“The flag of that church will be blue and gold,” said Rumfoord. “These words will be written on that flag in gold letters on a blue field: Take Care of the People, and God Almighty Will Take Care of Himself.
“The two chief teachings of this religion are these,” said Rumfoord: “Puny man can do nothing at all to help or please God Almighty, and Luck is not the hand of God.
“Why should you believe in this religion, rather than any other?” said Rumfoord. “You should believe in it because I, as head of this religion, can work miracles, and the head of no other religion can. What miracles can I work? I can work the miracle of predicting, with absolute accuracy, the things that the future will bring.”
Rumfoord thereupon predicted fifty future events in great detail.
These predictions were carefully recorded by those present.
Needless to say, they all came true eventually – came true in great detail.
“The teachings of this religion will seem subtle and confusing at first,” said Rumfoord. “But they will become beautiful and crystal clear as time goes by.
“As a presently confusing beginning,” said Rumfoord, “I shall tell you a parable:
“Once upon a time, luck arranged things so that a baby named Malachi Constant was born the richest child on Earth. On the same day, luck arranged things so that a blind grandmother stepped on a rollerskate at the head of a flight of cement stairs, a policeman’s horse stepped on an organ-grinder’s monkey, and a paroled bank robber found a postage stamp worth nine hundred dollars in the bottom of a trunk in his attic. I ask you – is luck the hand of God?”
Rumfoord held up an index finger that was as translucent as a Limoges teacup. “During my next visit with you, fellow-believers,” he said. “I shall tell you a parable about people who do things that they think God Almighty wants done. In the meanwhile, you would do well, for background on this parable, to read everything ‘that you can lay your hands on about the Spanish Inquisition.
“The next time I come to you,” said Rumfoord, “I shall bring you a Bible, revised so as to be meaning. ful in modern times. And I shall bring you a short history of Mars, a true history of the saints who died in order that the world might be united as the Brotherhood of Man. This history will break the heart of every human being who has a heart that can be broken.”
Rumfoord and his dog dematerialized abruptly.
On the space ship out of Mars and bound for Mercury, on the space ship carrying Unk and Boaz, the automatic pilot-navigator decreed that it be day in the cabin again.
It was the dawn following the night in which Unk had told Boaz that the thing in Boaz’s pocket couldn’t hurt. anybody any more.
Unk was asleep on his bunk in a sitting position. His Mauser rifle, loaded and cocked, lay across his knees.
Boaz was not asleep. He was lying on his bunk across the cabin from Unk. Boaz had not slept a wink. He could now, if he wanted to, disarm and kill Unk easily.
But Boaz had decided that he needed a buddy far more than he needed a means of making people do exactly what he wanted them to. During the night, he had become very unsure of what he wanted people to do, anyway.
Not to be lonely, not to be scared – Boaz had decided that those were the important things in life. A real buddy could help more than anything.
The cabin was filled with a strange, rustling, coughing sound. It was laughter. It was Boaz’s laughter. What made it so strange was that Boaz had never laughed in that particular way before – had never laughed before at the things he was laughing at now.
He was laughing at the ferocious mess he was in – at the way he had pretended all his army life that he had understood everything that was going on, and that everything that was going on was just fine.
He was laughing at the dumb way he had let himself be used – by God knows who for God knows what.
“Holy smokes, buddy,” he said out loud, “what we doing way out here in space? What we doing in these here clothes? Who’s steering this fool thing? How come we climbed into this tin can? How come we got to shoot somebody when we get to where we’re going? How come he got to try and shoot us? How come?” said Boaz. “Buddy,” he said, “you tell me how come?”
Unk woke up, swung the muzzle of his Mauser around to Boaz.
Boaz went right on laughing. He took the control box out of his pocket, and he threw it on the floor. “I don’t want it, buddy,” he said. “That’s O.K. you went and tore its insides out. I don’t want it.”
And then he yelled, “I don’t want none of this crap!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
IN A HOLLYWOOD NIGHT CLUB
HARMONIUM – The only known form of life on the planet Mercury. The harmonium is a cave-dweller. A more gracious creature would be hard to imagine.
– A Child’s Cyclopedia
of Wonders and Things to Do.
The planet Mercury sings like a crystal goblet. It sings all the time.
One side of Mercury faces the Sun. That side has always faced the Sun. That side is a sea of white-hot. dust.
The other side faces the nothingness of space eternal. That side has always faced the nothingness of space eternal. That side is a forest of giant blue-white crystals, aching cold.
It is the tension between the hot hemisphere of day-without-end and the cold hemisphere of night-without-end that makes Mercury sing.
Mercury has no atmosphere, so the song it sings is for the sense of touch.
The song is a slow one. Mercury will hold a single note in the song for as long as an Earthling millennium. There are those who think that the song was quick, wild, and brilliant once – excruciatingly various. Possibly so.
There are creatures in the deep caves of Mercury.
The song their planet sings is important to them, for the creatures are nourished by vibrations. They feed on mechanical energy.
The creatures cling to the singing walls of their caves.
In that way, they eat the song of Mercury.
The caves of Mercury are cozily warm in their depths.
The walls of the caves in their depths are phosphorescent. They give off a jonquil-yellow light.
The creatures in the caves are translucent. When they cling to the walls, light from the phosphorescent walls comes right through them. The yellow light from the walls, however, is turned, when passed through the bodies of the creatures, to a vivid aquamarine.
The creatures in the caves look very much like small and spineless kites. They are diamond-shaped, a foot high and eight inches wide when fully mature.
They have no more thickness than the skin of a toy balloon.
Each creature has four feeble suction cups – one at each of its corners. These cups enable it to creep, something like a measuring worm, and to cling, and to feel out the places where the song of Mercury is best.
Having found a place that promises a good meal, the creatures lay themselves against the wall like wet wallpaper.
There is no need for a circulatory system in the creatures. They are so thin that life-giving vibrations can make all their cells tingle without intermediaries.
The creatures do not excrete.
The creatures reproduce by flaking. The young, when shed by a parent, axe indistinguishable from dandruff.
There is only one sex.
Every creature simply sheds flakes of his own kind, and his own kind is like everybody else’s kind.
There is no childhood as such. Flakes begin flaking three Earthling hours after they themselves have been shed.
They do not reach maturity, then deteriorate and die. They reach maturity and stay in full bloom, so to speak, for as long as Mercury cares to sing.
There is no way in which one creature can harm another, and no motive for one’s harming another.
Hunger, envy, ambition, fear, indignation, religion, and sexual lust are irrelevant and unknown.
The creatures have only one sense: touch.
They have weak powers of telepathy. The messages they are capable of transmitting and receiving are almost as monotonous as the song of Mercury. They have only two possible messages. The first is an automatic response to the second, and the second is an automatic response to the first.
The first is, “Here I am, here I am, here I am.”
The second is, “So glad you are, so glad you are, so glad you are.”
There is one last characteristic of the creatures that has not been explained on utilitarian grounds: the creatures seem to like to arrange themselves in striking patterns on the phosphorescent walls.