Farmer Philip Jose - Father Carmody 00.2 Read online

  Father

  by PHILIP JOSE FARMER

  The first mate of the Gull looked up from the navigation desk and pointed to the magnified figures cast upon the information screen by the spoolmikc.

  “If this is correct, sir, we’re a hundred thousand kilometers from the second planet. There are ten planets in this system. Luckily, one is inhabitable. The second one.”

  He paused. Captain Tu looked curiously at him, for the man was very pale and had ironically accented the luckily.

  “Sir, the second planet must be Abatos.”

  The captain’s swarthy skin whitened to match the mate’s. His mouth opened as if to form an oath, then clamped shut. At the same time his right hand made an abortive gesture towards his forehead, as if he had meant to touch it. His hand dropped.

  “Very well, Mister Givens. We shall make an attempt to land. That is all we can do. Stand by for further orders.”

  He turned away so none could see his face.

  “Abatos, Abatos,” he murmured. He licked his dry lips and locked his hands behind his back.

  Two short buzzes sounded. Midshipman Nkrumah passed his hand over an activating plate and said, “Bridge,” to a plate that sprang into life and color on the wall. A steward’s face appeared.

  “Sir, please inform the captain that Bishop Andre? and Father Carmody are waiting for him in cabin 7.”

  Captain Tu glanced at the bridge clock and tugged at the silver crucifix that hung from his right ear. Givens, Nkrumah, and Merkalov watched him intently, though they looked to one side when their eyes met his. He smiled grimly when he saw their expressions, unlocked his hands, and straightened his back. It was as if he knew his men were depending on him to preserve a calm that would radiate confidence in his ability to get them to safety. So, for a half minute, he posed monolithic in his sky-blue uniform that had not changed since the Twenty-First Century. Though it was well known that he felt a little ridiculous when he wore it planet- side, when he was on his ship he walked as a man clad in armor. If coats and trousers were archaic and seen only at costume balls or in historical stereos or on officers of interstellar vessels, they did give a sense of apartness and of glamor and helped enforce discipline. The captain must have felt as if he needed every bit of confidence and respect he could muster. Thus, the conscious striking of the pose; here was the thoughtful and unnervous skipper who was so sure of himself that he could take time to attend to social demands.

  “Tell the bishop I’ll be in to see him at once,” he ordered the midshipman.

  He strode from the bridge, passed through several corridors, and entered the small lounge. There he paused in the doorway to look the passengers over. All except the two priests were there. None of them as yet was aware that the Gull was not merely going through one of the many transitions from normal space to perpendicular space. The' two young lovers, Kate Lejeune and Pete Masters, were sitting in one corner on a sofa, holding hands and whispering softly and every now and then giving each other looks that ached with suppressed passion. At the other end of the room Mrs. Recka sat at a table playing double solitaire with the ship’s doctor, Chandra Blake. She was a tall voluptuous blonde whose beauty was spoiled by an incipient double chin and dark halfmoons under eyes. The half-empty bottle of bourbon on the table told of the origin of her dissipated appearance; those who knew something of her personal history also knew that it was responsible for her being on the Gull. Separated from her husband on Wildenwooly, she was going home to her parents on the faraway world of Diveboard on the Galaxy’s rim. She’d been given the choice of him or the bottle and had preferred the simpler and more transportable item. As she was remarking to the doctor when the captain entered, bourbon never criticized you or called you a drunken slut.

  Chandra Blake, a short dark man with prominent cheekbones and large brown eyes, sat with a fixed smile and flickering gaze. He was very embarrassed at her loud conversation but was too polite to leave her.

  Captain Tu touched his cap as he passed the four and smiled at their greetings, ignoring Mrs. Recka’s invitation to sit at her table. Then he went down a long hall and pressed a button by the door of cabin 7.

  It swung open and he strode in, a tall stiff gaunt man who looked as if he were made of some dark inflexible metal, stopped abruptly, and performed the seeming miracle of bending forward. He did so to kiss the bishop’s extended hand, and with a lack of grace and a reluctance that took all the meaning out of the act. When he straightened up again, he almost gave the impression of sighing with relief. It was obvious that the captain liked to unbend to no man.

