"Heinlein, Robert A - Sixth Column" - читать интересную книгу автора (Heinlein Robert A)
"I know it's a tough assignment, fella, but a lot depends on it. If we can make use of their own customs and rules to establish a precedent right now which sets us up as a legitimate religion, entitled to all the usual immunities, we've got half the battle won."
"Suppose they ask for my identification card?"
"If you carry yourself with sufficient arrogance they will never get around to asking for it. Just think about the typical clubwoman and try to show that much bulge. I want 'em to get used to the idea that anyone with the staff and the robes and the halo carries his identification just in his appearance. It will save us trouble later."
"I'll try-but I'm not promising anything."
"I think you can do it. Anyhow, you are going out equipped with enough stuff to keep you safe. Keep your shield turned on whenever you are around any of 'em. Don't try to account for it in any way; just let 'em bounce off it, if they close in on you. It's a miracle-no need to explain."
"O. K."
The lieutenant's report was not satisfactory to his superiors. As for that, it was not satisfactory to himself. He felt an acute sense of loss of personal honor, of face, which the words of his immediate superior did nothing to lessen. "You, an officer in the army of the Heavenly Emperor, have permitted yourself to look small in the eyes of a subject race. What have you to say?"
"Your forgiveness, sire!"
"Not for me-it is a matter for you to settle with your ancestors."
"I hear, sire!" He caressed the short sword which hung at his side.
"Let there be no haste; I intend for you to tell your tale in person to the Imperial Hand."
The local Hand of the Emperor, military governor of that region which included Denver and the Citadel, was no more pleased than his junior. "What possessed you to enter their holy place? These people are childlike, excitable. Your action could be the regrettable cause of assassinations of many more valuable than yourself. We cannot be forever wasting slaves to teach them lessons."
"I am unworthy, sire."
"I do not dispute that. You may go." The lieutenant departed, to join, not his family, but his ancestors.
The Imperial Hand turned to his adjutant. "We will probably be petitioned by this cult. See that the petitioners are pacified and assured that their gods will not be disturbed. Note the characteristics of the sect and send out a general warning to deal gently with it." He sighed. "These savages and their false gods! I grow weary of them. Yet they are necessary; the priests and the gods of slaves always fight on the side of the Masters. It is a rule of nature."
"You have spoken, sire."
Ardmore was glad to see Thomas return to the Citadel. In spite of his confidence in Jeff's ability to handle himself in a tight place, in spite of the assurance that Calhoun had given him that the protective shield, properly handled, would protect the wearer from anything that the PanAsian could bring on it, he had been in a state of nerves ever since Thomas had set out to register a complaint with the Asiatic authorities. After all, the attitude of the PanAsians toward local religions might be one of bare toleration rather than special encouragement.
"Welcome home, old boy!" he shouted, pounding him on the back. "I'm glad to see your ugly face-tell me what happened?"
"Give me time to get out of this bloody bathrobe, and I'll tell you. Got a cigarette? That's a bad point about being a holy man; they don't smoke."
"Sure. Here. Had anything to eat?"
"Not recently."
Ardmore flipped the intercommunicator to Kitchen. "Alec, rustle up some groceries for Lieutenant Thomas. And tell the troops they can hear his story if they come around to my office."
"Ask him if he has any avocados."
Ardmore did so. "He says they're still in quick freeze, but he'll thaw one out. Now let's have your story. What did Little Red Riding Hood say to the wolf?"
"I don't think he understood much English. He seemed startled at my manner, and got hold of another flatface to help him. This one knew more English and I repeated my request. They palavered in that damned singsong tongue of theirs, then conducted me to the palace of the Emperor's Hand. We made quite a procession-one on each side and me walking fast so that I kept about even or a little in front of them."
"Good advertising," Ardmore approved.
"That's what I thought. Anyway, they got me there and I told my story to some underofficial. The results astounded me. I was whisked right straight up to the Hand himself."
"The hell you say!"
