Pater Riggin said mildly, “The neutral nations, Jim? I understand that Gambania, Morrisland and New Zambia severed relations with us this morning, and that their mobilization is almost complete.”
McGivern was saying in agony, in refutation of his leader’s words, “Originally, the computers said the war would last less than two and a half months. Later they said less than a month. But now the war’s going into its fifth month, and we’re in a worse situation than when it began. We can’t keep this up, Jim, we can’t keep it up!”
“Don’t call me Jim, you damned funker!” Number One roared.
The Old Hand stared at him, shocked.
The skipper of the M.S. Freedomland came up behind his third officer and the two deckmen who were leaning over the starboard rail. He rapped, “What in the name of the Holy damned Ultimate are you doing ?”
They turned, grinning.
“Look, those kids down there.”
The captain looked over the side. Below were four or five kids on a makeshift raft and two others working out of a battered rowboat; all of them were attired in raggedy bathing trunks and were yelling and shouting up to the crew members.
“What’n the hell do they want?” the captain growled. “We’re almost loaded. You men get to your damned posts.”
The third said, “They’re diving for centavos, Skipper. The local coinage. Here, watch.” He tossed two or three coins into the water.
Immediately, it was a matter of bottoms up, and the kids dove into the darkish waters.
“They gettum, every one,” one of the crewmen said, laughing. “You’d think that water was too dirty.”
“I’ll be damned,” the skipper said. “Like nardy dolphins, aren’t they?” He stuck his hand into a trouser pocket to check his change.
Down below, one of the dolphins had pulled up against the ship’s hull. A small plastic packet was in his hands. He placed it carefully about ten feet abaft the bow and about two feet above the keel. It stuck magnetically. If information was correct, and it was, the fuel tanks of the M.S. Freedomland commenced at this point.
The swimmer, his lungs beginning to ache, threw a small stud on the side of the plastic container and headed back for the surface; in his hand was a coin which he had extracted from his belt, rather than finding it on the harbor bottom.
Behind him, the little packet was going tic-tock.
Chapter IX
Temple Bishop Stockwater, trailed by two Temple Vicars, proceeded benignly along the corridors of the Commissariat of Information.
Passersby widened their eyes, came to a quick halt and touched fingers to lips in religious salute. He nodded piously and murmured blessings as he progressed.
In the central offices of the deputy, he made his way, in the slow shuffle of the religious, to the desk of Senior Secretary Jet Pirincin, who was all but popeyed at his presence. She began to come quickly erect, her fingers immediately to lips.
But he held out a soft, white hand in placation.
“Easily, daughter,” he murmured. “I shall not interrupt your blessed efforts, participating in the holy Crusade. Now, that is the Coaid Deputy’s office, I assume?”
“Yes… yes… Your Blessedness. I… I…”
“Don’t bother yourself, daughter.” He blessed her and moved on.
Upon the entry of the United Temple’s representative to the Central Comita into his inner sanctum, Ross Westley hurried to his feet. The visit was unprecedented. Although Temple Bishop Stockwater and he had met often in the presence of Number One, they had never before held private conversation.
The Temple Bishop smiled unctuously at him, murmured something that ended in, “… my son,” then turned to his Temple Vicars.
It occurred to Ross Westley that the two younger men were on the tall and brawny side and not overly saintly in countenance.
The Temple Bishop bade them remain outside and waited until the door was closed. He then turned his rounded face to his host.
Ross Westley indicated his most comfortable chair. “Your Blessedness, this is a great honor. Could I offer you refreshment?”
The other lowered his bulk and gave an un-bishop-like squirm to achieve complete ease. He beamed at Ross. “I have heard that the Presidor imports a beverage from Mother Earth that is quite unique. Ah, sherry, I believe it is called. You wouldn’t have a small amount I might sample?”
Ross was slightly taken aback. “Sherry? I believe I’ve read about it. But, I understand it’s alcoholic, Your Blessedness.”
The Temple Bishop looked at him. Finally he said, “Indeed. Then, of course, the Presidor would never touch lip to such an abomination.”
Ross shrugged that part of it off. He indicated his orderbox. “I could have Coaid Pirincin bring you a sherbet.”
“Never mind,” the Temple Bishop said, his voice slightly less benign. “I shall, Coaid Deputy Westley, come immediately to the point.”
However, he didn’t; for a time, he skirted it.
He said, eyeing the other pensively, “You have, I understand, some learning in history, Coaid Wesley.”
Ross, wondering still at the other’s presence, said, “I had expected to become a teacher of the subject, before my father’s assassination brought me to this position.”
Temple Bishop Stockwater put the tips of his fingers together and beamed. “Of course. Then the following facts will not be strange to you. My son, I bid you recall the history of Western religion in the Mother Earth nation of Mexico. Most briefly, representatives of the prevailing European religion landed with the conquistadors under Cortes. They backed with their every effort the Spanish cause and were instrumental in completely destroying the religious and other institutions of the aborigines.”
Ross, frowning, nodded. “Of course.”
The Temple Bishop went on. “For several centuries, during the Spanish domination, this religious organization supported the Spanish in their disastrous rule of the predominantly Amerind population. When there was rebellion, they strongly sided with authority. At long last, when Europe was embroiled in the Napoleonic Wars, Latin America revolted, including Mexico. The church lined up, as usual, with the ruling power.”
Ross, still frowning, still nodded.
“However, the people won and Spain was ousted. The new government continued its attempts at reform of the institutions that had been established under the Spanish rule. But the more conservative groups, largely remnants of the older regime, fought back to the extent possible and finally invited in the so-called Emperor Maximilian, an Austrian Hapsburg, who was backed militarily by Napoleon the Third of France. The religious body supported the France-Maximilian alliance and repudiated the democratic government headed by Juarez.
“But—shall we say, unfortunately?—it was Judrez who prevailed and Maximilian was shot. Juarez, however did not long survive him and soon the government came under the dictatorship of Porfiro Dias, the representative of the great landholders and most conservative elements. When the people again rose in revolt against the dictatorship, under Madero, the religious organization supported the authorities. Although Madero was killed, however, his followers eventually won and came to power.”