Upon Don and Rostoff’s appearance, Lawrence Demming bustled over, beaming. He took Don by the arm in friendly fashion and led him to where Peter Fodor and the ladies v/ere chatting.
“Your Supreme Holiness,” he said, “may I present our solar system hero, Colonel Donal Mathers?”
The Grand Presbyter put out a hard dry hand.
Don didn’t know if he was supposed to kiss it or shake it. He wasn’t a member of the Universal Reformed Church, nor any other, for that matter—if there were any others left. He wasn’t up on matters religious. He shook.
Peter Fodor said, “My son, surely the Almighty Ultimate was at your side when you attacked the Kraden monsters.” His voice was strong but still held a kindly ring.
“I… I suppose so, Your Supreme Holiness,” Don got out.
“A touch of Amontillado, Colonel Mathers?” Demming wheezed, still beaming fondly at Don.
“Why, yes sir,” Don said. “Thank you.” He hadn’t had a drink all day and could use one in view of the developments of the past hours.
His host must have made some imperceptible signal since a liveried servant came hurrying up with a gold tray upon which was a superlatively beautiful crystal decanter and a sherry glass. Demming himself took up the container and poured. He handed the glass to Don.
Rostoff had ordered his own drink from one of the servants. By the looks of it, it was a double shot of very cold vodka. He slugged it back in one bolt, put the glass down and came over to join the others.
The two women were gushing over Don, if it could be said that the bland Martha was capable of gushing. However, she did her best in her rasping voice.
Now, once again, Alicia Demming was another thing. She was wearing a golden formal dress, with no jewelry save a magnificent emerald necklace, and it set off her fine blond hair and green eyes to perfection.
She was saying, “Good heavens, Colonel Mathers, father must be clairvoyant, or whatever they call it when you can look into the future. Imagine! The last time we saw you, you were a mere sub-lieutenant. Now you are the toast of the Solar System.”
“Sheer luck, Ms. Demming,” Don said with befitting modesty.
“I am sure not,” His Supreme Holiness said. “Your courage and gallantry are an example for all our noble young warriors fighting for the Almighty Ultimate and his highest creation, the human race.”
“Most certainly,” Maximilian Rostoff said, with great conviction.
Alicia had that starry look in her eye that Don was getting used to in young women, and not-so-young women, for that matter.
She said to him, “Alicia, not Ms. Demming… Don.”
At table, Don remembered the last siege he’d had in this home and took it easy on each course and with each wine. He didn’t want to become foundered again.
Demming was saying to him, “It is a great privilege to have his Supreme Holiness here. He has decided to throw the full weight of the Universal Reformed Church into our efforts to amalgamate system-wide efforts to produce radioactives for the war effort. The church will proclaim the need for sacrifice from every citizen.”
“We will proclaim a jihad,” the Grand Presbyter said, his voice inspired.
Don regarded him blankly. “A what?”
“A jihad,” the other told him definitely. “It comes down from the Arabic, when the scimitar was conquering half the civilized world under the inspiration of the Prophet. The Moslem world, of course, is now all but completely assimilated into the Universal Reformed Church, but it is fitting that we proclaim a Holy War against the Kraden monsters.”
Rostoff said, his voice only very faintly wry, “To help subsidize it, we are issuing His Supreme Holiness two percent of the preferred stock of the Donal Mathers Radioactives Mining Corporation.”
Alicia said, taking her eyes from Don momentarily, “You mean you’re actually going to donate two percent of the corporation stock to the Universal Reformed Church, father?” On the face of it, Alicia Demming had never heard of her father ever having freely donated anything to anybody.
Lawrence Demming pursed his plum lips judiciously. “Not exactly, my dear. The stock will be issued to Peter Fodor, the Grand Presbyter, in his own name. We have decided that in this manner he will be in a position to more efficiently handle the income. Indeed, we do not plan to release the information to the media.”
“Much more efficient,” Rostoff said.
His Supreme Holiness said benignly, “It will give me considerably more leeway. Unnecessary to go through red-tape and church hierarchy channels to accomplish immediate results.”
Inwardly, Don Mathers wondered what two percent of, say, a few hundred billion was.
Martha Demming said to Don sweetly, in an obvious make-conversation gambit, “And what is your mining background, Colonel Mathers?”
Demming looked at her from the side of his eyes, and then closed them in pain momentarily, before opening them again so that he could resume plowing into the brace of capons before him.
Rostoff took over gently, explaining, “The Colonel will not deal with such mundane matters as the technology involved in extracting uranium and other radioactives, Ms. Demming. He will work on the highest levels of policy, high echelon decisions, public relations, that sort of thing.”
“Oh, I see. My, such responsibility for such a young man.”
She gave Don a bucktoothed, approving smile, and he inwardly winced.
After the ladies had withdrawn, the four men took to cigars and port. Don was treated, by his two supposed partners, as an equal. Indeed, if anything, they deferred to him. His opinion was always carefully listened to and the both of them would sagely nod whenever he made a point. Which was, however, seldom enough since he knew nothing whatsoever about corporation law and even less about radioactives, beyond their use in the nuclear engines of a One Man Scout.
