These were no primitives, here on Regulus IV, who greeted the Earthmen as angels; they were a highly civilized people, with an intricate planetwide religion. This much might have been foreseen, but who could have guessed that the mere presence of humans would set off a holy war in which Earthmen would be forced, against their will and desire, to take sides?
THE HOT, dry, African sun burned down brilliantly on Sahara Base. Lieutenant Jerry Stein crossed the glaring plaza from the North Barracks to the Spatial Research Building at double-time, and stepped into the air-conditioned coolness of the towering building with a gasp of relief. It was hot out there!
The scene that met his eyes was a busy one; the Leo II would be leaving for space in three days, and an army of technicians was busily preparing for the departure. The Leo II would carry thirty-two men to the outpost, established a year before, on Regulus IV and one of those men would be Jerry Stein.
He put his hand absently to the breast pocket of his tunic, where the orders lay, neatly folded. There they were, countersigned by the adjutant, Colonel Dubrow, the brief, neat documents assigning First Lieutenant Jerome Stein of the Engineering Corps to a tour of duty on the Regulus IV outpost.
He had been expecting the assignment for the past month, and had been hoping to get it for a good deal longer than that. Assignment to Regulus was a juicy plum for anyone connected with Spatial Research. But now that it was an actuality, Jerry felt as though he would never have time to tidy up all the loose ends that seemed to be dangling.
He looked up at the directory panel on the wall. First, he’d have to go to Disbursement, then Medical, then - A name caught his eye. RILEY, SEAN A., Maj., C.C.
The first stop, naturally, would have to be at Father Riley’s office; the Catholic chaplain had taken a keen interest in Stein’s work, and Jerry knew that he would be interested in hearing the news.
He sidestepped a team of muscular noncoms carrying a lengthy busbar slated for use in a Bleeckman Generator. Behind them, snapping out orders in a crisp, perhaps overly-efficient voice, walked Lieutenant-Colonel Treadwell.
Stein’s arm came up in a crisp salute.
“Good morning, Lieutenant,” Treadwell said stiffly.
“’Morning, sir,” Jerry replied. Relations between Treadwell and the members of the lab crew, who had worked under him the previous year, were somewhat strained; under the genial guidance of Father Riley, Stein had gone over Treadwell’s head in the investigation of the interspace field and come up with what was jocularly referred to as the “Time Peeper”. Although there was a commendation in Treadwell’s promotion jacket because of it, the lieutenant-colonel was none too happy about the way he’d been shown up.
Jerry crossed the floor as the sound of Treadwell’s gruff voice grew fainter in the distance, and stepped into a waiting elevator. Father Riley’s office was on the Thirty-Seventh floor. With a feeling of growing nostalgia, at the realization that his days at Sahara Base were coming to an end, Jerry Stein reached out and jabbed the button.
"CONGRATULATIONS,” Father Riley said, almost before Stein had fully entered the cozy, old-fashioned study. “The list’s just been posted.”
“So soon?” Jerry asked. “They only gave me my orders half an hour ago. If I’d stopped off at the Officer’s Club for a drink, the rest of the Base would’ve known before I did.”
The Jesuit nodded. “It’s as if they’re trying to make up for lost time. They seem to feel that all the side-tracks that came out of the interstellar drive project were a waste of valuable effort. It’s hard to believe how much of the interstellar program has been compressed into the past fifteen months. It should have taken years to get this far.”
“It did take years,” Stein said, grinning all the years they spent fooling around with interspace theory and never looking seven inches in front of their nose. Until you spotted the essential fact that the interspace effect uses Time as a physical dimension, they were a long way from inventing drive.”
Father Riley smiled his easy smile.
“Anyone can tell you’re no mathematician, Jerry. The Bleekman Time-Space Converter isn’t as easy to reason out as all that.”
“False modesty, Father.”
The chaplain leaned back in his deflated pneumochair and studied the chromium-plated crucifix on his wall with one pale blue eye. The other eye was, as usual, squinted nearly shut. “It won’t be long before you’re on Regulus IV. I wonder where you’ll go after that. Procyon? Bellatrix? Fomalhaut? The sky is full of other worlds, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Jerry agreed. He glanced at the breviary lying open on the priest’s desk. “By the way, how is Rome taking the problem of other planets? Does the Holy Father recognize them as part of the Church’s domain?”
“There’ll be a Papal statement forthcoming, no doubt,” Father Riley said, “but it’s hardly necessary. ‘In My Father’s house are many mansions’ I think the other planets are certainly Church territory. When we went to Mars and Venus sixty years ago, it was decided that ‘where there are souls to be saved, the Church must go’. Eventually, there will be an Archbishop of Mars; why not an Archbishop of Regulus IV?”
“Why not?” Stein agreed. “But that’s not what I meant. There are intelligent races out there” He gestured at the ceiling of the room, taking in all of space with a wave of his hand. “What is their status?”
Father Riley glanced at him sharply, then glanced back at the crucifix. “I don’t know, Jerry; that’s something which is way above me. It will have to be determined whether they have immortal souls, that’s all. If they do, they’re the responsibility of the Church; if not, they’re merely clever animals.”
“That decision is going to be a rough one. If it’s decided that they’re animals, we’ll have slavery again, you know.”
FATHER RILEY frowned. “Jerry, until the Vatican is presented with a problem, there is no reason to make a decision. Until the problem comes up in a concrete manner, I’d rather not discuss it. When and if it does, I’ll discuss it all you want.”
“I see what you mean.” Stein straightened a wayward cowlick and smiled. “What are your chances of going out there, Father? The Space Service needs more chaplains out there than ever, I’d say.”
The priest shook his head slowly. “My chances of going to space? None.”
“Is that one of your special guesses?”
“I’m a pretty good guesser, I suppose,” the chaplain admitted, “but this time it’s a statement of fact; I’ve applied for space duty.”
“And they turned you down?”
“Cold. I’d show you the note, except that General Borwin marked it Top Secret so I incinerated it. That’s what I do with all of Charlie’s Top Secret things; it saves the trouble of cluttering up my desk with stuff nobody would bother to read.
“At any rate, he wouldn’t let me go.”
“Because of the machine?”
