Ben Bova - Voyagers

He sure as goddamned hell would! And in the meanwhile, any shred of support the President had in Congress is going to bolt the Party when they find out he’s giving away our top scientific secrets to the Reds. In the name of peace and brotherhood!

It looks now as if I’ll have no choice but to try to wrest the Party’s nomination away from him. I’ve got to take these primaries seriously; it’s the only hope for the Party in November.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Cardinal Otto von Friederich began the long climb up the marble steps that led to the papal apartment. To the messengers and monsignors proceeding through the halls of the Vatican on the eternal business of Holy Mother Church, the cardinal seemed an austere, aloof symbol of majesty: silent and stately, slowed perhaps by age and arthritis, but the very picture of a Prince of the Church, with his pure white hair, ascetic angular features and swirling red robes.

Cardinal von Friederich knew better. His power within the Vatican was illusory. This new Pope had no time for an old man wedded to the traditions and training of the past. His audiences with the Holy Father were strictly formal nowadays; his days of influence and true power were over.

Silently he prayed the rosary as he climbed the cold marble stairs. The pain grew worse each day. It was a penance, of course, and he knew that God would not send him a Cross that he could not bear. Still, the pain raised a fine sheen of perspiration across his brow.

An elderly monsignor, chalky-white as dust, met the cardinal at the top of the stairs and silently ushered him into a spare, chilly little room.

Cardinal Benedetto was already there, of course, his red cape wrapped around his stocky body. Benedetto always reminded Von Friederich of a Turkish railway porter: squat and swarthy, almost totally bald even though he was nearly twenty years Von Friederich’s junior. But he was the Pope’s strong right arm these days, the papal Secretary of State, confidant and adviser of His Holiness. While Von Friederich’s position as head of the Propaganda Fide, had become little more than a sinecure for a dying old man.

How different it had been in the old days, Von Friederich thought. All my life I have served Italian Popes and battled the Italians dominating the Curia. Now we have a Polish Pope, and the Italians have overwhelmed me at last.

“My Lord Cardinal,” Benedetto said in Italian.

Von Friederich inclined his head in the slightest of bows. Even that tiny movement caused him pain.

The room was almost bare of furnishings. A small wooden desk, a few plain chairs. The only light came from the lamp on the desk. Out beyond the windows, the Vatican garden was already draped in the shadows of dusk.

In the gloomy darkness, Von Friederich could see that the walls were covered with frescoes by Titian. Or perhaps Raphael. He never could tell them apart. Vatican wallpaper, he said to himself, keeping his distance from Cardinal Benedetto.

Part of the painting on the wall he was facing—a congregation of saints piously praising God—suddenly swung away, revealing a door cunningly set into the wall. The Pope strode into the room, strong, sturdy, smiling at them both.

The room seemed to brighten. The Holy Father was wearing white robes, of course. But despite himself, Von Friederich had to admit that it was His Holiness’ beaming, energetic features that charged the room with light. It was the open, rugged face of a worker, a common man elevated to greatness, the kind of face that might have been St. Peter’s. A fisherman, not an aristocrat. But he rules the aristocrats and the workers alike, Von Friederich knew.

The cardinals knelt and kissed the papal ring. The Pope smiled and motioned for them to seat themselves.

“Come, come,” the Pope said in Italian. “No formalities today. We have too much to consider.”

Within moments they were deeply into a discussion of the strange radio signals from Jupiter that the American hierarchy had reported to the Vatican only the day before.

“My scientific adviser,” said the Pope, “Monsignor Parelli, is beside himself with excitement. He believes this is the most wonderful thing to happen to mankind in two millennia.”

“It is a danger,” said Von Friederich.

“A danger, my brother?”

Von Friederich’s voice had always been high, almost girlish. As a child he had fought many schoolyard battles because of it. Now he struggled to keep it calm, even, logical—and to keep his pain from showing in it.

“When the news of this alien…thing…reaches the general populace—as it will, sooner or later—they will be stunned and fearful. Does Your Holiness recall the uproar some twenty-five years ago over Sputnik?”

The Pope nodded. “Yes, but that was mainly in the West.”

“It will be as nothing compared to the public reaction to news of an alien intelligence in our solar system. Who are they? What are they like? What do they want? Whom do they worship? ” He hissed the last question in an urgent whisper.

The Pope started to reply, then hesitated and stroked his broad chin thoughtfully.

“I agree, Your Holiness,” said Cardinal Benedetto. “This alien presence could be a great danger to the faithful.”

The Pope sat back in his chair and tapped his blunt fingertips on his knees.

“It is a test,” he said finally.

“A test?”

He nodded. “A test of our faith, my brothers. A test of our courage, our intelligence. But most of all, a test of our faith.”

“It could be so,” Benedetto quickly agreed.

Von Friederich said nothing, but thought that the Italian was toadying again.

“The Americans have discovered these radio signals and something they believe to be a spaceship, if I understand the information we have received,” the Pope said.

Benedetto nodded. “Radio signals from the planet Jupiter, yes. And in space near the planet, an alien…artifact.”

“Artifact!” The Pope smiled broadly. “An excellent word, Benedetto! A scientific word. Noncommittal. Unemotional. Excellent!”

Von Friederich clamped his teeth together.

“I believe,” the Pope went on, “that science leads to knowledge and therefore toward the perfection of man’s intelligence. This alien artifact ”—he smiled again—“can help the scientists to learn more about the universe, and therefore to learn more about God’s works.”

“Ah, I see,” said Benedetto. “If we can converse with these alien creatures, we have the opportunity to learn more of God’s handiwork, more about His creations.”

The Pope nodded to him.

“But Holy Mother Church has the responsibility of protecting her children from error and from danger,” Von Friederich said, as strongly as he could manage. “Especially from danger to their immortal souls.”

Benedetto turned toward him. “I don’t see how…”

“This space artifact,” Von Friederich said, feeling his voice weaken as he spoke, “will startle many of the faithful. Most of our flock still live in very backward regions of the globe: Latin America, Africa, Asia—even in parts of Europe and North America many Catholics have only a dim knowledge of the modern world. They fear modern science. They cling to their faith for support in their troubled lives.”

“Of course,” said the Pope.

“And their Church,” Von Friederich went on, “has always let them think that we are God’s creatures. We and we alone.”

“But the Church has never denied the possibility of other creatures elsewhere in the universe,” Benedetto said.

“Never formally denied,” Von Friederich pointed out. “But Holy Mother Church has never urged her children to prepare themselves for meeting other creatures from space, either.”