Somewhat to his surprise, His Supreme Holiness was up on corporation law and fully able to discuss fine points with his host and Rostoff. Indeed, after a flurry of discussion on one phase of the development of Don’s new corporation, Demming and Rostoff excused themselves, came to their feet, and, cigars in hand, went over to the terrace, which over-looked Center City, from its lofty altitude, and conferred in low voices.
The Grand Presbyter tapped ash from his imperial size Manila cigar. Don had understood that the Universal Reformed Church frowned upon, though it did not completely forbid, use by the faithful of tobacco and alcohol. Evidently, His Supreme Holiness was making an exception tonight.
He said, “Have you ever considered taking Holy Orders, my son?”
XI
Don stared at him and took a hasty slug of his port. “Doing what?”
“Taking Holy Orders. We could elevate you to a Missionary Apostle. I would think that it would aid immeasurably in bringing new converts to the Church, and, of course, the greater our membership the greater the number to participate in our Jihad against the Kradens.”
“Well, no,” Don said, less than happy. “You see, I am not even a member of the Universal Reformed Church. My parents weren’t religious whatsoever, so I wasn’t raised in the atmosphere.”
“Then, my son, you are not acquainted with the tenets of the Church?”
“Not at all. And, I’m a space pilot. Wouldn’t it look rather far out if suddenly I became a, what did you call it, a Missionary Apostle?”
His Supreme Holiness shook his head, after taking another appreciative pull at his dark cigar. “Not at all, my son. Haven’t you ever heard of the Loyola story?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“Briefly, Ignatius of Loyola was born in the 15th. Century and was of noble background. As a youth he left his life at court and joined the military. He distinguished himself in many actions and was also known to be a great, hmmm, lady’s man and carouser. Indeed, it is said that his broken leg, which caused him to limp the rest of his life, was a result of his having to jump from a paramour’s window upon the arrival of her husband.”
Don was uncomfortable. It was obvious that the Grand Presbyter was considered of great importance to the corporation by Demming and Rostoff or they wouldn’t have let him into the inner circles of the deal. However, Don Mathers had no intention of taking Holy Orders. He had every intention of living it up for the rest of his life.
He said, “You mentioned that he spent years of study. I am afraid that my duties as head of the Radioactives Mining Corporation wouldn’t allow me much time for study.”
“Ah, my son, the tenets of our modern Church are not so complicated as all that. Basically, our raison d’ etre is that half a century ago thinking persons began to desert the organized churches of the time. Which is not strange, in view of the fact that such organizations as the Jewish, Christian, Mohammedan and Buddhist were initiated long centuries ago, indeed, millennia ago. They were conceived by nomads and, anthropologically speaking, by barbarians. Obviously, their teachings do not make a great deal of sense to a modern, educated, civilized man.”
“Such as what, for example?” Don said, just to be saying something.
“Let us take an extreme case. According to the Bible, accepted by Jews, Christians and even Mohammedans, though to a lesser degree, God created man in his own image. This is obviously nonsense to a modern, educated man. Man’s body is suited to his environment, the Earth. And God’s? Does God have a penis? If so, why? What does he do with it? Does he have an anal passage? Does he have a navel? If so, why? Does he have teeth? If so, what does he bite with them? Does he have the sense organs, eyes, ears, nose? Why? An omniscient being would not need to utilize the sense organs necessary on the surface of Earth.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Don said.
“Not even some of the basic tenets hold up too well. Take the story of the Ten Commandments. Supposedly, Moses went up Mt. Sinai and there confronted God. By the way, there is a bit of humor here. Moses requested to see God’s face, but was informed it was much too holy for him to see. However, God allowed him to glimpse his “nether parts” as it is worded. Why the buttocks of the Supreme Being should be any less holy than His face, is difficult to understand. At any rate, the Ten Commandments were engraved upon a stone and Moses carried them down to the people. By the way, what language were they written in? The Hebrews had no written language at that time. Perhaps in hieroglyphics? The Egyptian picture writing of the time was not exactly conducive to projecting such ideas as the Ten Commandments. I suggest that you reread them, one of these days. They are not all that inspiring to a modern man. Most of them deal with the fact that you should worship Jehovah and none other. He presents himself as somewhat vain.”
“For instance?” Don said. As a matter of fact, when he had been a student when matters religious would come up, he would often say, “I’m an agnostic but I believe in the Ten Commandments.”
“For instance, Honor thy father and thy mother,” the other said somewhat cynically. “But suppose that they are not deserving of honor? Suppose one is a habitual drunkard who beats you and the other a syphilitic prostitute who brought you into the world blind as a result of her disease?”
The Grand Presbyter went on. “Or, Thou shall not kill. Including Kradens? Down through history man has killed, including, and possibly especially, in religious wars.
“And just how up-to-date are such commandments as, Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s ass ?” There was a very slight leer on the religious leader’s face. “Unless, of course, the commandment was referring to homosexuality.”