“Because of the machine,” Father Riley echoed.
Jerry scowled. “But if you refuse to use the Time Peeper, and you’re needed out on the space frontier, how can they”
“Simple,” Father Riley said. “I’m more than just a chaplain; I’m a mathematician assigned to Spatial Research so they’ve tied me down on that pretext. Actually, I suppose they’d prefer to court-martial me,”
“What would happen if General Borwin gave you a direct order to use that machine?”
Father Riley glanced at the major’s stripes on his shoulder and the golden crosses on his lapels. “My status as a chaplain would cover that, I suppose; I’d refuse, as a conscientious objector, and they couldn’t do a thing.
“But the brass would never do that especially Charlie Borwin. They know that you can’t order a man to use a special skill. I remember reading about something that happened back in the early Twentieth Century. It was either the German Army or the Russian Army I forget which who captured a French violinist. The officer in charge liked violin music, so he ordered the musician to play. The French violinist said he couldn’t, that his hands were in poor condition. The officer insisted, and threatened him with punishment. So the violinist played and the results were abominable.
“As it happened, the Frenchman simply didn’t want to display his skill to his enemy that’s all. And he didn’t.
“No, they won’t do anything as silly as ordering me to use the Time Peeper.”
FATHER RILEY noticed the look on Stein’s face and leaned across the desk. “It isn’t my fault, Jerry; you know that. I’m fully aware that I am the only man capable of using that machine to its full efficiency, and I know just how valuable it could become. But until I’ve received a go-ahead from Rome, I don’t intend to use it again.”
“It must be hard for the General Staff to understand. First you go to great lengths to show them what all those multiple images on their interspace viewer meant; you proved to them that they were looking at possible futures. Then it becomes obvious that you and you alone can make accurate predictions with it because of your ability to well, guess the future. The combination is a great thing; but when the Staff comes flocking around you to get you to use it, you refuse to go near it.”
“They know my reasons,” Father Riley said. “Until I’m convinced that the Time Peeper is not a fortune-telling gadget a snare of the Devil, I can’t risk my immortal soul to”
“Whoa! I’m on your side, Father! I think I can see your point as well as any non-Catholic can; so don’t get angry at me!”
“Forgive me,” Riley said mildly. “This has been a source of deep conflict with me for a long time.”
“Have you been checking for your signal?”
The Chaplain sighed. “Jerry, at least once a week I go down to the subelectronics lab and turn that thing on. I look in the screen; I try desperately to see some sign of myself giving the signal. And I see nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Let me correct that. I see myself here, there, in a dozen different probability futures. But I’ve gone ahead as far into the future as the machine will carry, and I don’t see what I’m looking for. I have decided that as soon as Rome announces its decision, I will signal myself by standing in front of the pick-up and making a a certain sign. But I don’t see that in the machine.”
“Does that mean some inaccuracy in the machine?”
Father Riley shook his head. “Not necessarily. I’ve proven sufficiently to myself that the machine combined with my own gift is almost perfectly reliable. No, the only issue in doubt is whether it is God’s will for man to see into the future. I’ve asked the Holy Father for a decision, but the decision hasn’t come; and I can’t tell whether or not it is ever coming.”
“It looked simple enough,” said Jerry Stein, who had originally suggested the idea.
“Certainly. Ask the Vatican for a decision and agree to signal myself. If I could see any alternatives such as signalling myself yes and no at the same time that would mean that the machine is the Devil’s work, for the Church can give but one answer the right one.”
Jerry nodded, saying nothing for a moment. Then: “But you don’t see any signal being given?”
“None at all. Actually, I’m not surprised. It sometimes takes centuries for a high-level decision to come down from Rome. Of course, I doubt that anything as imperative as this would take that long, but”
“Centuries!” Stein’s voice sounded strained. “But you’re the only man who can use the machine! And that may mean it’ll never be used again.”
“I know,” said Father Riley sadly, “but I can’t help it. I can’t act on guesswork now; I have to know. In the meantime, the Powers That Be in the secular division, that is are conspiring to keep me closely glued to the vicinity of the machine, in the event that my permission should come through somehow.”
Jerry Stein stood up. “Father, I’m surprised at you. We could be getting untold benefits from the Time Peeper, and you just”
“Please, Jerry,” The Chaplain looked greatly distressed. “I know we have different religious beliefs, but this is the first time you’ve shown open intolerance.”
“Sorry, Father,” Stein said humbly; “I spoke too quickly.”
“Forget it, son. I know how you feel, and I find it difficult to keep my own thoughts from areas they shouldn’t touch.”
“I know.” Stein glanced at his watch. “I’d better get moving, Father; I’ve got a lot of checking out to do before I board ship.” He reached out and grasped the priest’s hand. “Goodby, Father.”
“God watch over you,” the priest said. “I’ll pray for a safe voyage for you, Jerry.”
“Thanks, Father; I’ll pray for you, too.”
The two men looked at each other warmly for a moment, then Jerry Stein released the Jesuit’s hand and turned away.
BRIGADIER-GENERAL CASIMIR PILKIN was a tall, stiff-necked man of obvious military bearing, whose craggy face reflected some serious inner doubts. He wore the gray-violet uniform of the Spatial Corps as though he had never worn anything else.
He stood on a mountainside now, staring down at the massed Cothlani forces in the valley below. Beyond, the red glare of distant Regulus was sinking slowly behind the far-off, jagged hills to the east.
“There’ll be a war in six weeks,” Pilkin said, half to himself. The dying sunlight glinted brightly off the bronze tips of half a thousand Cothlani spears.
He turned to face Jerry Stein, who stood at his side. “You should have stayed on Earth, Lieutenant Stein. There was no need to risk any more Terran lives in this enterprise.”
“You don’t mean there’s no way of avoiding getting mixed up in this war?” Jerry asked. The state of affairs on Regulus IV had become more and more touchy with each passing day, and Stein found the prospect of becoming embroiled in a native war most unappetizing. He had been in the military services most of his adult life, true enough but “military” did not necessarily mean “warlike,” and Jerry knew he had little aptitude for actual fighting.
“I’m not sure, but I’m afraid we may be in serious danger before long.”
