Galactic Medal of Honor

XI

Don stared at him and took a hasty slug of his port. “Doing what?”

“Taking Holy Orders. We could elevate you to a Missionary Apostle. I would think that it would aid immeasurably in bringing new converts to the Church, and, of course, the greater our membership the greater the number to participate in our Jihad against the Kradens.”

“Well, no,” Don said, less than happy. “You see, I am not even a member of the Universal Reformed Church. My parents weren’t religious whatsoever, so I wasn’t raised in the atmosphere.”

“Then, my son, you are not acquainted with the tenets of the Church?”

“Not at all. And, I’m a space pilot. Wouldn’t it look rather far out if suddenly I became a, what did you call it, a Missionary Apostle?”

His Supreme Holiness shook his head, after taking another appreciative pull at his dark cigar. “Not at all, my son. Haven’t you ever heard of the Loyola story?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“Briefly, Ignatius of Loyola was born in the 15th. Century and was of noble background. As a youth he left his life at court and joined the military. He distinguished himself in many actions and was also known to be a great, hmmm, lady’s man and carouser. Indeed, it is said that his broken leg, which caused him to limp the rest of his life, was a result of his having to jump from a paramour’s window upon the arrival of her husband.”

His Supreme Holiness chuckled, as though he was being very bold. “However, during his convalescence from either this wound or another, he was converted through reading a life of Christ. After deep studies he, with six friends, took vows of poverty and chastity and were later ordained. They formed a new order, the Society of Jesus, or Jesuits, and it became one of the most effective religious organizations the world has ever seen. After his death, he was canonized in 1622.”

Don was uncomfortable. It was obvious that the Grand Presbyter was considered of great importance to the corporation by Demming and Rostoff or they wouldn’t have let him into the inner circles of the deal. However, Don Mathers had no intention of taking Holy Orders. He had every intention of living it up for the rest of his life.

He said, “You mentioned that he spent years of study. I am afraid that my duties as head of the Radioactives Mining Corporation wouldn’t allow me much time for study.”

“Ah, my son, the tenets of our modern Church are not so complicated as all that. Basically, our raison d’ etre is that half a century ago thinking persons began to desert the organized churches of the time. Which is not strange, in view of the fact that such organizations as the Jewish, Christian, Mohammedan and Buddhist were initiated long centuries ago, indeed, millennia ago. They were conceived by nomads and, anthropologically speaking, by barbarians. Obviously, their teachings do not make a great deal of sense to a modern, educated, civilized man.”

“Such as what, for example?” Don said, just to be saying something.

“Let us take an extreme case. According to the Bible, accepted by Jews, Christians and even Mohammedans, though to a lesser degree, God created man in his own image. This is obviously nonsense to a modern, educated man. Man’s body is suited to his environment, the Earth. And God’s? Does God have a penis? If so, why? What does he do with it? Does he have an anal passage? Does he have a navel? If so, why? Does he have teeth? If so, what does he bite with them? Does he have the sense organs, eyes, ears, nose? Why? An omniscient being would not need to utilize the sense organs necessary on the surface of Earth.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Don said.

“Not even some of the basic tenets hold up too well. Take the story of the Ten Commandments. Supposedly, Moses went up Mt. Sinai and there confronted God. By the way, there is a bit of humor here. Moses requested to see God’s face, but was informed it was much too holy for him to see. However, God allowed him to glimpse his “nether parts” as it is worded. Why the buttocks of the Supreme Being should be any less holy than His face, is difficult to understand. At any rate, the Ten Commandments were engraved upon a stone and Moses carried them down to the people. By the way, what language were they written in? The Hebrews had no written language at that time. Perhaps in hieroglyphics? The Egyptian picture writing of the time was not exactly conducive to projecting such ideas as the Ten Commandments. I suggest that you reread them, one of these days. They are not all that inspiring to a modern man. Most of them deal with the fact that you should worship Jehovah and none other. He presents himself as somewhat vain.”