"Wait a minute-here's the pay-off: I'll admit I was scared, but I said to myself 'Jeff, old boy, if you start to crawl now, you'll never get out of here alive.' I knew a white man is expected to drop to his knees before an official of that rank. I didn't; I gave him the same standing benediction I had given his flunkies. And he let me get away with it! He looked me over and said, 'I thank you for your blessing, Holy One. You may approach.' He speaks excellent English, by the way.
"Well, I gave him a reasonably accurate version of what happened here-the official version, you understand-and he asked me a few questions."
"What sort of questions?"
"In the first place he wanted to know if my religion recognized the authority of the Emperor. I assured him that it did, that our followers were absolutely bound to obey temporal authority in all temporal matters, but that our creed commanded us to worship the true gods in our own fashion. Then I gave him a long theological spiel. I told him that all men worshipped God, but that God had a thousand attributes, each one a mystery. God in his wisdom had seen fit to appear to different races in different attributes because it was not seemly for servant and master to worship in the same fashion. Because of that, the six attributes of Mota, of Shaam, of Mens, of Tamar, of Barmac, and of Dis had been set aside for the white men, just as the Heavenly Emperor was an attribute reserved for the race of Master."
"How did he take it?"
"I gathered that he thought it was very sound doctrine-for slaves. He asked me what my church did besides holding services, and I told him that our principal desire is to minister to the poor and sick. He seemed pleased at that. I have an impression that our gracious overlords are finding relief a very serious problem."
"Relief? Do they give any relief?"
"Not exactly. But if you load prisoners into concentration camps you have to feed them something. The internal economy has largely broken down and they haven't got it straightened out yet. I think they would welcome a movement which would relieve them from worrying too much over how to feed the slaves."
"H-m-m-m. Anything else?"
"Nothing much. I assured him again that we, as spiritual leaders, were forbidden by our doctrines to have anything to do with politics, and he told me that we would not be molested in the future. Then he dismissed me. I repeated my benediction, turned my back on him, and stomped out."
"It seems to me," said Ardmore, "that you pretty thoroughly sold him a bill of goods."
"I wouldn't be too sure, Chief. That old scoundrel is shrewd and Machiavellian. I shouldn't call him a scoundrel, because he's not by his standards. He's a statesman. I've got to admit he impressed me. Look-these PanAsians can't be stupid; they've conquered and held half a world, hundreds of millions of people. If they tolerate local religions, it's because they have found it to be smart politics. We've got to keep them thinking so in our case, in the face of smart and experienced administrators."
"No doubt you're right. We certainly must be careful not to underestimate them."
"I hadn't quite finished. Another escort picked me up on the way out of the palace and stayed with me. I walked along, paying no attention to them. My route out of town took me through the central market. There were hundreds of whites there, lined up in queues, waiting for a chance to buy food on their ration cards. I got an idea and decided to find out just how far my immunity extended. I stopped and climbed up on a box and started to preach to them."
Ardmore whistled. "Cripes, Jeff, you shouldn't have taken a chance like that!"
"But, Major, we needed to know, and I was fairly certain that the worst that could happen would be that they would make me stop."
"Well . . . yes, I suppose so. Anyhow the job requires that we take chances and you have to use your own judgment. Boldness may be the safest policy. Sorry I spoke-what happened?"
"My escort seemed dumbfounded at first, and not certain what to do. I went right ahead, watching them out of the corner of my eye. Pretty soon they were joined by a chappie who seemed to be senior to them. They held a confab, and the senior cop went away. He came back in about five minutes, and just stood there, watching me. I gathered that he had phoned in and had received instructions to let me alone."
"How did the crowd take it?"
"I think they were most impressed by the apparent fact that a white man was breaking one of the rules of the overlords and getting away with it. I didn't try to tell them much. I took as my text, The Disciple is coming!' and embroidered it with a lot of glittering generalities. I told them to be good boys and girls and not to be afraid, for the Disciple was coming to feed the hungry and heal the sick and console the bereaved."
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