The sound of a Cothlani trumpet, tinny and shrill, came drifting up from the valley. Jerry Stein, seeing Pilkin move a little closer to the rim of the cliff, edged himself over and peered down.
The Cothlani were bowed in prayer. The host of golden-skinned aliens kneeled, facing the setting sun, and began to mumble their evening devotions.
“They pray with their priests,” Pilkin commented. “That’s the only distinction we’ve noticed between the people of the True Faith and the ones who hold the One Belief.”
From below came the sound of a soft, gentle unison murmur. Stein watched dreamily, taking in the spectacle of five hundred members of an alien race at their prayers.
A few minutes later, the prayer was ended. Almost as one man, they sprang to their feet, hoisted their spears, and set off along the winding valley.
“That’s our cue,” said Pilkin. “Let’s get back to the Outpost.”
“Yes, sir,” Stein said. They made their way over the rock-strewn path to the ledge on which the jeep was parked.
JERRY STEIN had been on Regulus IV six days. The Leo II had speared him through seventy light years of space in less than a week, under the space-destroying drive of the throbbing Bleekman Time-Space Converters. It had been awe-inspiring to watch the star grow brighter and swell tremendously out of the blackness of space. Then, at last, the Leo II had settled itself on the new spaceport on Regulus IV.
It was a warm, pleasant world the most livable of the several hundred that had been discovered in the first great burst of interstellar exploration. It was a very small planet with a remarkably high density; the gravity was thus similar to Earth’s, though the disparity was enough to make the Earthmen enjoy the difference. You couldn’t help walking with a light, springy step on Regulus IV.
The air was breathable and invigorating, the soil fertile, the sky clear and bright. It was an ideal planet to colonize, and since the natives wide-eyed, intelligent humanoids had no objections, an outpost had been established there.
Billions had been poured into it; the Regulus Outpost was a tremendous investment. And now its existence was threatened—threatened obliquely, to be sure, but the Outpost was still in danger. Yet, dangerous as it was, the situation was still almost funny. The Regulus Outpost was faced with the problem of being worshipped to death.
The Cothlani that was what the natives called themselves were sensitive, intelligent people who had developed a high-medieval culture, non-mechanized but otherwise fairly sophisticated. They had a firmly-established religion of planet-wide scope, and their political structure was one of loosely-organized feudal confederacy that spread interlockingly throughout both continents of their world.
Their religion was chiefly a liturgical and devotional one, with an elaborate system of prayers and rituals. And, curiously Stein wondered what Father Riley would make of this the Cothlani had a tradition of a Great God who had visited the planet many years before, in Cothlani guise, and who had prophesied that he would return some day. Their scriptures also made mention of white-skinned angels who would come to them one day from the skies.
Through some statistical improbability, all members of the Outpost happened to be Caucasians. The occurrence was convincing enough for the Cothlani: white men from the skies must be angels. They had welcomed the Earthmen vigorously.
Too vigorously.
AN INVISIBLE iron boundary ran across Regulus IV, approximately at the equator. It cut the Western Continent into precise halves, extended out along the choppy sea that bisected the hemispheres, and made a similar partition through the Eastern Continent. It formed an uneasy line of demarcation. Through another unhappy accident, the Earthmen had decided to build their outpost in the most favorable geographic locality, which happened to be in the Eastern Continent, just on the boundary.
To the north dwelt Cothlani of the One Belief; to the south were the men of the True Faith. Each group was convinced that it and it alone had the one real religion; each insisted that its own priesthood was the only valid one, and that its own High Priest was the True High Priest, who was supposed to be the head of all religion on the planet. Each claimed that the other’s High Priest was a demon in disguise.
Just when the breakup had come, the Earthmen were unable to determine; but it was evident that, at one time, they had all been of the same religion. The records, however, had been so garbled by changes on either side that they were unreliable.
Both groups shared the same Scriptures, the same ethical code, and much the same outlook on life. There were slight differences in their worship; the followers of the True Faith were intensely individualistic in their worship, not bothering with where they were when they went through their rituals. The priesthood of the True Faith actually played a minor role, officiating at the regularly scheduled services and at marriages and the like.
On the other hand, the faithful of the One Belief were called to worship by the priests and could not worship at all without the presence of a priest. As far as could be seen, the form of rituals of the two priesthoods were nearly identical, and they both claimed the same mystical powers.
Both the One Belief and the True Faith clung to the idea that their Savior would return and each believed firmly that He would return only for them.
Then the Earthmen came down the “angels.” And they were claimed: by the One Belief, by the True Faith. Wisely, the Earthmen had not committed themselves to either faction.
Now, the armies of the North and the South were massing for a jehad a holy war. Six weeks was Pilkin’s prediction and Pilkin, as Chief Military Attache to the Outpost, was probably right. Holy war, innocently touched off by the Earthmen. North and South would fight to determine whose angels the Earthmen were.
The situation, Stein thought to himself as the jeep sped through the bumpy mountainside toward the Outpost, was a delicate one, and the prognosis was unfavorable. Having come to Regulus IV in the best of faith, determined to apply an enlightened policy toward the natives, the Earthmen were instead precipitating them into a situation where Cothlani would kill Cothlani.
It was a sin, Jerry thought, to precipitate such a conflict where none had been before. But whose was the sin? None of the Earthmen could have known that the natives would begin to tear themselves apart because of “angels”. Was it the fault of the Earthmen that they were being worshipped? If it was a sin, was it a sin of omission or commission?
Suddenly he realized the path his mind was taking. He grinned and stole a glance at iron-faced Pilkin. The humor of it was obvious, Jerry Stein, a Jew, was busily perplexing himself over problems of Roman Catholic doctrine while Pilkin, who came from a Catholic family, was probably wondering only how best to defend the Outpost from accidental attack by Cothlani fanatics.
AN HOUR later, the jeep swung up the macadamized road that was the approach to the Outpost. As they reached the main gate, four men came bounding out to greet them.
