Matheny puffed smoke and looked around. His
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feet ached from the weight on them. Where could a man sit down? It was hard to make out any individual sign, through all that shimmering neon. His eye fell on one distinguished by relative austerity.
THE CHURCH OF YOUR CHOICE
Enter, Rest, and Pray
That would do. He took an upward slideramp through several hundred feet of altitude, stepped past an aurora curtain, and found himself in a marble lobby next to an inspirational newsstand.
“Ah, brother, welcome,” said a redhaired usherette in demure black leotards. “The peace that passeth all understanding be with you. The restaurant is right up those stairs.”
“I … I’m not hungry,” stammered Matheny. “I just wanted to-sit in”
“To your left, sir.”
The Martian crossed the lobby. His pipe went out in the breeze from an animated angel. Organ music sighed through an open doorway. The series of rooms beyond was dim, Gothic, and interminable.
“Get your chips right here, sir,” said the girl in the booth.
“Hm?” said Matheny.
She explained. He bought a few hundred-dollar tokens, dropped a fifty-buck coin down the slot marked CONTRIBUTIONS, and sipped the martini he got back while he strolled around studying the games. It was a good martini, probably sold below cost. He decided that the roulette
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wheels were either honest or too deep for him. He’d have to relax with a crap game instead.
He had been standing at the table for some time before the rest of the congregation really noticed him. Then it was with awe. The first few passes he had made were unsuccessful, Earth gravity threw him off, but when he got the rhythm of it he tossed a row of sevens. It was a customary form of challenge on Mars. Here, though, they simply pushed chips toward him. He missed a throw as anyone would at home: simple courtesy. The next time around he threw for a seven just to get the feel. He got a seven. The dice had not been substituted on him.
“I say,” he exclaimed. He looked up into eyes and eyes, all around the green table. “I’m sorry. I guess I don’t know your rules.”
“You did all right, brother,” said a middle-aged lady with an obviously surgical nonbodice.
“ButI mean . .. when do we start actually playing? What happened to the cocked dice?”
“Sir!” The lady drew herself up and jutted an indignant prow at him. “This is a church!”
“Oh … I see . .. excuse me, I, I, I” Matheny backed out of the crowd, shuddering. He looked around for some place to hide his burning ears.
“You forgot your chips, pal,” said a voice.
“Oh. Thanks. Thanks ever so much. I, I, that is” Matheny cursed his knotting tongue. Damn it, just because they’re so much more sophisticated than I, do I have to talk like a leaky boiler?
The helpful Earthman was not tall, he was dark and chiselfaced and sleekly pomaded, dapper in blue pajamas with a red zig-zag, a
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sleighbell cloak and curly-toed slippers. “You’re from Mars, aren’t you?” he asked in the friendliest tone Matheny had yet heard.
“Yes. Yes, I am. M-my name’s Peter Matheny, I, I” He stuck out his hand to shake and chips rolled over the floor. “Damn! Oh, excuse me, I forgot this was a church. Never mind them! No, please, I just want to g-g-get the hell out of here.”
“Good idea. How about a drink? I know a bar downshaft.”
Matheny sighed. “A drink I need the very most.”
“My name’s Doran. Gus Doran. Call me Gus.” They walked back to the deaconette’s booth and Matheny cashed what remained of his winnings.
“I don’t want to, I mean, if you’re busy tonight, Mr. Doran”
“Nah. I am not doing one thing in particular. Besides, I have never met a Martian. I am very interested.”
“There aren’t many of us on Earth,” agreed Matheny. “Just a small embassy staff and an occasional like me.”
“I should think you would do a lot of traveling here. The old mother planet and so on.”