“For instance?” Don said. As a matter of fact, when he had been a student when matters religious would come up, he would often say, “I’m an agnostic but I believe in the Ten Commandments.”

“For instance, Honor thy father and thy mother,” the other said somewhat cynically. “But suppose that they are not deserving of honor? Suppose one is a habitual drunkard who beats you and the other a syphilitic prostitute who brought you into the world blind as a result of her disease?”

The Grand Presbyter went on. “Or, Thou shall not kill. Including Kradens? Down through history man has killed, including, and possibly especially, in religious wars.

“And just how up-to-date are such commandments as, Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s ass ?” There was a very slight leer on the religious leader’s face. “Unless, of course, the commandment was referring to homosexuality.”

Don stared at him. He got out, “Pardon me, Your Supreme Holiness, but I’ll be darned if you sound very devout.”

The other put down his cigar and took up his glass of port. He said wryly, “My son, it has been said that the more one knows of one’s religion, the less one believes. However, I have not been speaking of my religion but of the old and antiquated ones. Our religion fits modern conditions. We do not envision an improbably man-like God who comes down to Earth and strolls about punishing those who do not worship him wholeheartedly, unthinkingly. We believe in evolution, not creation, though possibly we acceed to the fact that the Almighty Ultimate directed evolution. We are strong on the acceptable teachings of the old religions, such as the Golden Rule, but we scorn the anachronistic.”

Demming and Rostoff were returning from the terrace.

The Grand Presbyter said, “Think about it. I am of the belief that your taking Holy Orders would do our common, hmmm, interest much good.”

“Okay,” Don said.

Demming said, “The ladies will be in the Gold Room. Shall we join them, Your Supreme Holiness, Colonel Mathers, Max?”

The Gold Room adjoined the Blue Dining Room and, of course, the motif was golden, even including the frames which housed the Renaissance paintings on the walls. Once again, Don Mathers was no connoisseur of either furniture or art objects, but it came off to him as on the gaudy side.

The ladies were seated and had small liqueur glasses before them. In keeping with the room, Alicia’s drink seemed to contain specks of gold suspended in a water-colored liquid that could have been gin or vodka. Don couldn’t help stare at it, as the three men came up.

The girl laughed. “It’s Goldwasser, Colonel Mathers… ah, Don. A cordial that comes from Danzig. It’s fascinating to look at but, in truth, a bit too sweet. They are real tiny flakes of gold. One must shake up the bottle just before serving, since the gold slowly settles to the bottom.”

“I learn something every day,” Don said.

All laughed, or at least smiled.

The conversation became lighter than it had been when the four men were by themselves, but shortly the Grand Presbyter checked his wrist chronometer and looked up, as though in regret.

“I am afraid my morning duties are such that I must leave,” he said. “It has been a most enjoyable evening.” His eyes went to Demming and Rostoff. “And I trust a most profitable one as a result of our decisions.”

Demming lumbered to his feet, summoned a servant from one of the several who hovered in the background, and, after His Supreme Holiness had made his goodbyes to the others, led him to the room’s elevator. Seemingly, there was an elevator door in every room in the house, Don decided. It was the damnedest system he had ever come up against.

After the Grand Presbyter and his servant guide had gone, Don said, “You know, I should get to bed myself. From what you say, I’ve got a busy day tomorrow, and, first of all, I’m going to have to report at the spaceport. I imagine Command is going to be wondering where in the world I am, although they’ve made no attempt to contact me.”

Demming huffed, “Have you any preference as to your accommodations here, Donal? The type of suite in which you would feel most at home?”

It hadn’t occurred to Don that he would have a selection. He had expected simply to be assigned a room.

He said, “Why, actually, if it makes no difference to you, I’d like to stay up in the penthouse. Your gardens are beautiful and we space pilots see little enough of trees, grass and flowers.”

Alicia stood. “Ill show Don to the visitor’s suite in the right wing, Father.”