  He opened his mouth as if to give them at once the unhappy news, but Father John Carmody pressed a drink into his hand.

  “A toast, captain, to a quick trip to Ygdrasil,” said Father John in a low gravelly voice. “We enjoy being aboard, but we’ve reason for haste in getting to our destination.”

  “I will drink to your health and His Excellency’s,” said Tu in a harsh clipped voice. “As for the quick trip, I’m afraid we’ll need a little prayer. Maybe more than a little.”

  Father Carmody raised extraordinarily thick and tufted eyebrows but said nothing. This act of silence told much about his inner reactions, for he was a man who must forever be talking. He was short and fat, about 40, had heavy jowls, a thick shock of blue-black slightly wavy hair, bright blue and somewhat bulging eyes, a drooping left eyelid, a wide thick mouth, and a long sharp rocket-shaped nose. He quivered and shook and bounced with energy; he must always be on the move lest he explode; must be turning his hand to this and that, poking his nose here and there, must be laughing and chattering, must give the impression of vibrating inside with a great tuning fork.

  Bishop Andre, standing beside him, was so tall and still and massive that he looked like an oak turned into a man, with Carmody the squirrel that raced around at his feet. His superb shoulders and arching chest and lean belly and calves bursting with muscle told of great strength rigidly controlled and kept at a prizefighter’s peak. His features did justice to the physique; he had a large high-cheekboned head topped by a mane of lion-yellow hair. Ills eyes were a glowing golden-green, his nose straight and classical in. profile though too narrow and pinched when seen from the front; his mouth full and red and deeply, indented at the corners. The bishop, like Father John, was the darling of the ladies of the diocese of Wilden- wooly, but for a different reason.. Father John was fun to be arouncL He made them giggle and laugh and made even their most serious proh? lems seem not insurmountable. But Bishop Andre made them weak- kneed when he looked into their eyes. He was the kind of priest who caused them regret that he was not available for marrying. The worst part of that was that His Excellency knew the effect he had and hated it. At times he had been downright curt and was always just a little standoffish. But no woman could long remain offended at him. Indeed, as was well known, the Bishop owed some of his meteoric rise to the efforts of the ladies behind the scenes. Not that he wasn’t more than capable; it was just that he’d attained his rank faster than might have been expected.

  Father John poured out a drink from a wine bottle, then filled two glasses with lemonade.

  “I shall drink of thevine,” he said. "‘You, Captain, will be forced to gag down this non-alcoholic beverage because you are on duty. His Excellency, however, refuses the cup that cheers, except as a sacrament, for reasons of principle. As for me, I take a little wine for my stomach’s sake.”

  He patted his large round paunch. “Since my belly constitutes so much of me, anything I take for it I also take for my entire being. Thus, not only my entrails benefit, but my whole bxxly glows with good health and joy and calls for some more to
nic. Unfortunately, the bishop sets such an unendurably good example for me, I must restrain myself to this single cup. This, in spite of the fact that I am suffering from a perilous toothache and could dull the pain with an extra glass or two.”

  Smiling, he looked over the rim of his glass at Tu, who was grinning in spite of his tension, and at the bishop, whose set features and dignified bearing made him look like a lion deep in thought.

  “Ah, forgive me, Your Excellency,” said the padre. “I cannot help feeling that you are most immoderate in your temperance, but I should not have intimated as much. Actually, your asceticism is a model for all of us to admire, even if we haven’t the strength of character to imitate it.”

  “You are forgiven, John,” said the Bishop gravely. “But I’d prefer that you confine your raillery — for I cannot help thinking that that is what it is — to times when no one else is around. It is not good for you to speak in such a manner before others, who might think you hold your bishop in some measure of contempt.”

  “Now, God forgive me, I meant no such thing!” cried Carmody. “As a matter of fact, my levity is directed at myself, because I enjoy too much the too-good things of this life, and instead of putting on wisdom and holiness, add another inch to my waistline.”