In the lead was a short, ascetic-faced man of sixty who ran like a boy of twenty Erik Rodman, the UN Administrator of the Outpost, and chief non-military official on Regulus IV. He had reached the jeep with a comfortable ten-yard gap over his three companions. Two of these were Pilkin’s aides-de-camp; the third Dr. David Gardner, a Methodist minister was, at the moment, the only member of the clergy on the planet. Dr. Gardner was there by virtue of his Ph.D. in Anthropology, not his religious ordination. Despite great public outcry back on Earth, provisions for sending chaplains to the Outpost could not be made for any ship earlier than the third, which was scheduled for departure in a month. The planners military men, chiefly had seen fit to stock the Outpost with a full complement of engineers, anthropologists, biochemists, and other men who would have greater immediate utilitarian value on an alien world than priests or ministers or rabbis.
“Well?” Rodman demanded, as soon as Pilkin and Stein were out of the jeep.
“Five hundred of the True Faith in the valley,” Pilkin said briskly. “They’re armed and ready; I’d say war in six weeks.”
Rodman scowled. “We’ve gotten the same reports from the men up north observing the One Belief. They’re all set to march.”
Pilkin nodded grimly. “It looks nasty.” The General cleared his throat. “Let’s go inside and discuss this at our ease, yes?”
TThe Regulus IV Outpost consisted of a few acres of ground, dotted here and there with hurriedly-constructed but solidly-cast plastic buildings. Only one of them was more than a single story high the Administration Building, which also housed the Communications Center. General Pilkin grimaced as they walked over to the Ad Building. “I wish we had a wall around this post.”
“It might help,” agreed Rodman. “About six feet thick and twenty feet high. But I’m afraid it’s impracticable.” They went into the Ad Building and entered a large room which was furnished with a table and several chairs. Rodman gestured significantly at the chairs.
When they were comfortably seated, Rodman, who was presiding, turned to Jerry first. “Lieutenant Stein, as an engineer you’re not strictly involved with the business of this meeting. Your rank entitles you to stay if you wish, but you’re not required to sit in unless you want to.”
“That’s fine,” Jerry said. “I’d like to listen in, if it’s all right with everyone.”
“Very well.” The UN Administrator glanced at the taut ring of faces surrounding him. “Briefly, the situation is this: According to reconnaissance reports, the One Believers and the True Faith are massing for war. General Pilkin says that war’s six weeks away; and since that’s his particular province of knowledge, I’ll defer to his special training and accept that as fact.”
Pilkin’s hand shot up. When he was called on, he said, “Of course, the necessity for my having to make a guess of this sort might have been obviated if you’d admitted that priest of the One Belief who came here for an audience last week.”
It seemed to Jerry that Rodman’s eyes flickered in something like anger at the General’s accusation, but the Administrator said, in as calm a voice as always, “I hardly think so, General. Dr. Gardner offered us ample reasons for refusing the audience, at the time the incident happened.”
“I’m afraid I didn’t understand them,” Pilkin put in, doggedly. “We had a perfectly good opportunity to extract strategic information from that priest, and”
“Dr. Gardner,” Rodman interrupted sharply, “Would you care to re-establish the grounds on which we turned away the priest?”
THE MINISTER, a sturdy man with a white crewcut, smiled affably. “Anthropological research shows that in a case like this, admitting that priest to the Outpost would have been tantamount to blessing him, at this stage of the crisis. After all, until we know what direction this thing’s going into, we don’t dare show special favoritism toward any important representative of either group. That seems simple enough.”
Pilkin nodded curtly. “I understand. Very well, then: We remain aloof, I take it, until hostilities have ceased?”
Rodman frowned. “That would be, generally speaking, a sensible policy and, indeed, it has been our policy right up to now. If you’ll remember, we had a good deal of very friendly contacts with Cothlani of both sects up until the time when it became apparent the schism would erupt into a holy war. Since then, we’ve withdrawn completely from these contacts for just the reasons Dr. Gardner has offered. But now we have some new data which threatens to make that position an untenable one. Dr. Gardner, would you tell us exactly what your theory is?”
The anthropologist leaned forward, and lowered his voice as if he did not want what he had to say to go very far. “I’ve been studying the Cothlani religious works that we have, and I’ve been transcribing the notes I took in the early days of this Outpost, when our relations with the natives were still friendly. My double position as an anthropologist and as a spiritual leader makes it much easier for me to create the pattern from my data. And the pattern shaping up, I’m afraid, is a tragic one.”
“Explain further, please,” said Pilkin, impatiently.
“The anthropological data shows high rivalry between the two Cothlani sects, and a definite stigma of untruth applied to each other’s beliefs. In other words, the god of the True Faith is the only true god, and that of the One Belief is a demon, and vice-versa. It’s not an unusual religious pattern.” Gardner paused for a moment. “You follow me so far?”
“Of course,” Pilkin agreed.
“All right. This situation has been in existence for centuries ever since the original split into two sects. But I’m afraid our coming has acted as a sort of catalysis to set off a new reaction, while we’ve remained uninvolved ourselves is my chemistry right, Lieutenant Stein?”
Jerry, who had been listening with deep absorption, looked up in surprise at the sudden question, smiled self-consciously. “Yes yes certainly.”
“Let me be even more specific,” Gardner continued. “Each of the two sects on this planet is convinced that we are divinities of its own particular belief. If what General Pilkin says is true and I believe it absolutely then there will shortly be a bloody war to the finish, each side defending its claim to us. Since we have, of course, made no preference known to them, this is the only way they can settle the question of whose divinities we are.
“Now, bear in mind my earlier statement about their belief patterns. The side that comes out on top in this war is going to accept us as holy beings but the side that loses will regard us as archdemons; this is only logical. Presumably, we’d been helping the side we really represented, and the side that’s losing can only assume we’re helping the other side; and therefore must be demons. So,” Gardner said, “so the side that’s losing is going to attack us make a desperation assault on this outpost of demons. And the Cothlani outnumber us ten million to one!”
THERE WAS a lengthy silence when Dr. Gardner finished speaking. Stein glanced around the table, looking first at Rodman’s face, then at Pilkin’s, then at Gardner’s. They all reflected the same feeling, the feeling that was uppermost in his own mind.
It was Pilkin who put it into words first. “Even with weapons a thousand times as effective as theirs, we’ll be wiped out.”
