The Race for God

by Brian Herbert

  “They didn’t say exactly who they were,” Orbust said. “The saffron-robed ones were Hoddhist monks—they were in my assembly room. I don’t know about the other two.”

  “The others wore white peasant outfits,” Smith explained to Tully.

  Tully nodded. “I’ve seen ’em around.”

  “Maybe there’s a little backlash we can capitalize on,” Orbust said. “Those guys came to wish me well and said the ParKekh had gone too far.”

  “The sympathy angle,” Smith said. “Yeah, we can work that one.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Tully said, impatiently. “Look, so far none of us have given up any of our beliefs. But the time will come when we three will have to settle accounts and agree which system is the best. Johnny, you’re a Reborn Krassee, I’m a Found-Againer, and Smith is a NuNu Pentecostalist. Our beliefs are close, but not identical. That dumb belief you have for example, Johnny, about—”

  “Don’t start!” Orbust snapped. “We’ve been down that road, and I thought we smoothed it out pretty well. Set it aside, Tully. Look at it this way: God put us together on this ship as a force for Krassianism, a force for God’s love. It’s our destiny to move like a three-pronged wedge through the throng of heathens. If we turn on ourselves, all is lost.”

  “And exactly what do we tell the heathens?” Tully asked. “There are specific points of disagreement between us.”

  “Don’t talk about those things,” Orbust suggested. “Hit only the areas where we agree—one God, Immaculate Conception, Dual Resurrection, all those Babul interpretations we discussed. . . . You know what I’m saying.”

  Tully found a toothpick, chewed on it. Finally he nodded in assent, but he looked like a man forced to set his fight aside.

  “When we do have it out,” Tully said presently, “we’ll do it without your damned Snapcard, Johnny. Agreed?”

  Orbust hesitated, then said with some difficulty, “Agreed.”

  “The task ahead is not an easy one,” Smith said. “But we must make the effort.”

  “Hear! hear!” Tully said.

  “Onward Krassian Soldiers,” Smith rasped.

  “After consolidating the Krassians,” Orbust said, “we move to the other Wessornian religions—principally Middism and Isammedanism. These major religions share a belief in the Old Babul, you know. And there are other similarities.”

  “I didn’t hear you making any points with Zatima,” Tully said. “Hey! She claims to be one of the only female imams. Does that make her an imama?”

  “I doubt if it would come out with that meaning in her tongue,” Orbust said, not smiling. He thought for a moment, added, “I let my anger override good sense when I spoke to her, when I lunged for the Snapcard. I could have handled it better. I guess we should leave Zatima for last.”

  “Okay,” Smith said. “We’ll look for stragglers to pick off first, the ones who are uncertain or faltering in their beliefs, not so set as the others.”

  “Let’s decide what to do about that ParKekh,” Tully said, flicking the toothpick away. “He’s a problem.”

  “I listened to a book-tape in my cabin,” Smith said. “ParKekhism is a bastardized remnant of Zillasterism, a religion that became known as Parloo and then through a freak of politics combined forces with Kekh fanaticism. Hence ‘ParKekh.’ Zillaster was a prophet who founded a monotheistic religion long before Krassianism, Middism or Isammedanism. They worshipped fire, said it symbolized divine purity.”

  “ParKekhism is monotheistic too?” Tully asked.

  Smith nodded.

  “If Orbust hadn’t alienated the guy,” Tully said, “we could have worked him on the one-God angle, suggesting similarities with Krassianism.”

  “No use crying about that,” Smith said. He paused, added: “I hear the guy keeps an eternal flame going. It’s from one of their fire temples.”

  “An open fire on this ship?” Tully asked, astounded.

  “Uh-huh,” Smith said.

  “That’s idiotic,” Tully said.

  “No more than all the candles these pilgrims have,” Tully said.

  “Appy said the candles are I.L.-approved,” Orbust remembered. “They must have an internal shutdown system, and I assume the eternal flame has one too.”

  “What if you’re wrong?” Tully asked. “The whole ship could burn up.”

  “I hear the flame is in one of the sublevel shrines,” Smith said. “And who knows if they have Insurance Laboratories where Singh came from.”

  Orbust pursed his lips thoughtfully, listened to the others.