  Captain Tu shifted uneasily, then suppressed his telltale movements. Obviously, this mention of God outside of church walls embarrassed him. Also, there just was no time to be chattering about trivial things.

  “Let’s drink to our good healths,” he said. He gulped his ade. Then, setting the glass on the table with an air of finality as if he would never get a chance to drink again, he said, “The news I have is bad. Our translator engine cut out about an hour ago and left us stranded in normal space. The chief says he can’t find a thing wrong with it, yet it won’t work. He has no idea of how to start it again. He’s a thoroughly competent man, and when he admits defeat, the problem is unsolvable.”

  — There was silence for a minute. Then Father John said, “How close are we to an inhabitable planet?”

  “About a hundred thousand kilometers,” replied Tu, tugging at the silver crucifix hanging from his car. Abruptly realizing that he was betraying his anxiety, he let his hand fall to his side.

  The padre shrugged his shoulders. “We’re not in free fall, so there’s nothing wrong with our interplanetary drive. Why can’t we set down on this planet?”

  “We’re going to try to. But I’m not confident of our success. The planet is Abatos.”

  Carmody whistled and stroked the side of his long nose, Andre’s bronzed face paled.

  The little priest set down his glass and made a moue of concern.

  “That is bad.” He looked at the bishop. “May I tell the captain why we’re so concerned about getting to Ygdrasil in a hurry?”

  Andre nodded, his eyes downcast as if he were thinking of something that concerned the other two not at all.

  “His Excellency,” said Carmody, “left Wildenwooly for Ygdrasil because he thought he was suffering from hermit fever.”

  The captain flinched but did not step back from his position close to the bishop. Carmody smiled and said, “You needn’t worry about catching it. He doesn’t have it. Some of his symptoms matched those of hermit fever, but an examination failed to disclose any microbes. Not only that, His Excellency didn’t develop a typical anti-social behavior. But the doctors decided he should go to Ygdrasil, where they have better facilities than those on Wildenwooly, which is still rather primitive, you know. Also, there’s a Doctor Reudenbach there, a specialist in cpileptoid diseases. It was thought best to see him, as His Excellency’s condition was not improving.”

  Tu held out his palms in a gesture of helplessness.

  “Believe me, Your Excellency, this news saddens me and makes me regret even more this accident. But there is nothing . . .”

  Andre came out of his reverie. For the first time, he smiled, a slow, warm, and handsome smile. “What are my troubles compared to yours? You have the responsibility of this vessel and its expensive cargo. And, far more important, the welfare of twenty-five souls.”

  He began pacing back and forth, speaking in his vibrant voice.

  “We’ve all heard of Abatos. We know what it may mean if the translator doesn’t begin working again. Or if we meet the same fate as those other ships that tried to land on it. We are about eight light years from Ygdrasil and six from Wildenwooly, which means we can’t get to either place in normal drive. We either get the translator started or else land. Or remain in space until we die.’’

  “And even if we are allowed to make planetfall,” said Tu, “we may spend the rest of our lives on Abatos.”

  A moment later, he left the cabin. He was halted by Carmody, who had slipped out after him.

  “When are you going to tell the other passengers?”

  Tu looked at his watch.

  “In two hours. By then we’ll know whether or not Abatos will let us pass. I can’t put off telling them any longer, because they’ll know something’s up. We should •have been falling to Ygdrasil by now.”

  “The bishop is praying for us all now,” said Carmody. “I shall concentrate my own request on an inspiration for the engineer. He’s going to need it.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that translator,” said Tu flatly, “except that it won’t work.”

  Carmody looked shrewdly at him from under his thatched eyebrows and stroked the side of his nose.

  “You think it’s not an accident that the engine cut out?”

  “I’ve been in many tough spots before,” replied Tu, “and I’ve been scared. Yes, scared. I wouldn’t tell any man except you — or maybe some other priest — but I have been frightened. Oh, I know it’s a weakness, maybe even a sin . . .”

  Here Carmody raised his eyebrows in amazement and perhaps a little awe of such an attitude.