Rodman nodded. “This is the situation. We face a war in which whatever side loses is going to turn against us; and there is no retreat for us. The next ship’s not due for a month and in any case we can’t evacuate, or hide, or do anything but sit here and wait.”
Pilkin frowned heavily; Stein could see the General almost visibly revolving some thought around in his mind. “I have a suggestion,” Pilkin said, finally.
“Yes, General?” Rodman asked.
“Suppose we were to subradio back to Earth for an extra-heavy supply of weapons. They’d be here within a month ample time to prepare for the war.”
“It won’t work,” said Gardner. “They’ll sweep down on us in suicide waves; we can’t beat back an army of a million footsoldiers even with atomic cannon.”
“You didn’t let me finish,” the General said reproachfully. “What I was about to suggest was that we distribute these extra weapons among one or the other set of Cothlani it doesn’t matter which and then publicly proclaim them as our choice. Give the chosen some training in elementary tactics, and they’ll mop up the others so fast that the losers won’t be able to bother us! Maybe we can’t defend ourselves; but if we let the True Faith, for example, do the fighting for us, we’re liable to come out all right even if the One Believers do try to retaliate against us.”
Jerry saw Gardner wince. The clergyman obviously found the idea distasteful in the extreme.
But Rodman was smiling. “You may very well have hit on the solution there.”
“I must protest, Mr. Rodman,” Gardner said hotly. “Such an action would be barbaric and inhuman, and”
“One moment, Dr. Gardner. Look: the Outpost is faced with a life-or-death situation. You yourself have posed the alternatives for us: Either we do something, or one sect of the Cothlani will wipe us out. Now, I realize what the General has proposed may seem shall we say immoral, but a second look will show it is a highly practical solution.”
“I fail to understand how”
“Simple,” Rodman said. “The war will happen, whether or not we like it. And half the Cothlani will be exterminated, perhaps more, no matter what we do. If we do nothing, the country is laid waste and we are killed. If we arm one side, only half the country is laid waste, and we survive. It is a very elementary proposition.”
Gardner considered that for a long moment. Finally he looked up. “You are right,” he admitted. “We must arm one side.”
“I’ll begin training them immediately,” Pilkin said, happy to be engaging in some sort of action.
“Just one minute,” Rodman said gently. “Before we rush off to train Cothlani, General Pilkin, we have one further problem to deal with. And this, I fear, will not be so simple.”
“What now?” Pilkin demanded.
“This, General: how do we decide which side to arm?”
PILKIN glanced at him blankly. “Why, what possible difference could it make?” he asked innocently. “Both sides are of approximately equal fighting strength; they both seem to have the same sort of beliefs and outlook on life why, it’s a sheer toss-up.” He reached in his pocket and drew forth a gleaming double eagle. “Here,” he said, offering the bright coin to Rodman. “Heads, the One Belief gets armed; Tails, the True Faith.”
“It doesn’t work out that simply, General,” the UN man objected. “What we’re called upon to do is to decide which of these two faiths we’re to exterminate. Am I right in saying, Dr. Gardner, that we don’t have sufficient data to make a choice between them?”
The anthropologist nodded. “There are differences, but they’re ritualistic differences not moral ones. So far as I can see, we have no criteria for judging which of the two sects is worth keeping.”
“There you are!” Pilkin crowed. Again he extended the gnarled hand that held the coin. “We have to pick one, and it doesn’t matter a diddly-damn which it is. So let’s toss, and let me get about my business.”
“No,” Rodman snapped. Jerry Stein saw the muscles at the side of the Administrator’s jaws stirring convulsively. The man was undergoing high-order internal stress. “No,” he repeated. “I will not take the responsibility of destroying one of those peoples upon my own shoulders.”
General Pilkin folded his arms and stared angrily off into space. “This is no time for obeying the dictates of conscience, Mr. Rodman. We must take action within the next week.”
“I know,” Rodman said uneasily. He stood up. “I’m going to have to pass the buck,” he declared bluntly; “I’m going to subradio Earth and explain the whole thing to them.”
“That’s reasonable enough,” Pilkin agreed. “They won’t have any qualms about telling you which side to wipe out; they’re too far away to care.”
THE MEETING broke up a few moments later, since no one seemed to have anything further to say. Jerry Stein glanced at Rodman as the UN man walked silently past him. Rodman’s face was an icy mask. He was caught in a cleft stick, and he knew it; it hurt.
The others were not half so disturbed, Stein noticed. Gardner seemed more upset about the nature of the action they were about to perform than about Rodman’s private agony, while stony-faced Pilkin showed obvious irritation at the unmilitary way in which operations were being carried out in the Outpost these days.
As for Lieutenant Jerome Stein, he had carefully refrained from saying anything. It was the smartest position; he was new in the Outpost, and his particular speciality had little to do with the crisis at hand, anyway. He had been present at the meeting solely as an onlooker, and his opinion was not called for.
But he had felt like applauding loudly when Rodman had announced he was going to pass the buck. It was, perhaps, not the noblest decision to make, but it was the most sensible. Rodman was in a position where he was likely to get in trouble no matter which side he marked for destruction; he was doing the right thing by avoiding all decision.
Jerry moved to the window of the hut and stared out. Night had fallen on Regulus IV, but the air, hot and dry during the day, still held warmth. He touched the opener and the window slid smoothly and automatically open. There was a faint breeze blowing in from the north from the country of the One Belief. It seemed to Stein that there were drumbeats drifting in with the breeze, a distant, muffled thumping that was the war-song of a people mobilizing for righteous war. Dark, heavy clouds lay across the pock-marked face of the midget moon that hung low near the horizon. Higher, the major moon was beginning its retrograde twirl through the sky.
One Belief drums coming in from the north, and Cothlani of the True Faith sharpening their spears in the pleasant lands below the equator. Nasty, Stein thought. Within six weeks, men would be on the march device within a week after that, Cothlani would be dying of Earth-inflicted wounds.
Reflectively, Stein touched the switch and watched the window close. The sound of the drums floating on the night air disturbed him, and he wanted to shut them out. He looked at his watch; the shadow-hands read 2200. By now, Rodman had probably made contact with Earth, and before long he would know which Cothlani sect it was that would be earmarked for doom. Somehow, he felt sure that whatever answer Earth gave was sure to be the wrong one.
