Preacher Man

by r. a. Ben Miller

“Why we wait heeeere?” whined Paris.

  “Ma sweet darlin, while I am so very glad that our two moon cycle’s long search on this desert planet is over, I dinna wish ta be blasted out of existence at me first blush of triumph.” Now that they no longer spoke out loud, it was not necessary for him to look at her while conversing. She was inside of her head just as she was inside of his. He looked neither right nor left as he drove down the steep trail. They crossed the Big Purgatory River at a military checkpoint bridge.

  “Papers please…”said an efficient Par Cat officer. The Guardian smiled as he stamped all of their papers with a large red stamp reading “accepted.” The Guardian gave them instructions toward a green prairie that made up the bottom of the valley. From there, a wide road made up the last leg of their journey to the mining fort growing in their front windscreen.

  Zeer felt rather than saw the hidden guards covering the road. "If someone did get into this valley, he'd need an army to get out without permission of the miner's committee," he thought.

  "There'd be a hard hearted jury, if I ever saw one," said the old ghost in the corner of the room.

  "Aye, dad... but, they never caught you..."

  "Not for their lack of tryin', laddie. I've done my share of sneakin' and hidin' from the likes of them coppers."

  The twin suns were turning the mining town into a solid gold fort when Zeer parked his bus for the night. Queued up with the others, he and Paris spent the night under the shadow of blast cannons at the main gate. He drove through the gates just after morning reveille.

  Zeer worked his way to the shack guarding the portal. He fingered the last of his stored Quallium chips. He was hoping it would be enough for a parking space inside of the fort and a bit of foodstuffs.

  A two-headed Tratonian Dragon was the guardian at the gate. "I am very glad to see you, Father...

  "I am not a Father yet, my son. I am yet a humble Brother. My only claim is to be faithful traveler for the Master and a simple breather of His Word. I was brought here to you by your Missionary Society to make a home fer us all."

  "Still, we are glad to see thee, Sir. I have missed services here since the last Brother took ill.

  The Guardian took the small pile of chips and secretly let half of them slip onto the floor of the bus. Zeer was surprised, but ignored the chips. The Guardian continued to talk as he collected stuff from various drawers and handed them one by one through the window of the bus, “Here is a plas-tape book with the history of our little town and here’s a map. Please park in the spot on the map marked CHURCH. It is at the end of the bazaar."

  Paris thought, "OOOH. Paris gets dizzy watching strange mans talk."

  Zac spoke, "Aye, lassie...a common response...it does take some getting’ used to, ya see, a Tratonian talks out of each head alternately. The problem is compounded because the heads are never still. One of his heads will be checking the front of the vehicle. The other will be checking the back or the undercarriage. Then, one looks will watch you and the other will be looking on top. Its rubbery, extendable necks and natural curiosity make Tritonians excellent border guards.”

  Zeer agreed with his father and with Paris, “Aye, lassie, it makes me sick, too."

  "Do the trick I showed ya, sonny..."

  Zeer look directly at one head while talking to it.

  Zack explained it to Paris, "Tratonians are very polite. Staring at one of the heads will keep that head still. It drives the other head crazy, though. The other head will come to a complete stop wanting to be talked to as well.”

  Zeer stared at the nearest head, "Show me where it is, please."  The beads of sweat on the Guardian’s face showed the strain of having to hold still. With a shaking hand, he pointed the direction.

  "I've driven a few of them crazy myself that way, sonny."

  “Here is your appointment card to see the commandant.

  “Me Son, this is not fer two weeks.”

  “Sorry, Father, he’s a busy man.” Beads of sweat were breaking out on both heads.

  “Will I be allowed ta do me work?”

  “Yes… ummm… yeah, sure… see on the back… there’s a temporary permit to do business.”

  “Thankee, lad… See ya in Church… Even Song, eh?”

  “Look forward to it, Father.” Both heads smiled nervously.

  Zeer drove to the spot that he was directed to. He had to stop and get directions several times. It was clear that whoever had drawn the map back at the Imperion Head Quarters had not seen this fort in a long time. Originally, the fort and its contents may have been standard issue. But, with the passage of time and the influx of miners and their families, the fort had been remodeled and expanded several times. This outdated map was now nearly impossible to read. Simply, things were not where they were supposed to be. Maintenance Station #1 (MS-1) had been historically a simple way station on the way to the Purgatory Bad Lands.

  The discovery of Quallium had turned this new place, now called Emeswan, into the center of the Viceroy’s economic empire. It now bore little resemblance to the original idea of what a Maintenance Station should look like. To add to the confusion, most of the new changes were not on the map that Zeer had been given.

