“Have confidence, my boy, and reveal your innermost feelings to me, and do not fear. What I hear shall never leave this room, for I am bound to secrecy by the oath of my calling. Unburden yourself.”
“That’s very nice of you, and I do feel better already. You see, this buddy of mine has always been a little funny, he shines the boots for all of us and volunteered for latrine orderly and doesn’t like girls.”
The chaplain nodded beatifically and fanned some of the incense toward his nose. “I see little here to worry you, he sounds a decent lad. For is it not written in the Vendidad that we should aid our fellow man and seek to shoulder his burdens and pursue not the harlots of the streets?”
Bill pouted. “That’s all right for Sunday school, but it’s no way to act in the troopers! Anyway, we just thought he was out of his mind, and he might have been-but that’s not all. I was with him on the gun deck, and he pointed his watch at the guns and pressed the stem, and I heard it click! It could be a camera. I … I think he is a Chinger spy!” Bill sat back, breathing deeply and sweating. The fatal words had been spoken.
The chaplain continued to nod, smiling, half-unconscious from the Haoma fumes. Finally he snapped out of it, blew his nose, and opened the thick copy of the Avesta. He mumbled aloud in Old Persian a bit, which seemed to brace him, then slammed it shut.
“You must not bear false witness!” he boomed, fixing Bill with piercing gaze and accusing finger.
“You got me wrong,” Bill moaned, writhing in the chair. “He’s done these things, I saw him use the watch. What kind of spiritual aid do you call this?”
“Just a bracer, my boy, a touch of the old-time religion to renew your sense of guilt and start you thinking about going to church regular again. You have been backsliding!”
“What else could I do-chapel is forbidden during recruit training?”
“Circumstances are no excuse, but you will be forgiven this time because Ahura Mazdah is all-merciful.”
“But what about my buddy-the spy?”
“You must forget your suspicions, for they are not worthy of a follower of Zoroaster. This poor lad must not suffer because of his natural inclinations to be friendly, to aid his comrades, to keep himself pure, to own a crummy watch that goes click. And besides, if you do not mind my introducing a spot of logic-how could he be a spy? To be a spy he would have to be a Chinger, and Chingers are seven feet tall with tails. Catch?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Bill mumbled unhappily. “I could figure that one out for myself-but it still doesn’t explain everything …”
“It satisfies me, and it must satisfy you. I feel that Ahriman has possessed you to make you think evil of your comrade, and you had better do some penance and join me in a quick prayer before the laundry officer comes back on duty.”
This ritual was quickly finished, and Bill helped stow the things back in the box and watched it vanish back into the desk. He said good-by and turned to leave.
“Just one moment, my son,” the chaplain said with his warmest smile, reaching back over his shoulder at the same time to grab the end of his necktie. He pulled, and his collar whirred about, and as it did the blissful expression was wiped from his face to be replaced by a surly snarl. “Just where do you think you’re going, bowb! Put your ass back in that chair.”
“B-but,” Bill stammered, “you said I was dismissed.”
“That’s what the chaplain said, and as laundry officer I have no truck with him. Now-fast-what’s the name of this Chinger spy you are hiding?”
“I told you about that under oath-”
“You told the chaplain about it, and he keeps his word and he didn’t tell me, but I just happened to hear.” He pressed a red button on the control panel. “The MPs are on the way. You talk before they get here, bowb, or I’ll have you keelhauled without a space suit and deprived of canteen privileges for a year. The name?”