STEIN WAS up early the next morning, half an hour before the trumpet would ring through the barracks. He had had an uneasy night, in which legions of cold-faced Cothlani had trooped unprotestingly forward into the blazing maw of an atomic converter for endless hours.
He dressed quickly and went downstairs, to the main room of the building, hoping to find some other early-riser there. In his week in the Outpost, Jerry had discovered that everyone seemed to keep pretty much to himself; and even men he had known fairly well at Sahara Base, men who had once been gregarious and outgoing, now acted reserved and withdrawn. They were all living in the gloomy shadow of the oncoming war.
The main room was empty almost. There was a small figure sitting hunched up at the far end of the long, bare hall, staring drearily at nothing in particular.
Rodman.
“Up early this morning, sir?”
Rodman glanced up and rubbed a forefinger against the side of his fleshless cheek. “Hello, Lieutenant Stein,” he said dully.
“Didn’t sleep well, sir?”
Rodman’s red-rimmed eyes told the story, even before he spoke. “I haven’t been to sleep at all yet, Jerry; I don’t feel much like sleeping.”
“Because of last night, you mean?” Stein took a seat alongside Rodman on the unpainted bench. The wood was cold and hard; the Regulus Outpost hadn’t had much time for comforts yet.
Rodman nodded slowly. “I called Earth, last night. Got through to the President after only eight intermediaries. Outlined the whole situation to him.”
Rodman fell silent.
“What did he say?” Jerry urged.
“Said he’d call me back,” the Administrator replied. “Had to discuss it with the cabinet first, or something.”
“Oh.” Rodman’s face was the picture of complete despair; the Administrator seemed to have lost all of his famed poise.
“He did,” Rodman went on. “The call came through at 0530; I sat up all night waiting for it.” He giggled, almost hysterically. “Guess what they decided!”
Jerry shrugged his shoulders. “To arm both sides?” he ventured.
“Very funny,” the Administrator replied mirthlessly. He turned to face Jerry, and smiled, with frightening lack of warmth. “You’re not quite correct, though. They discussed the situation for four hours, and then came to the conclusion that I’m the one who knows best what to do.”
“What?”
“That’s exactly what they said. The President himself explained that he was in no position to make a decision, but that I should, after mature consideration, take whatever steps my evaluation revealed as necessary. They agreed to accept it as official policy, taking full responsibility for my acts.”
“That’s some relief, anyway,” Jerry murmured, sensing the inanity of his remark.
“It’s no relief at all. Do I care whether this costs me my job or not? Think of me the real me, not the public servant. I’m being asked to pass a sentence of death on half a world, just to save my own skin and the lives of a hundred Earthmen.”
“The Cothlani will die anyway,” Stein reminded him; “it’s no fault of yours that this war is happening.”
RODMAN nodded slowly. “All right, Cothlani will die; but my voice decides which they are who go. What do I judge by? The men of the north are better singers; those of the south swim faster. The One Belief has a picturesque set of public rituals; the True Faith has a beautiful holy scripture. There’s no way to choose between them no way at all.”
He shook his head. “Jerry, I’m the executioner,” he said unhappily. “And I don’t know who’s guilty!”
They fell silent for a while. Rodman seemed unwilling to talk any further, and Jerry Stein found himself at a loss for words. Certainly the President would pass the buck right back to Rodman; he didn’t want to take the guilt on his shoulders, either.
He stole a glance at Rodman, who had subsided into a state of torpor again. It wasn’t right to ask one man to make a decision of this magnitude single-handed. He had nothing to go by; he had no way of judging.
If only there were some way of knowing which sect was more worthy of being aided of looking forward somehow, seeing what a world made up only of the One Belief would be like, and what a world in which the True Faith were victorious would be.
Stein suddenly clapped a hand over his mouth in astonishment. There was a way! There was a man who could make the decision! “I’m a fool,” Jerry said out loud; “I could have gotten the answer for you last night, perhaps.”
“What’s that?” Rodman asked, startled.
“I mean there’s this priest on Earth,” Stein began, not knowing quite how to explain. “He was connected with Spatial Research, and we worked together; he’s got access to a machine that”
Suddenly Jerry stopped, and scowled bitterly. He recalled the conversation he’d had with Father Riley just before leaving for the Outpost. The Jesuit had flatly refused to use the machine. He was waiting for the word from Rome, and would not attempt to predict the future again until the word of confirmation came through.
But the Pope might take years to hand down his decision he must have taken years, or else Father Riley would long since have spotted the answer on the screen. And Rodman’s decision was due in a week.
Would Father Riley refuse this request? Could he refuse it? Quite possibly, Jerry reflected. There was only one way of finding out. He turned to the puzzled Rodman. “I’ll finish explaining later, sir; could you have subradio contact made for me with Sahara Base at once, please?”
MAJOR SEAN RILEY C.C. sat in the Communications Central at Sahara Base and stared bleakly at the speaker in front of him. He’d been given a small room to himself when the interstellar call came through, and now that Father Riley had heard what was expected of him, he was glad that he was alone.
“Did you hear me, Father?” asked the voice of Jerry Stein. It was thin and weak, and the signal was obscured by the hissing of interstellar space; but every word came through clearly and audibly.
“Yes, Jerry; yes, I heard you. But I think it’s monstrous.”
“I agree. It’s a terrible thing but it’s inevitable, and that’s beyond argument. Even if we could evacuate which we can’t they’d still go on with the war. They’d feel that we had left because there was evil on the planet. Naturally, that means the other side whichever it happens to be.”
Father Riley thought of the Crusades and closed his eyes in what was almost a wince. A Holy War! he thought. A contradiction in terms, perhaps? Or is it? The struggle of the forces of light against those of evil is clearly a war, isn’t it? And a justified one. Confused, he opened his eyes again.
He leaned toward the speaker. “And you want me to look into the Time Peeper and see which side it would be better to arm? I’m afraid I can’t do that, Jerry. You know why, and I don’t have to explain again.”