  Paris slipped the plas-tape into the reader on the dashboard of the bus. A pleasant female voice began to read the brochure to them. “In colonial days, Tarra had been a source of light metals and medicinal herbs. It was a hideout planet for people on the edge of several empires. No on had paid it too much attention to us as long as the minerals were shipped on time. Tarra got few official visitors because off worlders thought that our weather was so bad. They said that it was either so hot here that you couldn't breath or so cold that you could freeze to death within a few ticks.”

  “This particular fort had been named Maintenance Station #1. Then people called M.S.-1. It had simply been a resting spot and repair depot for the long haulers taking their goods to Space Port City. The name had eventually been slanged down to Emeswan. For most of its life, this fort had barracked a few hundred Guardians and their families. In the oldest part of the fort were cool, stone and adobe apartment buildings that reached nearly as high as the walls. On the roofs are defensive structures of varying ages and technologies, some as old as the original fort. When Quallium was discovered in the outward regions, the fort was built up from the few hundred people to nearly five thousand souls by decree of the Viceroy to guard the shipments as they passed through this valley. The newer sections of the fort have few buildings. This latest Commandant has spent little of his budget above ground.”

  “Mining activities around the planet began to drop. Miners moved here and other new mines in Purgatory Canyon from other played out mines. This fort was a key stop over to the small haulers. These haulers come out of the canyon and are off loaded to larger convoys of long haulers for the dangerous journey to Space Port City. In the last few cycles, other areas have begun to play out and are being abandoned.”

  “A little more than a ten cycles ago, just as the fort was about to be abandoned, Quallium was discovered in a well being dug right under the fort. The local governor was ecstatic. This was his own mine, on his own planet. It was his personal stash of Quallium. He hid the discovery for as long as he could, reaping huge profits because he didn't have to buy it. The town grew and the current Commandant was easily bribed with a grade change from major to Commandant.”

  “When word got out, miners poured in to be hired. Soon, a fort built for five thousand held a population of over a hundred thousand. As usual, the Imperion spent all their money below ground. They had no interest in wasting money to build above ground. So, for lack of better housing, the bazaar area was filled with hovels and shanties made from the boxes and other shipping materials from new mining equipment and stacked against the fort walls. The rents went to the Commandant. The governor had been considered a minor brother of the Empra. His new wealth bought him a Viceroyalty position. He was now second in line for the Imperial Throne.

/>   “I’ll just bet that most of the Quallium has found it’s way into the Viceroy’s grubby paws.”

  “I dinna care, Da’.I have work ta do here.”

  “The Master’s work or yer own?”

  “I dinna ken… maybe both.”

  Finally, they found an open space at the edge of the bazaar. The area had been saved for a church. This area was now filled with his bus. Several of his neighbor's packing box homes had to be torn down in order to get the traveler into the correct position for the pulpit to be let down. Within moments, the shanties were rebuilt and all the worldly goods returned to place.

  Looking at how much living was cramped into this little space, he marveled to a neighbor, "We certainly seem to have a large plot, me son."

  "Yes, Father, until recently, it had been held by just such a bus as yours until the Brother’s illness had taken him home. When we heard that the Society of the Master would be sending us another breather, we held the space."

  Finally, the church area was set up. "At least we'll have a shady spot fer services, me friends. Thankee fer the help!"

  The people seemed good natured about the fuss involved in the set up required to move a Preacher man on the fort again. The homes taken down were quickly reassembled. In a few minutes life was back to normal in the bazaar.

  Zeer walked around meeting people and getting acquainted. The people seemed to be so genuinely glad to see him. It was a feeling that he had never known before.

  At supper, he came in and sat to eat. Paris set his plate before him with a kiss, "Where ya been, Preacher Man?"

  "Just stretching' me legs, pet."

  "Eat yer dinner afore it gets cold."

  He looked at the timer, "Sorry, darlin' I canna eat," He kissed her absently. "I gotta get ready for the service.” He looked in the tote bag and shook it, “I hope that we have enough chips to keep the Frog from askin’ too many questions."

  “Sabbath's a'comin', boy. Where there's money there's sin. Where there's sin there's confessions to pay penance for."

  "Dad, you’re such a mercenary."

  "My instincts kept thee fed as a youngster."

  "Aye, that it did..."

  "It looks to me as if there'll be more mouths to feed around here if the fur ball has her way."

  "Dad, would ya stop callin' her a fur ball. She's as well formed as any earther woman as you can well see. She na havin' anyway but mine."

  "By the looks of the teeth marks on your neck, laddie buck, she's done had her way already."