  Smith shrugged. “The guy is in deep shit if that fire goes out; It’s his Achilles heel. Nail the fire and you nail the guy. He’d probably kill himself afterward.”

  “I say we move on the flame and snuff it,” Tully said. “The bastard is probably unconvertible anyway.”

  “I don’t know if we should. . . .” Orbust said. His voice trailed off uncertainly.

  “After it’s snuffed,” Tully said, “someone can suggest to him that it’s God’s message, that the eternal flame stuff isn’t right belief, or God wouldn’t have let it go out.”

  “I don’t wanna be the one to tell him that,” Orbust said, rubbing one of his shoulders where it hurt.

  “He’s not so tough,” Tully said. “If I could get close to him and use a maneuver they taught me in the army . . . anyway, I’ll do a little reconnaissance on the flame. We should check it out.”

  Smith agreed, but admonished: “Don’t get caught.”

  “I’m like a cat,” Tully said. His eyes were bright and mysterious, betraying to Orbust that he was not to be trusted entirely.

  “Maybe there’s more shit like that we can do to others too,” Smith said, “making them think that God has turned against them.”

  “Whatever it takes, right?” Tully said. “Wasn’t that what we agreed when we forced McMurtrey out of his house? This is war, right? A war with the other religions!”

  “Maybe this is going too far,” Orbust said. “I don’t know . . . ”

  “Listen, Johnny,” Smith said, “how is snuffing that ParKekh’s flame any different from you using your Snapcard on people?”

  “The guy could kill himself that’s the difference. A big difference.”

  “We’ll plan it so he can’t kill himself, then,” Smith said. “We steal his weapon, get him under control before the flame is hit.”

  “How are we gonna do that?” Orbust asked.

  “It’ll take a little thought, that’s all,” Smith said.

  “Aw, why bother?” Tully said. “Like I said, this is war. No prisoners, you know? I’ll stick that ParKekh’s head in his own flame!” He snapped his notebook shut, capped the pen.

  “No you won’t,” Orbust said. He stared Tully down, added, “Like Smith said, we plan the whole thing out so no one gets hurt.”

  “You talk big,” Tully sneered, “and you don’t even have your gun anymore. Any time, fella. Just you and me!”

  Tully slammed to his feet. Clutching his pen and notebook, he stormed from the room.

  It was shortly after breakfast, and McMurtrey’s belly wasn’t full. The food from the automatic butler in his cabin hadn’t been prepared exactly as he’d ordered it. It hadn’t been anywhere close, except he had received breakfast items. (Ordered: Two Unglish breakfasts; Received: Two bowls of synthetic banana slices in soggy wheat cereal.)

  Still, he felt good, and as he tramped along Level 6 to stretch his legs he perked up, felt a bounce in his steps.

  McMurtrey couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt so good.

  He thought about Jin, who was one level up and seated in meditation. McMurtrey had spoken to him while walking past, saying: “I saw you take the chemstrip.” There had been no response.

  McMurtrey rubbed his chin at this recollection.

  Shalom ben Yakkai emerged from an adjacent corridor, came around the partition, approaching. He was hatless and his hair was crew-short, with no sidelocks. His long black c
oat was gone, replaced by a heavy, long-sleeved black shirt and heavy black trousers. He still had his beard.

  “Mr. Shalom ben Yakkai?” McMurtrey asked, as they met.

  Yakkai nodded, smiled pleasantly. “Two frauds exposed, eh?” he said. “You voluntarily, and me by the Middist Secret Police. Just kidding. The rabbi’s a nice enough fellow, actually. He let me keep my beard.”

  “He couldn’t really force you to change anything, could he?”

  “No, but he’s an old fart and he was pretty upset. I didn’t want him to have a heart attack. I should have known better anyway. My outfit wasn’t in the best of taste, I guess.”

  “How did you get aboard Shusher?”

  “No formal invitation, but one day I felt an urge to come here. Like most of the others.”

  “You think maybe atheism is the way to God?”

  “What an oxymoron. Don’t make me laugh. There isn’t any God. I’m not sure yet what the gag is, but it doesn’t have anything to do with anyone’s mythical God.”