“Now, listen carefully, Father,” Stein said, a trifle impatiently, “because what I have to say is important. Remember when you said: ‘In My Father’s house are many mansions’? This concerns me as much as it does you; we Jews have waited for the Messiah for thousands of years. You believe He has come; we’re still waiting.
“But on this planet everyone believes He has come!
“Now, if God has actually revealed Himself here and we dare not assume that such a thing is flatly impossible then one of these groups is right, and the other is wrong in an absolute sense.”
JERRY STEIN paused for a moment, and Father Riley stared expectantly at the speaker. After a few seconds, Jerry spoke again.
“Assume that your Church is right,” he said forcefully. “Then assume that the Messiah the true Messiah actually did appear on Regulus IV. Then half the people here are Catholics, in a sense!” He stopped again, and the silence was unbroken except for the hiss of the stars.
“I see what you mean,” Father Riley replied slowly, after a moment. “And that would mean that it would be unnecessary for the Church to make any decision about the immortal souls of alien beings; God has made a separate dispensation for each race.”
“I’ll not argue that now, Father. My point is simply that if the Messiah has come for these people, then His true followers must be the ones to win this holy war. If we use our power to help one side which we must do and we help the wrong side, then we’re acting as instruments of Satan himself!”
Father Riley smiled; Stein’s old skill in dialectics was as sharp as ever. “I quite realize that, Jerry,” the chaplain said. “But, of course, your whole argument is predicated on the assumption of a separate dispensation; it isn’t necessarily so, you know. A good many of the pre-Christian pagan religions had elements similar to Christianity. Osiris was sacrificed and returned to life, according to the Egyptians; the ancient Pelasgians believed in a three-faceted divinity, and so do the Hindus today. There’s nothing to indicate that the Cothlani religion is anything other than a similar sort of paganism.”
Again there was a silence. Then: “Father, I’m going to send you a copy of Dr. Gardner’s summary of the religions both the One Belief and the True Faith. Maybe you can make something out of them that I didn’t. I’ll get them on the subradio facsimile reproducer this evening.”
“Fine, Jerry, but”
“The point I’m trying to make is this,” Stein cut in swiftly. “We must arm one side or the other; and the side we arm will slaughter the other side. We can’t take too much time for a decision.
“Now, if there is even the remotest possibility that one of these groups is following the Law sent to them by the Creator, then we must arm that group. And not to use every means in our power would be wrong! Don’t you see that, Father?”
“I’m beginning to, Jerry.”
“One other thing to clinch it, then. The decision rests in the hands of a man named Rodman a good man, an honest man. If you don’t help him he’ll have to pick our side at random. By refusing to use the machine, you’ll be jeopardizing Erik Rodman’s soul; he’ll have a fifty-fifty chance of picking Satan’s side.”
Father Riley chewed at his lip. Souls hung in the balance here; his own, Rodman’s, and those of half a world of aliens.
“I see now, Jerry,” he said. “If you’re right and I refuse to use the screen, I’ll be committing a sin of omission that would be mortal. But I’ll want to see those facsimiles before I give you an answer.”
HOURS LATER, the Jesuit sat in his own small office, red-eyed and weary. He stared at the papers on his cluttered desk. The only differences he could make out between the One Belief and the True Faith was in the matter of which of two Cothlani was actually High Priest.
Was one a Pope and the other an anti-Pope? Did one of those two priests actually hold a spiritual office that was the alien equivalent of the Throne of St. Peter? It seemed wild, almost blasphemous but it might be so.
Of course, there were other, smaller differences. According to the True Faith practices, the entire congregation took part in the services, chanting everything except a few portions of the liturgy. To Father Riley, the set-up smacked a little of Protestantism though there were important differences, of course.
On the other hand, the followers of the One Belief left most of their worship services in the hands of the priests; the laymen did nothing. Father Riley didn’t care for that particularly but then, didn’t the Church deny the chalice to the congregation?
After hours of deep consideration, Father Riley still had not arrived at a decision. All he could see plainly was that the True Faith leaned toward the liberal side, while the One Belief leaned the other way.
As to whether either side actually was Christian, in an extraterrestrial sense of the word, Father Riley refused even to think about it. He had neither the authority nor the data from which to draw any binding conclusions. He had his own ideas, of course, but would he be justified in acting on them?
He shook his head.
A period of some minutes passed in which his mind did not seem to be working at all. Finally, he pushed the heap of facsimile sheets aside. He had as much data as he was going to get; what he needed now was help. He looked up at the chromium-plated crucifix on the wall, and scowled. No, not here; the atmosphere was wrong. Slowly he stood up, stretched, and straightened his tight black uniform. Then, pushing the door-opener, he watched the door slide smoothly open.
He stood for a moment at the door and then left his office, heading toward the little chapel that served for Catholic services at Sahara Base.
IT WAS nearly two days before an answer came to Father Riley. He was in the subelectronics lab, brooding in the musty darkness, letting occasional scraps of Latin drift through his mind. He was totally involved in the situation now, and knew exactly what agony that man on Regulus IV must have been enduring.
After a moment, he strolled to the Time Peeper, still unsure of what he had to do. It was dead now; the generators were cut off. There was the huge television screen, and the shielded area where the antigravity shell rested. When the powerful subelectronic generators came on, an interspace field would be created in the shielded area, and the antigravity shell would vanish. The little TV camera it contained could pick up scenes of probable futures alternative time lines which would give more or less distinct pictures of what might happen.
The priest walked over and threw a switch. Slowly, the huge generators throbbed into life. Father Riley watched icily as the a-g shell grew dim and vanished.
He looked at the still lifeless TV screen. All he had to do was press one little switch, to activate what had been so clumsily dubbed the Time Peeper.
Retro me, Sathanas?
He wondered. Beads of sweat started to trickle down his forehead, as he wavered on the brink of decision, searching for some way out.
ERIK RODMAN said crisply, “Gentlemen, you’ve all heard what the President has to say concerning the validity of Major Riley’s Time Peeper report. In other words, we have official assurance that this thing exists, and that it is reasonably accurate. We have received Major Riley’s decision, and since it was Lieutenant Stein’s idea to call him, I’ll let him read it aloud.”
