Harry Harrison - SSR 09 - The Stainless Steel Rat Goes to He

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CHAPTER 1

I POURED A GOOD MEASURE of whiskey over the ice, scowled at it-then added a splash more.

But, as I lifted the glass and drank it with glugging pleasure, my raised eyes drifted across the

clock that was set into the wall above the bar. It was just ten in the morning.

"My, my, Jim, you are hitting the sauce a little earlier each day," I growled wordlessly.

So what? It was my liver wasn't it? I gurgled the glass empty just as the house computer spoke to

me in rich, educated-and possibly sneering?-tones.

"Someone is approaching the front door, Sire."

"Great. Perhaps it is the booze shop delivery?" Venom dripped from my voice; but all

Computers are immune to sarcasm.

"Indeed not, Sire, for Garry's Grog and Groceries delivers by freight tube. I identify the

person approaching as Rowena Vinicultura. She has stopped her popcar on the front lawn and is

emerging from it."

My morale plummeted as the name slithered across my eardrums. Of all the beautiful bores

on Lussuoso, Rowena was possibly the most beautiful-and certainly the most boring. I had to flee-

or commit suicide-before she came in. I was already heading for the back of the house, to possibly

drown myself in the swimming pool, when the housebot's computer voice stopped me in my tracks.

"Ms. Vinicultura appears to have fallen down onto the plastic mat outside the door that

spells Out WELCOME in six languages."

"What do you mean fallen?"

"I believe the description is an apt one. She closed her eyes and her body became limp.

Then she descended slowly towards the ground and is now lying, unmoving, with her eyes still

closed. Her pulse appears to be slow and irregular as detected by the pressure plate in the mat.

Lacerations and bruises on her face..."

The thing's voice followed me as I ran back through the house.

"Open the door!" I shouted. It swung wide and I dived through.

Her cameo face was pale, her dark hair tousled gracefully, her ample bosom rising and

falling slowly. There was blood on her cheeks and a darkening bruise on her forehead. Her lips

moved and I leaned close.

"Gone she said, barely audible. "Angelina...gone..."

It felt as though my body temperature had dropped thirty degrees. This did not slow me in

the slightest. While I was still reaching down for her I managed to tap the number 666 into my

wrist communicator.

"Where is the home medical treatment center?" I shouted as I slipped my arms under warm

thighs, soft back, and lifted her as carefully as I could.

"The settee in the library, Sire."

I ran, ignoring the cold knot of despair her words had punched into me. Since both

Angelina and I were strenuously healthy we had never used the medical services in this house. I

had glanced at the specs when I signed the rental agreement; with the price we were paying, the

medical arrangements should equal that of a provincial hospital at least. By the time I had

carried Rowena to the library the settee had vanished into the wall and an examining bed had risen

in its place. Even as I laid her on the bed the detectors were snaking down from the medbot that

had popped out of the ceiling. An analyzer fastened onto the back of my neck and I slapped it

away.

"Not me! Her, on the bed, you moronic machine."

I stepped back out of reach while it set to work with mechanical enthusiasm. A glistening

row of readouts sprang to life on the screen. Everything from temperature and pulse to endocrine

balance, liver function, hair-follicle growth and anything else that could be measured or assessed

was there.

"Speak! Tell!" I commanded and there was a rustle of electronic activity as the various

expert programs shuffled and sorted their input, compared and interacted and agreed on the results

in a speedy microsecond.

"The patient is concussed and contused." The computer-generated voice was deep, male and

reassuring. "The bruises are superficial and have been cleansed and sealed," there was a scurry of

flashing apparatus, "and the appropriate antibiotics injected."

"Bring her to!" I snapped

"If you mean, sir, that you wish the patient restored to consciousness that is now being

done." If a computer can sound miffed-this one was miffed.

"Whasha?" she muttered, blinking lovely purple eyes that were blurrily Out of focus.

"You've got to do better than that with her," I said. "Stimulants, something. I must talk

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to her."

"The patient has been traumatized.."

"But not badly-you told me that. Now get her to talk, you overpriced collection of memory

chips or I'll short-circuit your ROM, PROM and EPROM!"

This seemed to do the job. Her eyes blinked again and looked at me.

"Jim..."

"In the flesh, Rowena my sweet. You're going to be fine. Now tell me about Angelina."

"Gone.", she said. And fluttered her luxurious eyelashes.

I felt my teeth grating together and forced a smile.

"You said that before. Gone where? Gone why? Gone when-" I shut up since I was getting

into a rut.

"The Temple of Eternal Truth...", was all that she said as her eyes closed again. It was

enough.

I shouted to the housebot as I bolted out the door.

"Cure her. Guard her. Call an ambulance."

I did not mention the police since I didn't want their flatfooted presence interfering

with my investigation.

"Switch on!" I shouted to the atomcycle as I jumped into the garage. "Door open!"

I landed in the saddle, hit full power and tore off the bottom half of the garage door, it

wasn't opening fast enough, as we burst through it. I managed to miss a strolling couple on the

pavement, shot between two vehicles and roared down the road, Shouting into the atomcycle's phone

since it would be nice to know where I was going.

