All My Sins Remembered (20 page)

“Not us, sire, I assure you.”

“Goddamn right,” Balaam’s said. “My archeologist friends.”

“He swears, too,” the priest said weakly.

“Why did they teach you these things?” Joshua asked.

“They didn’t teach me. They learned my function and allowed me to use their library.”

“Your… function?”

“ ‘Keeper of Useful Sarcasms.’ ”

Joshua nodded, his lips a thin prim line. He tested the saddle. “Shall we be going?”

“Ay-firmative. Get your ass on your ass.” Thump—thump.

3.

Monsignor Applegate was waiting for them at the monastery entrance, hands folded on his ample pot. He kissed Excellency’s ring and ushered him into the monastery office. Bolted the door.

Undid his collar. “Good to see you, Josh. Drink?”

“By all means. It was a dusty ride.” He took a seat in the only soft chair in the room, the one behind the desk.

Applegate filled two brass cups with wine tapped from a wooden cask.

“Well,” he handed one to Joshua, “what news—”

“Things have changed, Henry.”

“Naturally. Four years… we’ve made improvements.”

“Outside, I mean, not here. Since when did the flowers go all the way down to the strip? Is that for our benefit, or—”

“No, it’s that way all over the planet. Past couple of years, they’ve been planting like crazy.”

“Because Ember’s going out soon?”

“Sometimes they say that. Sometimes they say other things.”

“As expected, I guess. How long have the S’kang been… helping out around here—and why unbelievers?”

“Just the past few months. The unbelievers, that is. The supplicants have been working for us since just after you left; they helped build the new wing and the, uh, weatherproof section.”

“That’s a nice mural.” It was an odd mural, actually, along one whole wall. Depicting the stations of the cross, the painter’s technique improved steadily from the first to the fourteenth: he had learned by doing.

“One of the S’kang did that. An unbeliever, as a matter of—”

“Has it occurred to you that the unbelievers might be spies?”

Henry lowered himself carefully into one of the hard chairs and set his goblet on the floor. “Spies? For whom?”

“I don’t know. For themselves; curiosity. If they find out—”

“None of them is allowed to observe any rituals or partake of any sacraments. You’re too suspicious, Josh. They hang around helping the archeologists, too. They’re just naturally curious and have time to spare.”

“How do you know they don’t observe the rituals? How can you tell the supplicants from the others?”

He smiled. “That’s easy; they took care of that themselves. You didn’t notice the ones you came in with? The supplicant Paul has his Christian name written on his forehead. Well, what passes for a forehead.”

“No, I didn’t notice. They do it themselves?”

“Yes—they say it’s just a matter of concentration.”

Joshua shook his head. “Henry. Flow do you know they can’t undo it at will? Switch around, send in a—”

“Oh no, no. You don’t know them like I do, Josh. They have definite personalities. It’s easy to tell one from another.”

“Let it pass, for the time being. I’ll look into it. Any progress?”

“Well, yes. We’re getting data, cubes upon cubes of it. Confessions, catechism responses—”

“No real progress, then.”

“Not, uh, not in the sense of… no. Not until we can get the machine.” They needed a large self-directing semantic computer, which meant they needed a great deal of money. “Did
you
make any progress?”

“Some.” He took a long drink of wine. “None at the Vatican. Couldn’t even get an appointment with a chamberlain.”

“As expected.”

“Worse. As far as they’re concerned, we’re apostates. Ex-communicated.”

“Ex… how did that happen?”

“One of your
bugs
,” he said evenly, “said a little too much to one of the Confederación scientists. He wrote it up as a humorous article in an archeology journal.
Flexibility of Ritual Among the Priests of Sol 111
. It’s very amusing.”

“Oh. Sweet Jesus.”

“Somebody. We had better luck with Nuovo Vaticano.”

“Them?”

“We apostates have to stick together.”

He stood up and paced to the mural. “I don’t know, Josh.”

“Precisely. That’s why you’re not in charge.”

“You don’t have to—”

“We don’t have forever, Henry. I’d take support from the devil.”

Henry winced. “Please, Joshua.”

“Oh, ‘please’ yourself. Or have you played the role so long you—”

“Forgive me.” His soft features stiffened. “I was never as strong in my unbelief as you. Nor as good an actor.”

“You do well enough. At any rate, Nuovo Vaticano offered us a grant. With strings, unfortunately.”

“I’m sure you made the best arrangement possible. How much?”

“Quarter of a million—
but
,” he cut off Henry’s exclamation, “it’s going to cost us. Externally, the grant is a simple gift, to help our missionary work. I have an ecclesiastical document to that effect. There’s no document for the actual agreement: ten per cent of net profits from any patents that result from our researches here. With a bookkeeper breathing down—”

“You told them?”

“Just enough to get the money.”

A light tapping at the door. “Mail, sire.” Applegate got the mail and locked the door again.

“Don’t worry,” Joshua said, “I only had to tell a half dozen. And they’re bigger criminals than we are.”

“We are
not
criminals.” He flipped through the flimsy printouts. “There’s ample historic precedent—”

“Spare me, Henry.”

“One from Earth, marked ‘urgent.’” He broke the seal and scanned it. “Josh, what were you doing at Confederación headquarters?”

“What?” Otto said.

“Bishop Salazar says one of his priests saw you leaving the United Mankind Building, November fifth. That must have been right before you left.”

“Yes, I was getting to that.”
Careful
. “The Vatican isn’t the only outfit that reads archeology journals. I got an invitation to talk to a Dr. Ellis. He’s on a watchdog committee that looks for violations of the third article of the Charter.”

“You’re full of good news today.”

“He was friendly; didn’t make any direct accusations. But of course they suspect. Is that news?”