Jerry Stein stood up and glanced around the table, taking in the faces. Rodman’s had some new lines in it; Pilkin’s visage was the same paradoxical mixture of utter imperturbability and deep, unacknowledged conflict. Dr. Gardner seemed worried.
Jerry took the paper from Rodman and began reading in a firm, clear voice. “It is obvious that the side to be armed is the True Faith. There are several reasons for this.
“In the first place, the priesthood is strong; if the One Belief won the war, it would not be long before the priesthood would realize that presence of Earthmen among them constituted a threat to their power. As soon as they found out that Earthmen are merely mortals, they would denounce Earthmen as demons and another holy war would result. Only by actually assuming the role of angels could Earthmen avert disaster; and this, of course, would not be feasible over any length of time.
“In the second place, if the followers of the True Faith are allowed to win, they will be much more liberal with prisoners. They will permit perhaps enforce conversion, and, with Earth weapons to help them, they will be very convincing. If it is later revealed to them that Earthmen are human, not supernatural, they will simply say that we could still be emissaries from God, for God works in mysterious ways.
“On the one hand, the True Faith permits a widespread knowledge of the faith, and the intelligent layman is capable of reasoning for himself. On the other hand, the priesthood of the One Belief forbids much activity in spiritual matters on the part of the laity, and they are completely in control of the congregations.
“It becomes obvious, therefore, that arming the One Belief group will end in disaster.”
"HOW DOES that fit in with your theories, Dr. Gardner?” Rodman asked.
The anthropologist nodded. “The Father is absolutely right. I hadn’t thought it through that completely but now that my eyes are open, I see it’s a familiar pattern.”
General Pilkin wiped his brow with the fingers of his right hand. “And to think I was ready to toss a coin!” he said hoarsely. “I’m glad we waited, Rodman. Imagine what might have happened if we’d had a group of hostile, armed natives out for our blood! We wouldn’t last five minutes here!”
Rodman smiled. “All right, General. Do I take it that we’ve reached our final decision, then?”
There was no dissent.
“Very well,” Rodman said, his eyes glistening with relief. “We’ll take immediate steps. General Pilkin, you’re to meet with leaders of the True Faith at once; and you, Dr. Gardner, will be in charge of formulating our statement of support. Lieutenant Stein my sincere thanks.”
A YEAR went by, and one day the Leo II settled leisurely to Earth at Sahara Base. Jerry Stein Captain Jerry Stein walked down the gangway with several others and peered up at the blue, cloudless sky. “Brother!” he whispered softly. “I’d forgotten Sol looked so hot!”
Shouldering his clothing pack, he strode toward one of the waiting jeeps, and relaxed while the little vehicle sped toward the cluster of buildings at the far edge of the field. Sahara Base! It was great to be back.
The place hadn’t changed much, apparently. After all the preliminaries were over; after he had checked in at every department office; been reassigned to his quarters and added to the requisition sheets, he gratefully stowed his gear and headed for the place he’d been anxious to enter for the past year Father Riley’s office.
The Chaplain looked up in pleased surprise as Jerry entered. He had been reading a leatherbound book, and the door had been left open. Jerry stepped lightly through.
“Jerry!”
“Captain Stein, please,” Jerry said gaily. “Hello Father.”
“Sit down, Jerry, sit down.” The priest waved to the chair facing him. “How are things going on the Outpost? Everything work out?” He put the book face-down on the desk; Jerry caught a glance at the gold-stamped title on the back: “De Civitate Dei”.
“From Aquinas back to Augustine, eh?” Jerry commented. “Heading in the wrong direction, aren’t you?”
“I try to sample all viewpoints: it keeps my mind pure from the deadliest sin.”
“Which is?”
“Bullheadedness,” Father Riley said. “But you’re ignoring my question; how’s the Outpost?”
“Fine, Father. Everything went just as you predicted. The True Faith didn’t slaughter their enemies nearly to the extent we had thought they would. Most of the One Believers, when they saw that the ‘angels’ were on the enemy side, assumed they were in the wrong, and gave up. The priesthood didn’t have time to organize any demoniac propaganda; the war was over too fast for that.”
“I know,” said Father Riley; “I read the reports. But I’ve heard that Rodman has been explaining that Earthmen are only human. How are the Cothlani taking that?”
“Again, just as you predicted. They feel that God sent us, even if we didn’t know it. And you know, Father I’m inclined to agree with them!”
Father Riley nodded. “I know what you mean.”
“There’s one thing that’s bothered me, though, Father. You never said anything about it in your report, but how did you figure out which side was wrong theologically, I mean?”
“The One Belief had to be wrong, Jerry. Didn’t you notice that both sides had regularly-recurring holy days, the equivalent of our Sabbath? Those of the True Faith participated in it, even if they didn’t go to their temples; they kept it in about the same way you Jews keep your Sabbath, by praying at home if it’s impossible to go to a synagogue.
“But the One Belief held that only a certain number could go to services. Those who stayed home couldn’t observe the Sabbath, because there wasn’t any priest around; so they did whatever they pleased. Do you follow?”
“It makes sense,” Jerry agreed. “And the Time Peeper told you all this?”
Father Riley said nothing for a long minute. Finally, he looked up, smiling. “I’ll tell you the truth, Jerry. I sent those reports off without looking at the machine.”
“What?” Jerry looked shocked. “You took a chance that” He stopped, spluttering.
“A chance, Jerry? No, I think not. Everyone else was ready to take a chance either way; I based my decision on sound anthropological reasoning, and theological logic. I knew I was right and I was.”
“Yes, yes, you were. But but didn’t you use the machine at all?”
Father Riley nodded. “Certainly after some small conflict. But I used it the same way I bet on horses: That is, for my private information, not for gain. I checked, all right, and I noticed a definite pattern. There were two possible time alternatives. And” He paused and looked at the young captain. “And in one of them, you didn’t ever show up again.”
“You mean I would have died?”
The priest nodded. “That’s right. But that probability line didn’t last long; as soon as my report went out, it vanished. A good guess, don’t you think?”
The perspiration on Jerry Stein’s face was not entirely caused by the heat of the Sahara Base. “Father,” he said softly, “I’m damned glad it wasn’t guesswork!”