unconventional one. One that you know will upset Us, or you would not be here today.”
“Correct. “We're going to have to use swizzles and everflames. I know the Church is against any official use of the Gifts of the Tourists, but in this case – “
Rodrigo held up a finger, interrupting him. “Hold on. I see why you want to use swizzles, but why the everflames too?”
“Once we get the oil out of the ground, we need to heat it up and distill gasoline and diesel fuel out of it. The scale of what I'm planning would require so much firewood that it would seriously hamper our ability to build on the conquered lands for lack of lumber, if we burned that wood to make fire instead.”
“Couldn't you just trade with other countries for coal? You could burn that instead.”
“Not a good idea, Holiness. They're not dumb. They'd wonder what I need all that extra coal for. Once the army moves out and they understand, trade will grind to a halt. Once we locate and take possession of the coal mines, of course, we can use coal-fired heating for the refineries from then on. But in the short term – “
“ – you will need the short cut of the everflames. I see.” The Pontiff rested his chin in a palm, reflecting on this. “We have a long-standing ban on the use of the Gifts,” he reminded them. “The use of this sorcery from the demon 'Tourists' is what led to the downfall of the Ancients and all their marvels, as you well know. We are still paying penance for it, even after all this time.”
“I won't argue theology with you. I agree with the Church's position, you know that. The only way to rebuild civilization is the hard way – the way it was done before.” Peter leaned back in his chair. “But political unification has to come first, or we'll spend the next thousand years slowly advancing, while fighting little wars with increasing death tolls from better weapons. We can't let that happen.”
It was a nice speech, Jeffrey thought. But you left out a key part, father. The real reason you're in such a hurry is you want it to happen in your own lifetime. So that you can rule it all.
“Why not?” asked His Holiness. “I mean, granted, the loss of life would be regrettable, but it worked that way the first time. Maybe God wants us to do it the same way – the hard way – to show we've learned from our mistakes.”
“I don't think so,” said the Honcho. “And I'll tell you why. God knows something that you might not have considered, and He knows we have to progress faster this time.”
Pope Rodrigo regarded him, amusement plain on his face. “Has He told you something he has kept secret from Us? That would seem unlikely.”
“No, I've just thought about it more than you have. The Tourists could come back. Or others could follow in their footsteps. For all we know, they may have told others about Earth, and put us on the celestial map for everyone out there. We have to be ready for them.”
The Pontiff's eyes grew wider. “You're right. I hadn't thought of that.” He was silent for a minute. “If God let them come once, He may do so again, if He decides we need further punishment. We have been thinking of the past, and not the f
uture.”
He drummed his fingers on the armrest of the papal throne. “It would be…awkward to make an official announcement that Our policy has changed. We would have to give reasons, reasons that could stir up unrest among the faithful.”
Peter nodded. “I know that. You don't have to say anything, provided we come to an agreement about this between ourselves. I won't flaunt your ban publicly, and you won't have to condemn what the government is doing … publicly.”
Pope Rodrigo nodded. “It sounds workable. Nothing written down, of course.”
Of course, thought the Runt. So you can deny knowing when it finally surfaces.
“That brings up another issue,” said the Honcho. “Does the Church have any confiscated swizzles or everflames that we could … borrow? The more we have the sooner we can begin expanding the territory of my Empire and your Flock.”
The Pope opened his mouth to respond, but he said nothing. There was a sharp whistle and a crack (Jeffrey could not distinguish which came first) and his body slumped forward.
There was a moment of shocked silence.
A wave of dizziness passed through Jeffrey. What the hell just happened? Then he found his voice.
“I do believe,” he said, “that our audience is at an end.”
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