The others, save Martha, stood as well and Don said his goodnights. The two men were as friendly as though he was a bosom companion of long years’ standing.

He followed the girl to the elevator, the door to which opened automatically at their approach. He was surprised to find the compartment available.

“Back so soon?” he said.

She laughed. “This isn’t the same one the Grand Presbyter took,” she explained, entering before him. He followed her and she said into the order screen, “The visitor’s suite in the right wing of the penthouse.”

The elevator, if elevator it could properly be called, moved sidewards for a time.

Don said, “You know, I’ve never even heard of an elevator of this type.”

She smiled at him, seemingly glad to have him to herself for the first time this evening. She said, “It was constructed especially to father’s specifications. You see, this establishment consists of the top two floors of the building and the penthouse. There are also two floors of offices below devoted entirely to father’s projects. Father hates to walk. Besides, just getting about would be terribly time-consuming, if one had to. The library, for instance, must be the better part of half a kilometer from father’s bedroom.”

“Ultimate Almighty,” Don muttered.

The compartment started upward.

He said, “You mean this shaft that we’re in tunnels around to every room in the place?”

“Practically. It’s very handy.”

“Don’t you have ordinary halls and ordinary doors?”

“Why, yes. And if only a short distance is involved we utilize them.”

He said, “Does your father have this sort of layout in all of his, uh, establishments?”

“So far as I know. Possibly not in some of the smaller ones he maintains.”

Don said, “Look, how many, uh, establishments does your father have, that is, that he lives in?”

She looked mystified. “Why, I haven’t the slightest idea. He maintains some sort of living quarters in every really major city and also the major settlements on the satellites and Mars. Sometimes, in places he visits seldom or only briefly, it will consist of no more than an apartment sufficient for himself and his immediate staff, and possibly a few guests. You know, twenty-five rooms or so.”

“Really roughs it, eh?”

The compartment had stopped and the door opened into a living room. It was done in American Colonial antiques, and done very well, looking comfortable and certainly a damn sight more acceptable than either the dining room or the Gold Room in which they had spent the evening.

As they entered, she looked up from the side of her eyes and said, “Father has a good many interests, you must realize. It is quite impractical for him to go to hotels—that sort of thing. He must have one of his staffs, his business equipment, that sort of thing, immediately available. He must also be assured of security against the efforts of his business competitors. You know, bugging.”

“I suppose so,” Don said, taking in the room. He had seen a good deal of luxury recently but it occurred to him that when and if he made a permanent or semi-permanent establishment of his own in the near future, he might well have it done like this.

“Like it?” she said. “If it doesn’t appeal to you, there are other suites.”

“I like it very much.”

“Thank you. I designed it, selected the furniture, the paintings and so forth. Do you like Grant Wood?”

He hadn’t the slightest idea of who Grant Wood was. He said, “You’re an interior decorator?”

She said “An amateur. I have to find something to fill my time.”

He looked about. “Isn’t there an autobar? We could have a nightcap.”

Alicia shook her head. “No there isn’t. I don’t like autobars. I don’t much like automated things in general.”

She went over to what he had taken to be a bookcase and pressed something. The false front slid to one side. Behind was a large selection of bottles, glasses, bar equipment and even a small refrigeration compartment.

She said, over her shoulder, “What would you like?”

He said, “Holy smokes, where does your father get all this fancy guzzle of his?”

She sighed and said, “When it comes to food and drink, father doesn’t exactly stint himself. He has agents who continually comb the world seeking out the best potables still remaining. He’ll pay anything.”

“You mean he’s got collections like this in all of his, uh, establishments?”

“Yes, but this is nothing. This is just for temporary visitors, guests. Down below, he has extensive cellars. There is more guzzle in this building alone than he, and all his guests, could drink in a lifetime. Father hoards the things that mean the most to him, exotic foods, drink… and money.”

Don said, “Surprise me.”