  Zeer felt his blush spreading up his neck, "What can I say....ya'll na listen any way."

  "You can tell me this. Do you have puppies or kittens with the likes of that one."

  "Babies is babies, you old fart,” added Paris.

  "Paris," Zeer cautioned.

  Zac turned his energy her way, "So, thee must contribute to this family conversation, too, you little fur ball. What new kinds of witch craft do ya plan fer ma wee son next, Missy?"

  "Dad..."

  She waved her arm, "Ghost's is a waste of time..."

  "What'd I say?"

  “Paris..."

  "He talked first..."

  "Be nice, wouldja! Bot' o' yas." They headed out for EvenSong. A small crowd gathered. At the back was the Tratonian Guardian from that morning. Zeer waved and the man waved back shyly.

  Up on the pulpit, he looked at his new flock, “Church, let us call out to the Master in Thanksgiving for this day and an evening of rest. He began to sing the Rote o’ Even Song. The people read the words as they were displayed on the front of the pulpit. He ended with prayers. The people came to shake his hand and welcome him as their new leader in spirit. It warmed him. Paris stood at the edge of it all and smiled. “Thee…” she said softly in the back of his head.

  He smiled over at her for a tick, “No, me darling, this is the Master’s doin’s. I but breathe His words.”

  The next morning, they walked about the town putting up signs to tell people that a Preacher Man was in town. He held her velvet paw in his. He was filled with a sense of peace. “I like this place, Par.”

  “Aye Preacher man, maybe it’s na so bad. We have a home, now…”

  “Fer a time, sweets…”

  Zeer’s father and his wife were fighting more gently as well. As time passed, they seemed to grow fonder of each other. He made calling her fur ball a tenderness. She started calling him Zac. Zeer just worked and they talked on and on. Zac told Paris more stories of their home and hearth. If he concentrated on his work, he hardly heard them. There was so much to do to set up his church. There were forms to fill out and plots of garden land to reseed.

  At the fortnight, as asked, he showed up at the Command Office. He met another cat species for the first time. From the plas-tapes in the library, he knew she was Triandese. They were as large and ferocious as the Par Cats was small and gentle. The Royal Guardians were full of these lioness females. There males were smaller and generally not much good in a fight. She looked up and recognized the new priest. “H’ hello, father…”

  “Sister… uhhhh… I am not a Father, yet. It is good to see you. I do not remember seeing you in church, though.”

  “Ummm… I been meanin’ ta come. We been real busy, though.”

  “Well, running things here probably does take up yer time.”

  “Right! What kin I help you with today?” Zeer showed her the card with his appointment time. Her face reddened slightly under her yellow fur. “I’m sorry, Padre, but the Commandant is… ummm… indisposed. We’ve been told to tell everyone for a while that you will be notified when to appear for his interview.”

  “So…what do I do next?”

  “Keep on servin’ the Master… I seen ya on the viddies ta other day… Ya sing a fine song… and yer prayin’ is right soulful…”

  “Thankee fer them kind words, Little Sister, have a good day.”

  “G’day, Sir… sorry ‘bout the wait.” Zeer went home.

  The old Father had started a vegetable garden at the side of their plot. It had fallen to weeds. For some thing to pass the time, Zeer began to dig in the black soil in the afternoons and to water it every morning. Paris would come and help. Some of the people around gave them seed cuttings of their favorite plants to put along side of his. Soon, the green of healthy plants replaced the brown that had been there at the start. The old father had chosen well. The garden got good cool sun in the morning and was shaded from the hottest double sunlight by the bus later in the day.

  One day, he realized He had a few posters left. He would need more.  He headed for the print shop. The printer, a pachydermal creature from the Grygor Tri-Stars, would not even look at it. In a nasally whine, he said, " NThis nneeds a stnamp fromn nthe Commannent. I'mn nvery nsorry, Fanner."

  "I understand, my son."

  "Pleanse comn nback afner your meenning an' we cann prinndis rine away."

  "I'll sure do that."

  "I hope he catches his trunk in his printer."

  "Dad..." Zeer looked down at the poster in his hand.  He shrugged and went to see Sheel. He and the Guardian were becoming fast friends. He gave her a sliver of Q. She gave him a stamp. He went back to the printer. In a few ticks, he had a new supply of posters.

  COME ONE, COME ALL

  THE ROYAL BROTHERHOOD OF THE WORD

  presents

  THE PREACHER MAN

  BAPTISMS

  (circumcisions extra)

  WEDDINGS PERFORMED

  (non denominational 127 dialects)

  SABBATH SERVICES

  service time is at Dawn

  (come early beat the heat)