"Adlufo. Emergency access. The Temple of Eternal Truth- coordinates."

A street map was projected onto the now-cracked windscreen and I screeched tires around

the first corner. As I straightened out I saw that the com light was blinking. It could only be an

answer to my emergency call since only Angelina, James or Bolivar could access this number after

that call went out.

"Angelina is that you?!" I shouted. "Bolivar here. What's up, Dad?"

I explained briefly and curtly, then repeated myself when James signed on. I had no idea

where they were-I would find out later-but it was enough to know that they were informed and on

the way. This was the first time we had used the 666 call. Major emergency. Drop everything and

assemble. I had set it up when they had left home and both gone their individual ways. To help

them in the future, I had imagined; now I was the one who was calling. They clicked off, not

wasting my time or attention with needless comments. They were listening and would be here.

I blasted around the last corner and stood on the brakes.

Oily smoke was billowing into the air-already dying down as white spray from a fire copter

played over the wrecked building. The cold clutch on my chest was physical now. I took a moment to

regain control, to breathe carefully. Then ran towards the ruins. Two men in blue uniforms were in

my way and both sprawled and bounced. Then there was a bigger one before me with lots of gold

braid; massed minions closed ranks behind him. I got control of my adrenaline-zapped reflexes and

put my brain into gear.

"My name is diGriz. I've reason to believe that my wife is in there."

"If you will step back and-"

"No." I spat the word like venom and he recoiled automatically. "I pay taxes. Lots of

taxes. To pay you. I am more experienced in police operations than you are." I neglected to add on

which side of the law I had gained that experience. "What do you know about this?"

"Nothing. Fire and police have just arrived. There was an automatic alarm call."

"I'll tell you what I know. This is-or was-the Temple of Eternal Truth. A survivor just

came to my house. Rowena Vinicultura. She said that my wife was here."

I could hear the police computer buzzing in his earphone. "Admiral Sir James diGriz. We

will do everything we can to find your wife. . . Angelina. I am Captain Collin and I note that

your status permits you to accompany this investigation under your owncognizance and

responsibility."

Purely by reflex I had established my forged bona fides as an Admiral of the Fleet when we

had first come to Lussuoso. Basic precautions always pay off.

We followed a large and well-insulated firefightbot into the ruins. It plowed a careful

path, occasionally spraying a smoking remnant, recording for later examination every movement that

it made, every obstacle it put aside. A hanging door screeched and fell and we entered the smoking

interior of what had been a good-sized meeting hall. Roblights suspended from whining blades

floated by above us and illuminated the smoke filled interior.

Destruction on all sides-but no bodies to be seen. The cold knot was still in my midriff.

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The room had been seriously decorated with carved wood paneling and-now smoking- draperies. Rows

of pews faced towards the destroyed side of the room where the smoke was thickest. Precipitators

soon cleared the air and the floating lights glinted from wrecked and twisted machinery.

"We'll hold it here," Captain Collin said. "The disaster team takes over now."

The disaster team was embodied in a single metallic gray robot. It was undoubtedly packed

full of expert programs produced in collaboration with fire and forensic investigators, along with

detectors and probes of microscopic efficiency. Logically I knew it would do an infinitely better

job than we fumbling humans: I still wanted to kick it aside and rush in.

"Do you see any. . . bodies?" I called out.

"No living creatures. No corpses of humans or animals detected. No-yes. Correction. Red

liquid on the floor. Detection processing. It is human blood."

My throat was almost closed. My voice grated and I had trouble talking. "Primary test.

Blood type?"

"Testing. 0 positive, Rh negative."

I didn't hear the rest-nor did it matter. Angelina was a sturdy type B-and Rh positive. I

relaxed, but only so slightly.

In a very few minutes two important facts were made clear. Other than the drops of blood,

there were no visible human remains or traces of anyone living or dead. There was the ruined hail

and next t9 it the burnt and crushed room that had held large amounts of electronic equipment. All

of it now apparently-and deliberately-destroyed beyond any possibility of recognition.

But where was Angelina?

I waited until the ruined building had been examined and reexamined. Nothing new was

discovered and I was just wasting my time at the site. The police had vetted every spacer that had

left the planet since the explosion and would keep on doing so.

Neither Angelina-nor even anyone who resembled her in the slightest-had been recorded as

being aboard any of them. There was nothing I could do here.

I drove slowly home, obeying all traffic regulations. Stopping for pedestrians and waving

them on. I rolled through the remains of the garage door and parked the bike. Went straight to

the bar where I threw out the flat drink sitting there and prepared a small but stiff replacement

before I dug into the E-mail printouts. The twins were on the way. Both were off-planet so it

would be a few days at least before they arrived. They did not go into details but I knew that

they were now buying, cajoling, bribing-perhaps stealing-the fastest means of transportation in

the known universe. They would be here. Our little clan may have rejected the outside worlds and

their values-but this made our own cohesion that much stronger.

