Mack Reynolds - The Rival Rigelians

“Ummm,” Kennedy said glumly. “And as soon as you start organizing an espionage mission to Texcoco, the fat will be in the fire.”

Mayer said, “It will be a top secret. Only a few very trusted, very dependable men will be used. You can ferry them over in this craft. Over there, perhaps, they can make contact with those elements in revolt against Chessman and his team. They can infiltrate one or more of these so-called communes, and keep in touch with whatever real progress Joe and his men are making—if any.”

Jerry Kennedy muttered. “One person can keep a secret, sometimes even two can. From then on the likelihood goes down in a geometric progression, and this project will involve dozens before we’re through.”

Mayer stared at him. “Just who is in command of this expedition, Jerome Kennedy?”

On the way back to Texcoco, Barry Watson said to his chief, “What do you think of putting some security men on Genoa, just to keep tabs?”

“Why?”

Watson looked at his fingers, nibbled at a hangnail. “It just seems to me it wouldn’t hurt any.”

Chessman snorted.

Dick Hawkins said thoughtfully, “I think Barry’s right. Mayer and his gang can bear watching. Besides, in another decade or so they’ll realize we’re going to beat them in this competition. Mayer’s ego isn’t going to take that. He’d go to just about any extreme to keep from losing face back on Earth.”

Natt Roberts said worriedly, “I think they’re right, Joe. Certainly it wouldn’t hurt to have a few security men over there. My department could train them, then one of us could pilot them over. Spot a few on each of the three continents. Thing to do would be send men with families. Guarantee that there’d not be any defections.”

“Well, you never know. There might be opportunities over there.”

“I’ll make the decisions around here,” Chessman growled at them. “Don’t forget who Number One is. I’ll think about it. It’s just possible that you’re right, though.”

Seated in the stern of the space lighter were the three adult Tulans and Taller, the teenager. Reif let his eyes go from one face to another, but he said nothing.

Natalie Wieliczka looked out over the large audience which crowded the auditorium with a certain modest pride. She said, “Very well. That concludes my lecture. Are there any questions?”

One of her listeners came to his feet.

There was a sly element in his voice. “In all your speech today, Honorable Doctor, you have dealt with new methods of controlling the diseases that have ravaged the world for so long, for whatever reason that the Supreme has seen fit in his wisdom. However, never have you mentioned the Temple which has always traditionally been the recourse of the ill. These new methods are other than those utilized by the Temple monks. You say nothing of the holy incantations necessary to supplement medication and other therapy. Is there, then, no place in your teachings for the Supreme?”

There was a snicker that went through the audience which was composed almost exclusively of graduate medical students. Inwardly, Natalie winced at it. The questioner was a plant. That she knew. She was being deliberately provoked.

She tried to brazen it out. She carefully chose her words.

“The Temple deals primarily with your immortal soul, with your relationship with your god, though, of course Temple monks often participate in other matters of interest to the community. Our field, with which we are exclusively concerned, as doctors, is medicine, which deals with the health of the people, on this plane of existence. As doctors, no matter how religious we may be as individuals, we do not deal with the soul or the hereafter.”

He was still standing.

He said, “But do you not think it is necessary to have present a Temple monk at any sick bed, in order to invoke the aid of the Supreme?”

Natalie Wieliczka ran the tip of her tongue over her lower lip. “Let us say that it can never do harm to have a representative of the Temple present while a trained doctor of medicine is administering to a patient.”

“But is it necessary ?”

There was a stirring in the audience. A young student called to the questioner: “Sit down, you flat!’

But most of them watched her. Watched her carefully Waited tensely for her words.

She was at a crossroads and knew it. Now, all bets were down. It had been building for some time and she had long avoided it.

Natalie Wieliczka said very slowly, “No, it is not necessary for a Temple monk to be present.” She took a deep breath. “Incantations are not necessary to cure the sick.”

“That, Honorable Doctor, is blasphemy!”

She shook her head. The die was cast now. “It is not meant to be.”

“Honorable Doctor,” the man shouted, “it is well known that you never attend the Temple.”

“I am too busy with my work.”

“Honorable Doctor, are you afraid to attend the Temple?”

“Certainly not! Are there any other questions?”

A black cloaked figure who had been sitting inconspicuously in the last row of seats, came to his feet. He said, his voice seemingly low, but still it rolled out over the auditorium, “The holy books say that it is impossible for a witch to enter the house of the Supreme without suffering immediate death.”

Natalie winced but bit out: “I am not a witch. I am a doctor of medicine. I have never seen a witch.” She took a deep breath. “I do not believe that such things as witches exist.”

The man in black rumbled. “The holy books also say that the faithful shall not suffer a witch to live.”

Though he was not aware of the fact, Taller Second was a near duplicate of his grandfather, the Khan of all the People who had first greeted the Earthmen upon their original arrival in Tula. Taller Second was a large, very handsome man, born with the air of command, even in his youth, Now, in the uniform of a field officer, he strode through the portals of the hospital, the second largest of the new buildings springing up throughout the city. Even in his own memory, Tula had more than tripled in size. Its growth had not necessarily coincided with beautification. Primitive pyramids stood cheek to jowl with rearing distribution centers or office buildings. Community adobe structures, once inhabited by families belonging to the same clans, adjoined modern apartment buildings going up for the rapidly evolving New Class, the bureaucrats of the State.

Within the building, he looked about. It had been some time since he had been here. However, he remembered his way.

Though he was the son of Reif and high in the ranks of the Tulans, he was little known in the hospital and his passage drew small attention. He strode down one corridor, through a heavy door, down another corridor, to bring up finally before a guarded portal.

The guard wore a highly decorative tunic and kilts, the design of which was unfamiliar to Taller, and, somehow, in its finery, repugnant. The other came to attention, his carbine held athwart his chest.

He snapped briskly. “It is forbidden to enter the private chambers of the lady of Number One.”

Taller looked at the man. He said, finally, “Soldier, do you know who I am?”

The other looked straight ahead. “Yes, sir.”

“Are you sure, soldier?”

“Yes, sir. You are Taller Second, son of the Khan of all the People.”

Taller looked at him levelly. “Then, soldier, if I were to ignore you and pass through this door, what would you do?”

There was a pleading element in the other’s expression, even as he tried to stare straight ahead. The carbine slumped in his hands. He said, “Sir, it is by command of Number One that I am posted here.”