  “. . . but I just couldn’t seem to help it, though I swore that Pd never again feel that way, and I never allowed anyone to see it. My wife always said that if I’d allow myself now and then to show a little weakness, not much, just a little . . . Well, perhaps that may have been why she left me, I don’t know, and it doesn’t really matter any more, except . . .”

  Suddenly realizing that he was wandering, the captain stopped, visibly braced himself, squared his shoulders, and said, “Anyway, Father, this set-up scares me worse than I’ve ever been scared. Why,

  I couldn’t exactly tell you. But I’ve a feeling that Something caused that cut-out and for a purpose we won’t like when we find out. All I have to base my reasoning on is what’s happened to those other three ships. You know, everybody’s read about them, how the Hoyle landed and was never heard of again, how the Priam investigated its disappearance and couldn’t get any closer than fifty kilometers because her normal space drive failed, and how the cruiser Toyo tried to bull its way in with its drive dead and only escaped because it had enough velocity to take it past the fifty kilo limit. Even so, it almost burned up when it was going through the stratosphere.”

  “What I can’t understand,” said Carmody, “is how such an agent could affect us while we’re in translation. Theoretically, we don’t even exist in normaL space then.”

  Tu tugged at the crucifix. “Yes, I know. But we’re here. Whatever did this has a power unknown to man. Otherwise It wouldn’t be able to pinpoint us in translation so close to Its home planet.”

  Carmody smiled cheerfully. “What’s there to worry about? If it can haul us in like fish in a net, it must want us to land. So we don’t have to fret about planetfall.” Suddenly, he grimaced with pain. “This perilous rotten molar of mine,” he explained. “I was going to have it pulled and a bud put in when I got to Ygdrasil. And I’d sworn to quit eating so much of that chocolate of which I’m perilously overfond and which has already cost me the loss of several teeth. And now I must pay for my sins, for I was in such a hurry I forgot to bring along any painkiller, except for the wine. Or was that a Freudian sl
ip?” “Doctor Blake will have pain pills.”

  Carmody laughed. “So he does! Another convenient oversight! I’d hoped to confine myself to the natural medicine of the grape, and ignore the tasteless and enervating laboratory-born nostrums. But I have too many people looking out for my welfare. Well, such is the price of popularity.”

  He slapped Tu on the shoulder. “There’s adventure awaiting us, Bill. Let’s get going.”

  The captain did not seem to resent the familiarity. Evidently, he’d known Carmody for a long time.

  “I wish I had your courage, Father.”

  “Courage!” snorted the priest. “I’m shaking in my hair shirt. But we must take what God sends us, and if we can like it, all the better.”

  Tu allowed himself to smile. “I like you because you can say something like that without sounding false or unctuous or — uh — priestly. I know you mean it.”

  “You’re blessed well right I do!” answered Carmody, then shifted from chceriness to a more grave tone. “Seriously, though, Bill, I do hope we can get going soon. The bishop is in a bad way. He looks healthy, but he’s liable at any moment to have an attack. If he does, I’ll be pretty busy with him for a while. I can’t tell you much more about him because he wouldn’t want me to. Like you, he hates to confess to any weakness; he’ll probably reprimand me when I go back to the cabin for having mentioned the matter to you. That’s, one reason why he has said nothing to Doctor Blake. When he has one of his . . . spells, he doesn't like anyone but me to take care of him. And he resents that little bit of dependency."

  “It's pretty bad, then? Hard to believe. He’s such a healthy-looking man; you wouldn’t want to tangle with him in a scrap. He’s a good man, too. Righteous as they make them. I remember one sermon he gave us at St. Pius’ on Lazy Fair. Gave us hell and scared me into living a clean life for all of three weeks. The saints themselves must have thought they’d have to move over for me, and then . . .”

  Seeing the look in Carmody’s eyes, Tu stopped, glanced at his watch, and said, “Well, I’ve a few minutes to spare, and I’ve not been doing as well as I might, though I suppose we all could say that, eh, Father? Could we step into your cabin? There’s no telling what might happen in the next few hours, and I’d like to be prepared.’’