“Should we expect trouble?”

“I don’t know. Inspectors, maybe: spies. We ought to be very careful around new people. New archeologists as well as novitiates.”

“We haven’t been having much to do with the archeologists.”

“Which is a mistake. They’re learning from us, and hurting us with what they learn. At the very least, we ought to pick their brains.

“I’ll tell you what. Have the clerk set me up an appointment with whoever’s in charge over there—”

“Dr. Jones.”

“Good, and I’ll take along a small barrel of this wine as a peace offering. One thing’s improved in four years, anyhow.

“Also, I’ll want to talk with everybody who’s… aware of the totality of our involvement here. Anyone I don’t know?”

“No. Several prospects, but I wanted to wait for your approval.”

“Good. Set up a meeting for just after I visit the enemy camp.”

“All right.” Henry took Joshua’s goblet and refilled both. “That quarter million is a blessing. We can use it.”

“No, we can’t.”

“Pardon?”

“It’s not enough. I invested it.”

Henry’s expression passed from sudden anger through exasperation to resignation. He set the goblet down gently on the desk. “Half that would buy us all the machine time we could ever use.”

“On somebody else’s machine.”

“Josh, you aren’t an authority on these things. We don’t have to buy our own; users have absolute security—”

“I’m not an authority on computers but I am an authority on power. Its use and abuse. If the Confederación wants something badly enough, it will have it. No need for us to make it easy for them.”

“You’re just as paranoid as ever. If you don’t mind my saying so.”

“When did I ever mind what you said?”

He sighed and sat down. “That’s true. It was a good investment, I trust.”

“A very good one. Half interest in a new courtesans’ union on Lamarr.”

“Lamarr? That’s nowhere.”

“Used to be. They found out its primary’s a tachyon nexus, though. Closest one to Deneb by several decaparsecs.

Within a year, there’ll be people crawling all over the planet. Looking for things to spend their money on while the ships refuel.”

Henry nodded. “Are they any good?”

“Supposedly. I have no direct experience, of course.” Joshua hadn’t always been a Magdalenist; he claimed that earlier vows bound him to celibacy. Actually, his experience with the courtesans’ union was both direct and of a rather impressive variety, considering that he had only been there for a day and a night. “Traveling men and women I talked to recommended it highly.”

“Quite so,” Henry said with a little smile. His bishop never drank in public, either.

“This Dr. Jones. What kind of a man is he?”

“A female one. Young for her post. I’ve never really talked to her. I get the impression she doesn’t approve of us.”

“At least she’s not the one who wrote the article. That was by John Avedon.”

Henry laughed. “What a coincidence. Her full name is Avedon Jones.”

“Oh, Lord. Set it up anyhow.”

4.

“This isn’t too heavy for you, is it?” Joshua strapped the cask on the back of the S’kang’s saddle. “Negatron. The Second Testament says ‘Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.’”

Joshua mumbled something and heaved himself aboard.

“Then three sentences later, it says ‘Every man shall bear his own burden.’ The geometry of this situation is very confusing.”

“You interpret the Word too literally. Are you comfortable, or would you rather have me walk?”

“Negatron. If you walk, I have to keep turning around to look at you.” One eyestalk peered over the carapace and sort of blinked; translucent iris membrane. They started down the path with a peculiar rippling gait.

The archeologists’ camp had a rough, unfinished look compared to the monastery’s comfortable solidity. Dusty off-white tents and domes scattered, seemingly at random, across a large area of packed earth—a sterile anti-oasis in a sea of flowers.

“Do you know which tent belongs to Dr. Jones?” he asked Balaam’s.

“Ay-firmative. But she won’t be there this time of day. Either at the site or in the office.”

“I have an appointment with her. I suppose the office would be best.” He checked his watch; they were five minutes early. “No, take me to the site first. I’d like to see what they’re doing.”

Joshua nodded hello to various people as he headed toward the middle of the camp. No one seemed surprised at the sight of a priest in vestments riding a huge bug, of course, and they seemed friendly enough though nobody offered conversation. Some smiled when they saw the wine.

The site was a precisely circular hole some three meters deep by ten meters wide. At the bottom of the hole, next to one side, the automatic digger sat and hummed to itself. Otto/Joshua had seen them before. It looked motionless but he knew it was making progress, analyzing the patch of soil it sat on, munching away a few millimeters at a time, crawling forward imperceptibly on a programmed spiral. If it detected something that might be an artifact, it would drop a marker, back away cautiously, and signal its human operator. The bottom of the pit was glass smooth, except for a half dozen small depressions where artifacts had been removed.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?” Joshua jumped; he hadn’t noticed the woman come up behind him.

“Avedon Jones, Bishop.” She stuck out a hand that was surprisingly large for her small frame (and surprisingly clean for an archeologist, Joshua thought) and favored him with a grip that left most of his hand bones intact.

“My pleasure,” Joshua said, and it was a pleasure, aside from the throbbing in his hand. Dr. Jones had a severe face, complicated by lines of concentration and fatigue, but both Joshua and Otto, sad to say, were inclined to take the main measure of a woman from the chin down. In that arena, the cells of Dr. Jones’s body were arranged with the same elegance and precision as those behind her skull: flawlessly. And hidden by only a practical minimum of clothing.

The bone-crushing handshake was a trick she had learned as an undergraduate. A man’s pupils will contract with sudden, unexpected pain, then dilate according to both the ambient light intensity and degree of sexual interest. She had had a good deal of practice in this technique—having chosen a profession that was ninety per cent male and required long periods of isolated field work—and she carefully watched the dark eyes of this supposedly celibate man while he stared in turn and tried to get his tongue into gear… and took his measure.