Robert Heinlein - Sixth Column

They trudged back to the warehouse. Once out of Konsky's earshot Jeff said, "Y' know, Alec, we're going to make lots of use of that character -- but when the day comes, well, I've got a little list and he's at the top of it. I mean to take care of him myself."

"Split him with me," was Howe's only comment.

The street urchin popped up from nowhere when they reached the warehouse. "Any more errands, grandpa?"

"Bless you, son. Yes, several." After another financial transaction the boy left to find cots and bedding for them. Jeff watched his departure and said, " I think I'll make an altar boy out of that lid. He can go places and do things that we can't -- and the cops aren't so likely to stop a person that age."

"I don't think you should trust him."

"I won't. So far as he will ever know we are a couple of crackpots, firmly convinced that we are priests of the

great god Mota. We can't afford to trust anybody, Alec, until we are sure of them. Come on let's kill ail the rats in

this place before the cleaners get here. Want me to check the setting on your staff?"

By nightfall the First Temple of Denver of the Lord Mota was a going concern, even though it still looked like a warehouse and had no congregation. The place reeked of disinfectant, the rubbish was gone, and the front door would lock. There were two beds of sorts and groceries enough to last two men a fortnight.

Their chaperone from the police force was still across the street.

The police guard stayed with them for four days. Twice squads of police came and searched through the place. Thomas let them; as yet there was nothing to hide. Their staffs were still their only source of power and the only Ledbetter communicator they had with them gave Howe a slightly hunch-backed appearance in the day time; he wore it while Thomas wore the money belt.

In the meantime through Konsky they acquired a fast and powerful ground car -- and permission to drive it, or have it driven, anywhere in the jurisdiction of the Hand. The "charge for special services" was quite high. The driver they hired for it was root acquired through Konsky, but indirectly through Peewee Jenkins, the boy who had helped them on the first day.

The watch was withdrawn from them around noon on the fourth day. That afternoon Jeff left Howe to hold the place and went back to the Citadel by car. He returned with Scheer, who looked vastly uncomfortable and out of character in priestly vestments and beard but who bore with him a cubical chest enameled in the six sacred colors of Mota. Once inside the warehouse with the door locked Scheer opened the chest with great care and in a particular fashion which prevented it from exploding and taking them and the building with it. He got very busy on the newly constructed "altar." He finished shortly after midnight; there was more work to do outside, with Thomas and Howe standing guard, ready to stun or kill if necessary to prevent the sergeant being interrupted.

The morning sun fell on a front wall of emerald green, the other walls were red and golden and deep sky blue. The temple of Mota was ready for converts -- and for others.

Most important, none but a Caucasian could now pass through its door with impunity.

An hour before daylight Jeff posted himself at the door and waited nervously. The sudden transformation was sure to stir up another search squad; if necessary he must stop them, stun, or even kill -- but no search could be permitted. He hoped to dissuade; the temple must be established as an enclave used only by the slave race. But a slight excess of zeal on the part of an underling could force him to violent means, and thereby destroy the hope of peaceful penetration.

Howe came up behind him and made him jump. "Uh? Oh, Alec! Don't do that. I'm nervous as a cat already. "

"Sorry. Major Ardmore is on the circuit. He wants to know how you are making out."

"You'll have to talk to him. I can't leave the door."

"He wants to know when Scheer will be back, too."

"Tell him I'll send him back just as soon as I know it's safe to step outside this door and not a minute sooner."

"O. K. " Howe turned away. Jeff looked back at the street and felt the hair on his neck stand up. A PanAsian in uniform was staring curiously at the building. The foreigner stood for a moment, then went away at the dog trot they all affected when moving on duty.

"Mota, old boy," Jeff said to himself. "It's time to do your stuff."

Less than ten minutes later a squad arrived commanded by the same officer who had searched the building before. "Stand aside, Holy One."

"No, Master," Jeff said firmly, "the temple is now consecrated. None may enter but worshipers of the Lord Mota."

"We will not harm your temple, Holy One. Stand aside. "

"Master, if you enter I cannot save you from the wrath of the Lord Mota. Nor can I save you from the wrath of the Imperial Hand." Before the officer had time to turn this over in his mind Jeff went quickly on, "The Lord Mota expected this visit from you and greets you. He bids me, his humble servant, to make you three gifts."

"Gifts?

"For yourself --" Jeff laid a heavy purse in his hand. "For your superior officer, may his name be blessed -- " A second purse followed. "-- and for your men." A third purse was added; the PanAsian was forced to use both hands.

He stood there for a moment. There could be no doubt in his mind, from the weight alone, as to what the purses contained. It was more gold than he had ever handled in his life. Shortly he turned, barked an order at his men, and strode away.

Howe came up again. "You made it, Jeff?'"

"This round, at least." Thomas watched the squad move up the street. "Cops are all alike, the world over. Reminds me of a railroad dick I once knew."

"Do you think he'll share it out the way you suggested?"

"The men won't get any, that's sure. He may split with his boss, to keep him quiet. He'll probably find some way to hide the third lot of loot before he gets back to the station. What I'm wondering is: is he an honest politician?"

"Huh?"

"'An honest politician is one that stays bought.' Come on, let's get ready for customers."

They held their first services that evening. As church services they were nothing much, since Jeff was still feeling out the art. They conformed to the good old skid-road mission principle: sing a hymn and eat a meal. But the meal was good red meat and white bread -- and the recipients had not eaten that well in many months.

"Hello? Hello? Jeff, are you there? Can you hear me?"

"Sure I can hear. you. Don't shout, Major."

"I wish these damn rigs were regular telephones. I like to see a man I'm talking to."

"If they were ordinary phones our Asiatic pals could listen in on us. Why don't you ask Bob and the colonel to whip up a vision circuit? I'll bet they could do it."

"Bob has already done so, Jeff, but Scheer is so busy machining parts for altar installations that I don't like to ask him to make it. Do you suppose you could recruit some assistants for Scheer? A machinist or two, maybe, and a radio technician? The manufacturing end of this enterprise is getting out of hand and Scheer is going to crack up from overwork. Every night I have to go around and order him to go to bed."

Thomas thought about it. "I have one man in mind. Used to be a watchmaker."

"A watchmaker! That's swell!"

"I don't know. He's a little bit balmy; his whole family was wiped out. A sad case, almost as sad as Frank Mitsui. Say, how. is Frank? Is he feeling any better?"

"Seems to be. Not down inside of course, but he seems happy enough at his work. He's taken over the kitchen and the clerical work you used to do for me, both."

"Give him my best."

"I will. Now about this watchmaker -- you don't have to be as careful in recruiting personnel for the Citadel as you have to be in picking field workers, since once they are inside they can't get out."