  Yakkai touched a dark brown phylactery that was secured to his left arm, added: “Rabbi Teitelbaum didn’t want me to keep this, but I convinced him. I’ve got a little good luck parchment in here and a few other religious gadgets. Neat stuff that I’ve had for years. It’s a tradition among many devout Middists, and at first the good Rabbi didn’t feel I deserved the stuff. I told him I was still of the Middist nationality and that if I kept the pouch I might come around and practice the religion one day.”

  “That really got to him, eh?” McMurtrey asked.

  “I was lying through my teeth. I like the stuff for good luck, that’s all. Teitelbaum took about everything else. You saw the tallis kotus I had on?”

  “The what?”

  “The tallis kotus, a four-cornered undergarment with fringes showing, reminding the wearer of religious duties. I hear you’ve studied religion and thought you might have . . . ”

  “Oh, yes, I’m slightly familiar with that, didn’t notice the fringe.” McMurtrey glanced down. “You don’t seem to be wearing it now.”

  “Rabbi took it. He was adamant about it for some reason. You’d think I should keep it as a reminder, but he insisted I should accept Middism first, that I wasn’t one of the flock, so to speak. He cared more about the tallis than anything else.”

  McMurtrey nodded. “Where’d you get the shirt and pants?”

  “Middist tailors are fast. It’s my coat, reworked.”

  “You don’t mean by Appy, do you?”

  “Because Appy says he’s Middist, you mean? No. Actually, I don’t know. Teitelbaum arranged it, left me in my cabin and took the coat. Besides, the way Appy swears, I doubt if Teitelbaum would deal with him any more than necessary.”

  “Maybe it was necessary.”

  “Could be. The rabbi’s a tough guy. He might even try to reform Appy.”

  “To do that he’d have to reprogram Appy, and that might not be so easy. I’ll bet the access codes are doozies. You heard about the imperfect programming Appy got?”

  “No,” Yakkai said.

  “Appy told me his initial programming was all he got, all he’d ever get, that he was on his own, kinda like a person with Free Will.”

  “Cut loose in the wilds like the rest of us with faulty equipment, eh?”

  “Yeah, I guess. We’re two frauds, you say. Wonder how many more are aboard.”

  “Everyone, I’d say. It’s probably our common thread. Appy’s a phony, and God, too.”

  McMurtrey chuckled. “An atheist remark if ever I’ve heard one.”

  The men smiled at one another and parted, each going in an opposite direction.

  On Level 6, Jin sat naked on the deck in apparent meditation, recalling those moments before when McMurtrey had passed him and spoken of the chemstrip. Concealed by the way Jin clasped his hands together, shiny blue bone blades flashed in and out from the tips of his thumbs.

  Certainly McMurtrey couldn’t suspect Jin’s Bureau of Loyalty affiliation. If that interloper had seen anything, it could only be enough to suspect that Jin was not so antimaterialistic as he seemed to be. A breach of piety, no more, and no worse, than the infractions of others.

  But Jin remained troubled. He had recognized the risk when he commandeered the chemstrip and Snapcard in a public place. But these were necessary acts, placing wanted, illegal technology into Bureau control for analysis. Such devices were considered dangerous to Inner Planet security, so Jin had the force of law with him if it came to a showdown.

  But that law was far away, with little practical force in this distant place. This was not an Inner Planet ship, didn’t fall within the jurisdiction of the Bureau. Or did it? Jin didn’t know how arrangements had been made for his passage. Either a deal had been cut between the Bureau and God, or the Bureau, with its staggering technological capability, had worked a way to sneak Jin aboard.

  Why had the Bureau permitted these ships to take off? Was it because the Bureau was incapable of stopping them, because they were controlled by a greater power? Was there a stronger power than the Bureau? Jin had trouble visualizing such a possibility, even with the information programmed into him about God. Jin felt that the final authority in any confrontation was the Inner Planet’s Bureau of Loyalty, his Bureau.

  This could be a tremendous opportunity for Jin, an opportunity for him to be responsible for the extension of Bureau power. He had heard of cyberoos receiving more responsibility in reward for outstanding work, but he hesitated to proceed in this mysterious and untested place, far beyond communication range with his superiors. He was balanced on the edge of uncertainty, caught between what he had been programmed to do and the reality beyond those predictions that were inherent in programming.