She took down a long bottle. “This is a stone-age Metaxa.” It was sealed. She took up a small bar knife, cut away the lead shielding of the cork, then took up a corkscrew. Alicia Demming had opened bottles before.

Don had never seen a real cork before he had met Demming. They were a thing of the past.

“What’s Metaxa?” he said.

“Greek brandy. When it’s very old, it’s as good a brandy as there is. Quite different from French cognac, though.”

She half filled two snifter glasses for them. It was a rugged charge.

They took the drinks back to a couch and seated themselves comfortably, about two feet from each other.

Don sipped at the brandy. He had sampled some of the best guzzle in the world in the past couple of weeks. It hadn’t made him blase¹.

He said easily, “You don’t particularly like your father, do you?”

She said, “I don’t believe I know anybody that does.” And then, after a sip at her Greek brandy, “What in the world are you doing, working with him and that vicious Max Rostoff?”

So. She wasn’t in on the secret. And he had to assume that her mother wasn’t either. Without doubt, the two tycoons were keeping every one in the dark, so far as the real nature of Don’s decoration was concerned. Which was obviously good sense. He felt that it behooved him to be careful now.

He said, “I suppose that my run-in with the Kraden cruiser made me see the light clearer than I ever had before. I’ve come to the conclusion that the only chance the human race has is to unite as never before in the face of a common foe.”

“Cheers,” she said, as she lifted her glass, and he didn’t know if there was an element of sarcasm there or not. “But what’s all this got to do with my father and Max Rostoff?”

He said carefully, “Probably our single biggest need is for an abundant supply of uranium for our space fleet. Your father and Rostoff are two of the wealthiest men in the solar system. It will need that kind of wealth to amalgamate all efforts to exploit the pitchblende and other sources of uranium in the satellites.”

She yawned. “What does father get out of it? I’ve never seen him go into anything that didn’t net one hundred percent a year.”

Don said, still carefully, “Your father will, of course, realize dividends. But that’s the socioeconomic system we live under. Someone is going to make a good deal of money. Why shouldn’t it be him? He’s a competent businessman with a huge staff to help him.”

She said softly, “What do you get out of it, Don?”

“Nothing.”

She looked at him skeptically. “How do you mean?”

“I own no stock. I receive no salary. My efforts are voluntary.” That was telling her.

“I see,” she said. “Why?”

This had to be good and, besides, he suspected that he was going to have to tell the story over and over again in the coming months and years. He had better get it down pat.

He said, “So far as I am concerned, Alicia, I died out there. There was no reason for me to expect to continue living. There wasn’t a chance in the world that I’d survive. But I did. I feel that I am living on borrowed time. And I expect to devote the rest of my life, borrowed as it is, to defeating the Kradens.” Once, again, that was laying it on the line sincerely.

Without expression, she finished her drink and said, “You mentioned a busy day tomorrow, shouldn’t you be getting to bed?”

He put his own glass down. “I suppose so. Where is the bedroom?”

She said, “Over here,” and led the way to a door. Even as she walked, she reached up to undo the shoulder strap of her golden gown.

Don blinked but said, “If you don’t like your father, why do you live here?”

“I don’t. I spend almost all of my time abroad. I came back to attend my mother’s fifty-fifth birthday. That’s when I met you, before. Then, after your defeat of the Kraden, father dropped the information that you would be returning to see him. So I stayed on.”

“Why?” he said.

“Because I wanted to go to bed with you,” she told him, letting her dress drop to her waist, even as she entered the bedroom.

That set back even Don Mathers.

And for more reasons than one. Among other things, he suspected that an operator such as Lawrence Demming would have even visitors’ rooms in his home bugged.

He said, virtuously, though his mouth was dry at the revealing of the upper portion of her fabulous body, “Look, I’m a guest in your father’s home. What would he think of my seducing his daughter?”

She turned to face him and her expression was mocking. “But you bear the Galactic Medal of Honor.”

He let air out of his lungs.

“And, besides,” she said, still mockingly, “who’s seducing whom?”