Don stared at him. He got out, “Pardon me, Your Supreme Holiness, but I’ll be darned if you sound very devout.”
The other put down his cigar and took up his glass of port. He said wryly, “My son, it has been said that the more one knows of one’s religion, the less one believes. However, I have not been speaking of my religion but of the old and antiquated ones. Our religion fits modern conditions. We do not envision an improbably man-like God who comes down to Earth and strolls about punishing those who do not worship him wholeheartedly, unthinkingly. We believe in evolution, not creation, though possibly we acceed to the fact that the Almighty Ultimate directed evolution. We are strong on the acceptable teachings of the old religions, such as the Golden Rule, but we scorn the anachronistic.”
Demming and Rostoff were returning from the terrace.
The Grand Presbyter said, “Think about it. I am of the belief that your taking Holy Orders would do our common, hmmm, interest much good.”
“Okay,” Don said.
Demming said, “The ladies will be in the Gold Room. Shall we join them, Your Supreme Holiness, Colonel Mathers, Max?”
The Gold Room adjoined the Blue Dining Room and, of course, the motif was golden, even including the frames which housed the Renaissance paintings on the walls. Once again, Don Mathers was no connoisseur of either furniture or art objects, but it came off to him as on the gaudy side.
The ladies were seated and had small liqueur glasses before them. In keeping with the room, Alicia’s drink seemed to contain specks of gold suspended in a water-colored liquid that could have been gin or vodka. Don couldn’t help stare at it, as the three men came up.
The girl laughed. “It’s Goldwasser, Colonel Mathers… ah, Don. A cordial that comes from Danzig. It’s fascinating to look at but, in truth, a bit too sweet. They are real tiny flakes of gold. One must shake up the bottle just before serving, since the gold slowly settles to the bottom.”
“I learn something every day,” Don said.
All laughed, or at least smiled.
The conversation became lighter than it had been when the four men were by themselves, but shortly the Grand Presbyter checked his wrist chronometer and looked up, as though in regret.
“I am afraid my morning duties are such that I must leave,” he said. “It has been a most enjoyable evening.” His eyes went to Demming and Rostoff. “And I trust a most profitable one as a result of our decisions.”
Demming lumbered to his feet, summoned a servant from one of the several who hovered in the background, and, after His Supreme Holiness had made his goodbyes to the others, led him to the room’s elevator. Seemingly, there was an elevator door in every room in the house, Don decided. It was the damnedest system he had ever come up against.
After the Grand Presbyter and his servant guide had gone, Don said, “You know, I should get to bed myself. From what you say, I’ve got a busy day tomorrow, and, first of all, I’m going to have to report at the spaceport. I imagine Command is going to be wondering where in the world I am, although they’ve made no attempt to contact me.”
Demming huffed, “Have you any preference as to your accommodations here, Donal? The type of suite in which you would feel most at home?”
It hadn’t occurred to Don that he would have a selection. He had expected simply to be assigned a room.
He said, “Why, actually, if it makes no difference to you, I’d like to stay up in the penthouse. Your gardens are beautiful and we space pilots see little enough of trees, grass and flowers.”
Alicia stood. “Ill show Don to the visitor’s suite in the right wing, Father.”
The others, save Martha, stood as well and Don said his goodnights. The two men were as friendly as though he was a bosom companion of long years’ standing.
He followed the girl to the elevator, the door to which opened automatically at their approach. He was surprised to find the compartment available.
“Back so soon?” he said.
She laughed. “This isn’t the same one the Grand Presby
ter took,” she explained, entering before him. He followed her and she said into the order screen, “The visitor’s suite in the right wing of the penthouse.”
The elevator, if elevator it could properly be called, moved sidewards for a time.
Don said, “You know, I’ve never even heard of an elevator of this type.”
She smiled at him, seemingly glad to have him to herself for the first time this evening. She said, “It was constructed especially to father’s specifications. You see, this establishment consists of the top two floors of the building and the penthouse. There are also two floors of offices below devoted entirely to father’s projects. Father hates to walk. Besides, just getting about would be terribly time-consuming, if one had to. The library, for instance, must be the better part of half a kilometer from father’s bedroom.”
“Ultimate Almighty,” Don muttered.
The compartment started upward.
He said, “You mean this shaft that we’re in tunnels around to every room in the place?”
“Practically. It’s very handy.”
“Don’t you have ordinary halls and ordinary doors?”
“Why, yes. And if only a short distance is involved we utilize them.”
He said, “Does your father have this sort of layout in all of his, uh, establishments?”
“So far as I know. Possibly not in some of the smaller ones he maintains.”
Don said, “Look, how many, uh, establishments does your father have, that is, that he lives in?”
She looked mystified. “Why, I haven’t the slightest idea. He maintains some sort of living quarters in every really major city and also the major settlements on the satellites and Mars. Sometimes, in places he visits seldom or only briefly, it will consist of no more than an apartment sufficient for himself and his immediate staff, and possibly a few guests. You know, twenty-five rooms or so.”
Galactic Medal of Honor Page 12