  Was he supposed to tip that balance, proceeding with decisions that seemed appropriate?

  It wasn’t Jin’s assignment to analyze the chemstrip and Snapcard, so they would stay where he had placed them, reduced and tucked into his bellybutton compartment. No one could find them there or prove anything.

  A shadow passed over him, blocking thought. He retracted the blue thumb blades.

  With a glance at Jin, McMurtrey proceeded on, passing close to Corona’s closed roomette. Corona’s screen shot up, and with remarkable strength she hauled him inside. The screen snapped shut, and she threw him on the bed, feet toward the headboard. McMurtrey felt like a fat spider in the clutches of a smaller but more powerful foe. He was supine, looking up at her as she leaned over him like a victorious schoolyard fighter. She had that familiar schoolyard expression, too, with taunting eyes and truculent smile. But she wasn’t hitting him. She was working at the buckle of his belt.

  She got the belt open, and her strong fingers pulled at the clasp of his trousers.

  “I’m raping you,” she announced.

  The alarm system on his pickpocket-proof trousers went off, a micro-police siren. Corona pulled back, startled.

  McMurtrey laughed, touched his Wriskron to deactivate the alarm. He was feeling very excited.

  “No easy task,” he said. “I’m wearing Grandma’s pickpocket-proof trousers. She made a bundle on the invention. Every pocket is triple-sealed, with overlays and sensor ziplocks set to the wearer’s precise body metabolism and temperature. Each body varies, you know, and these pockets recognize minute differences.”

  “So?” she said. “What does that have to do with the clasp? How does the damn thing work?”

  “When Grandma said pickpocket-proof, she went all the way. A thief can’t take the trousers, can’t cut through anything. The fabric is even .60 caliber bulletproof.”

  “Rape-proof pants? Some kinda chastity set?”

  “Yeah. Grandpa was an inventor, too. He came up with an anti-bitching spray, and he used to spray it on Grandma. It was like a seasick pill, he claimed—it had to be employed BEFORE the bitching started. It used to make Grandma madder than hell. But Grandpa insisted it worked. I never knew for sure, and he didn’t market it commercially
.”

  “I hate the bitchiness stereotype applied to women,” Corona snapped. “Why aren’t men described as bitchy?”

  “Maybe because they aren’t that way.”

  She pushed him playfully. “Know what else I hate?” she asked.

  McMurtrey shrugged.

  “A man who babbles when he’s supposed to be making love.”

  McMurtrey touched the trousers clasp, and it opened.

  She smiled, bent down and pressed her lips against his. Her mouth was warm and moist.

  Clumsily, he pressed his hands against her breasts. Then, as if expecting rejection for his oafishness, he withdrew his hands.

  She made him put them back, and this time McMurtrey tried to be more gentle.

  But Corona didn’t seem to have gentleness in mind. Her dark eyes flashed ferally, and she stretched out on his body.

  McMurtrey kissed her neck, teased at her ear lobes with his lips.

  “You’re driving me crazy,” she said.

  “I am?”

  “Yes, silly!”

  “What if Appy decided to raise your screen right now?” McMurtrey asked. “He’s kinda unpredictable and weird, might think it’s funny to expose us. Maybe there’s others fooling around too. Who knows? Sister Mary and Archbishop Perrier? Did you ever think about all the activity going on behind closed doors, behind screens, on planets like D’Urth all over the universe? It’s positively mind-boggling!”

  “You’re doing it again. Hush!”

  Her lips were hard on his, then suddenly soft and pliable. “Do whatever you want with me,” she said.

  “Me? I thought you were doin’ the doin’ . . . .Wait—my ears just popped. . . . Did you hear that?” He pushed her face away. “On the comlink!”

  “Not again! I don’t—”

  “Bleep!” A distant sound in both of McMurtrey’s ears.

  “There . . . that!” McMurtrey said.

  “Yeah.”

  Louder this time: “Bleep! Bleep-bleep-bleep!”

  “Sounds like a horn,” she said. “Like the one we heard on the comlink this morning.”

  “Like a damned car horn, like we’re on some kinda freeway out here.”

  In one ear McMurtrey heard Appy screaming, in that flawed Middist accent: “A plague on you, Shusher. It won’t let you pass! Back off and let it go ahead!”