Robert Heinlein - Sixth Column

Jeff looked amazed. "We are humble, nameless holy men, serving the great god Mota. What have we to do with such?"

"Hurry up!"

Jeff tried to look sad rather than nervous. He had rehearsed this speech in his mind; much depended on it getting across. "I am sorry for you, young Master. I will pray to Mota on your behalf. But now I must insist that you take me before the Hand of the Emperor -- at once!"

"That's impossible."

"His Highness has seen me before; he will see me again. The Hand of the Emperor is always ready to see the servers of the great god Mota."

The officer looked at him, turned and went back into the station house. They waited.

"Do you suppose he'll actually have us taken before the prince?" Howe whispered.

"I hope not. I don't think so."

"Well, what will you do if he does?"

"Whatever I have to. Shut up -- you're supposed to be under a vow of silence."

The officer came back after several minutes and said curtly, "You are free to go."

"To the Imperial Hand?" Jeff inquired maliciously.

"No, no! Just go. Get out of my district.,"

Jeff stepped back one pace and delivered a last benediction. The two "priests" turned away. From the corner of his eye Jeff saw the officer lift his swagger stick and cut savagely at the senior of the two policemen; he pretended not to see. He walked about a block before he spoke to Howe. "There! We should have no more trouble for a while."

"How do you figure? You sure got him sore at us."

"That's not the point. We can't afford to have him or any other cop thinking he can push us around like the others. By the time we have gone three blocks the word will be all over town that I'm back and to lay off. That's the way we've got to have it."

"Maybe so. I still think it's dangerous to have the cops on the alert for us."

"You don't understand," Jeff said impatiently. "There isn't any other safe way to do it. Cops are cops, no matter what is the color of their skin. They deal in fear and they understand fear. Once they understand we can't be touched, that it is very bad medicine to bother us, they'll be as polite to us as they are to their superiors. You'll see."

"I hope you're right."

"I'm right. Cops are cops. Pretty soon we'll have them on our payroll. Oh, oh! Watch it, Alec -- here comes another one." A PanAsian policeman was dogtrotting up behind them. However, instead of overtaking them or calling to them to halt, he crossed over and kept abreast with them on the other side of the street. He ignored them determinedly.

"What's up, d'you think, Jeff?"

"We're being chaperoned. A good thing, Alec the rest of the monkeys won't bother us now. We'll just get on with our job. You know this town pretty well, don't you? Where do you think we ought to locate the temple?"

"I guess that depends on what you are looking for."

"I don't know exactly." He stopped and wiped sweat from his face; the robes were hot and the money belt made it worse. "Now that I'm here, this whole deal seems silly. I guess I wasn't meant to be a secret agent. How about out in the west end, in the expensive neighborhood? We want to make a big impression.

"No, I don't think so, Jeff. There are just two kinds of people out in the rich neighborhoods now."

"Yes?"

"PanAsians and traitors -- black market dealers and other sorts of collaborationists."

Thomas looked shocked. "I guess I've been out of circulation too long. Alec, until this very minute it never occurred to me that an American -- any American -- would go along with the invaders."

"Well, I wouldn't have believed it either, if I hadn't seen it. I guess some people will do anything, born pimps."

They settled on an empty warehouse downtown near the river in a. populous, poor neighborhood. The area had long been rundown; now it was depressed. Three out of four shops were boarded up; trade had stagnated. The building was one of many empty warehouses; Thomas picked it because of its almost cubical shape, matching that of the mother temple and the cube on his staff, and the fact that it was detached from other buildings by an alley on one side and a vacant lot on the other.

The main door was broken. They peered in, entered and snooped around. The place was a mess but the plumbing was intact and the walls were sound. The ground floor was a single room with a twenty foot ceiling and few pillars; it would do for "worship."

"I think it will do," Jeff decided. A rat jumped out of a pile of rubbish heaped against one wall. Almost absentmindedly he trained his staff on it; the animal leaped high and dropped dead. "How do we go about buying it?"

"Americans can't own real estate. We'll have to find out what official holds the squeeze on it."

"That oughtn't to . be hard." They went outside; their police chaperone waited across the street. He looked the other way.

The streets were fairly well filled by now, even in this neighborhood. Thomas reached out and snagged a passing boy -- a child of not more than twelve but with the bitter, knowing eyes of a cynical man. "Peace be unto you, son. Who rents this building?"

"Hey, you let go of me!"

"I mean you no harm." He handed the boy one of Scheer's best five dollar gold pieces.

The boy looked at it, let his eyes slide past them to the Asiatic guard across the street. The PanAsian did not seem to be watching; the lad caused the coin to disappear. "Better see Konsky. He has all the angles on things like that."

"Who is Konsky?"

"Everybody knows Konsky. Say, grandpa, what's the idea of the funny clothes? The slanties'll make trouble for you."

"I am a priest of the great god Mota. The Lord Mota takes care of his own. Take us to this Konsky."

"Nothing doing. I don't want to tangle with the slanties." The boy tried to wriggle away; Jeff held his arm firmly and produced another coin. He did not hand it over.

"Fear not. The Lord Mota will protect you, too."

The youngster looked at it, glanced around, and said, "Okay. Come along."

He led them around a corner and to a walk-up office building located over a saloon. "He's up there if he's in." Jeff gave the boy the second coin and told him to come see him again, at the warehouse, as the Lord Mota had gifts for him. Alec questioned the wisdom of this as they climbed the stairs.

"The kid's all right," said Jeff. "Sure, the things that have happened to him have turned him into a guttersnipe. But he's on our side. He'll advertise us -- and not to the PanAsians."

Konsky turned out to be a blandly suspicious man. It was soon evident that he "had connections," but he was slow to talk until he saw the red gold color of money. After that he was not in the least put off by the odd dress and odd manners of his clients (Thomas gave him the full treatment, with benedictions thrown in, aware that Konsky would discount it but for the purpose of staying in character). He made sure of the building Thomas meant, dickered over the rental and the bribe -- he called it "charges for special services" -- and left them.

Thomas and Howe were glad to be left alone. Being a "holy man" had disadvantages; they had had nothing to eat since leaving the Citadel. Jeff dug sandwiches out from under his robes; they munched them. Best of all, there was a washroom adjoining Konsky's office.

Three hours later they were in possession of a document, the English translation of which stated that the Heavenly Emperor was graciously pleased to grant to his faithful subjects etc., etc., -- a lease paid up on the warehouse. In exchange for another unreasonable amount of money Konsky agreed to stir up enough labor to clean the place at once, that very day, and to provide certain repairs and materials. Jeff thanked him and with a straight face invited him to attend the first services to be held in the new temple.