Гарри Гаррисон: Stainless Steel Visions

"What are you doing here?" Garth asked, and in spite of his attempt at self-control he snapped out the words. If the man noticed this he ignored it, because he was still smiling and putting out his hand as he came down the ramp.

"Father Mark, " he said, "of the Missionary Society of Brothers. I'm very pleased to meet… "

"I said, what are you doing here. " Garth's voice was under control now, quiet and cold. He knew what had to be done, and it must be done quickly or not at all.

"That should be obvious, " Father Mark said, his good nature still unruffled. "Our missionary society has raised funds to send spiritual emissaries to alien worlds for the first time. I was lucky enough… "

"Take your luggage and get back into the ship. You're not wanted here — and you have no permission to land. You'll be a liability and there is no one on Wesker to take care of you. Get back into the ship. "

"I don't know who you are, sir, or why you are lying to me, " the priest said. He was still calm but the smile was gone. "But I have studied galactic law and the history of this planet very closely. There are no diseases or beasts here that I should have any particular fear of. It is also an open planet, and until the Space Survey changes that status I have as much right to be here as you do. "

The man was of course right, but Garth couldn't let him know that. He had been bluffing, hoping the priest didn't know his rights. But he did. There was only one distasteful course left for him, and he had better do it while there was still time left.

"Get back in that ship, " he shouted, not hiding his anger now. With a smooth motion his gun was out of the holster and the pitted black muzzle only inches from the priest's stomach. The man's face turned white, but he did not move.

"What the hell are you doing, Garth?!" Singh's shocked voice grated from the speaker. "The guy paid his fare and you have no right at all to throw him off the planet. "

"I have this right, " Garth said, raising his gun and sighting between the priest's eyes. "I give him thirty seconds to get back aboard the ship or I pull the trigger. "

"Well, I think you are either off your head or playing a joke, " Singh's exasperated voice rasped down at them. "If this is a joke it is in bad taste. But either way you're not getting away with it. Two can play at that game — only I can play it better. "

There was the rumble of heavy bearings and the remote-controlled four-gun turret on the ship's side rotated and pointed at Garth. "Now — down gun and give Father Mark a hand with the luggage, " the speaker commanded, a trace of humor back in the voice now. "As much as I would like to help, old friend, I cannot. I feel it is time you had a chance to talk to the father; after all, I have had the opportunity of speaking with him all the way from Earth. "

Garth jammed the gun back into the holster with an acute feeling of loss. Father Mark stepped forward, the winning smile back now. A Bible, taken from a pocket of his robe, in his raised hand. "My son—" he said.

"I'm not your son" was all Garth could choke out as the bitterness and the defeat welled up within him. His fist drew back as the anger rose, and the best he could do was open the fist so he struck only with the flat of his hand. Still the blow sent the priest crashing to the ground and hurled the white pages of the book splattering into the thick mud.

Itin and the other Weskers had watched everything with seemingly emotionless interest. Garth made no attempt to answer their unspoken questions. He started toward his house, but turned back when he saw they were still unmoving.

"A new man has come, " he told them. "He will need help with the things he has brought. If he doesn't have any place for them, you can put them in the big warehouse until he has a place of his own. "

He watched them waddle across the clearing toward the ship, then went inside and gained a certain satisfaction from slamming the door hard enough to crack one of the panes. There was an equal amount of painful pleasure in breaking out one of the few remaining bottles of Irish whiskey that he had been saving for a special occasion. Well, this was special enough, though not really what he had had in mind. The whiskey was good and burned away some of the bad taste in his mouth, but not all of it. If his tactics had worked, success "would have justified everything. But he had failed, and in addition to the pain of failure there was the acute feeling that he had made a horse's ass out of himself. Singh had blasted off without any goodbyes. There was no telling what sense he had made of the whole matter, though he would surely carry some strange stories back to the traders' lodge. Well, that could be worried about the next time Garth signed in. Right now he had to go about setting things right with the missionary. Squinting out through the rain, he saw the man struggling to erect a collapsible tent while the entire population of the village stood in ordered ranks and watched. Naturally none of them offered to help.

By the time the tent was up and the crates and boxes stowed inside of it, the rain had stopped. The level of fluid in the bottle was a good bit lower and Garth felt more like facing up to the unavoidable meeting. In truth, he was looking forward to talking to the man. This whole nasty business aside, after an entire solitary year any human companionship looked good. Will you join me now for dinner? John Garth, he wrote on the back of an old invoice. But maybe the guy was too frightened to come? Which was no way to start any kind of relationship. Rummaging under the bunk, he found a box that was big enough and put his pistol inside it. Itin was of course waiting outside the door when he opened it, since this was his tour as Knowledge Collector. He handed him the note and box.

"Would you take these to the new man, " he said.

"Is the new man's name New Man?" Itin asked.

"No, it's not!" Garth snapped. "His name is Mark. But I'm only asking you to deliver this, not get involved in conversation. "

As always when he lost his temper, the literal-minded Weskers won the round. "You are not asking for conversation, "

Itin said slowly, "but Mark may ask for conversation. And others will ask me his name, if I do not know his na—" The voice cut off as Garth slammed the door. This would not work in the long run either, because next time he saw Itin — a day, a week, or even a month later — the monologue would be picked up on the very word it had ended with, while the concept would be dragged out to its last frayed end. Garth cursed under his breath and poured water over a pair of the tastier concentrates that he had left.

"Come in, " he said when there was a quiet knock on the door. The priest entered and held out the box with the gun.

"Thank you for the loan, Mr. Garth. I appreciate the spirit that made you send it. I have no idea what caused the unhappy affair when I landed, but I think it would be best forgotten if we are going to be on this planet together for any length of time. "

"Drink?" Garth asked, taking the box and pointing to the bottle on the table. He poured two glasses full and handed one to the priest. "That's about what I had in mind, but I still owe you an explanation of what happened out there. " He scowled into his glass for a second, then raised it to the other man. "It's a big universe and I guess we have to make out as best we can. Here's to Sanity. "

"God be with you, " Father Mark said, and raised his glass as well.

"Not with me or with this planet, " Garth said firmly. "And that's the crux of the matter. " He half-drained the glass and sighed.

"Do you say that to shock me?" the priest asked with a smile. "I assure you that it doesn't. "

"Not intended to shock. I meant it quite literally. I suppose I'm what you would call an atheist, so revealed religion is no concern of mine. While these natives, simple and unlettered Stone Age types that they are, have managed to come this far with no superstitions or traces of deism whatsoever. I had hoped that they might continue that way. "