But now we had to wait for plodding technology to sift, examine and assess the ruins of

the Temple of Eternal Truth-and present a coherent picture of what had happened there. There was

nothing I could do until I got the police report. I tried to contact Rowena in the hospital but

was given the brush-off. Querying her more would have to wait until she had recovered a bit.

Lussuoso was rich and technically efficient and would do the search-and-analyze job as well as-or

better than-any other planet we had visited. I hated this place but gave it all credit for

technical competence. My mind kept trying to numerate all the terrible possibilities of Angelina's

disappearance....

Don't dwell on it, Jim, I told myself firmly. You have chosen to lead what others might

consider a strange and possibly criminal life. I began to wish I had stayed with crookery and away

from the Special Corps. I was always uneasy on the right side of the law. Even more I regretted

coming here. Yet it had seemed like a good idea at the time.

This was a paradise planet and unbelievably expensive. To move here I had had to tap into

bank accounts untouched for years. I even had to draw in some long-overdue debts and that had not

been easy to do. I mean not easy in the sense of heavy weapons and a number of people in the

hospital before the accounts were closed. A life of crime is not always profitable- particularly

when I had some unwelcome assignments from the Special Corps. Certainly my saving the universe had

been exciting, but not money-making in the slightest. The same thing happened when I ran for

president of Paraiso Aqui. Good fun, but again no money involved. So between these kinds of legal

jobs, Angelina and I had done a number of other jobs that filled our coffers while depleting those

of others. Enough had been stored away for a rainy day that had proved to be a sunny one here. It

had all been well worth it since Angelina was happier here than she bad ever been before. I even

forgot how much I hated the place when she smiled and kissed me. It had all started simply enough.

"Have you ever heard of Lussuoso?" she had asked.

"A new drink-or something you rub onto the skin?"

"Don't always play the fool, Jim diGriz. I mean every day there is something about it in

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the news-"

"Vicarious thrills and sheer jealousy. There isn't one person in a trillion who could even

afford a day's visit there."

"We could. I'm sure."

"Of course-"

Of course. Famous Last Words. Springing to my lips engendered by relaxation and mental

sloth. By hindsight it was obvious that every word of that simple conversation was planned and

orchestrated by my dearest. She was a woman who, when she knew what she wanted done, got it done.

Lussuoso. Famous in myth and legend and galactic soap operas. A paradise planet. Populated

only by the very, very rich and those who were richer. I had been intrigued by this phenomenon at

first and had done a bit of research. I was in an exotic enough income bracket to quickly discover

why it was so attractive,

It was the galactic center for rejuvenation treatments. These were so hideously expensive

that you had to be a millionaire to even see their price list. The treatments were painless but

time-consuming. Depending upon the degree of customer decay this could take years. Since a clinic

would be a bore, and there was no shortage of money in the project, an entire planet had been

terraformed into a holiday world. Luxury villas rivaled each other in exuberance. Operas, theaters

and entertainments of all kinds abounded. All the sports from deep-sea diving and fishing to

mountain climbing and hunting were there for the taking. But hidden away from all this consumptive

capitalism were the clinics and surgeries where the rich got younger and, if possible, poorer.

This was the taboo subject and never mentioned-but was the real reason why the planet existed in

the first place.

I had discovered all this and had instantly forgotten it. Angelina had not. I knew that

my fate was sealed, my goose well-cooked, served and carved, when she stopped in front of the hall

mirror one day just before we left for dinner. She patted her immaculately groomed hair as women

are wont to do-then leaned closer. Touching the corner of one eye with a delicate fingertip.

"Jim-is that a line, right here?"

"Of course not. Just the way the light is falling."

Even as I spoke these polite, truthful and simple words my thoughts were briskly whirring

forwards. Years of happy marriage had taught me one important fact-if not a lot of important

facts. Women speak with many levels of meaning. As simple a question as Are you hungry? can mean I

am hungry. Or have you forgotten we have a dinner appointment? Or I'm not hungry but I'm sure you

will be bothering me about lunch soon. Or any other of countless convoluted interpretations. So a

possible line in the corner of an eye, following soon after a simple query about Lussuoso and the

chance appearance of a gilt brochure on the end table could mean only thing. I smiled.

"I am beginning to feel that this world has worn out its welcome and is starting to bore

more than a little. Have you ever thought of passing a spell on, I don't know, some grander and

more exciting planet?"

She whirled about and kissed me enthusiastically. "Jim-you must be a mind reader! What do

you think about..."

I really didn't have much to think about. Other than remembering long-forgotten bank

accounts.

But it had been well worth it. For awhile. Angelina absented herself from time to time-but

we never discussed the rejuvenation treatments. I am forced to admit that, after noting my touches

of gray hair, as well as a slight tendency to be short of breath after serious exercise, I was not

that adverse to a medical session or two myself. After all I was paying for it. And Lussuoso was

as jolly and entertaining as the brochures had said. Our house was lovely and our friends lovelier

still. I don't know how beautiful these people had been before they had become beautiful people-

but they were sure good to look at now. Neither age shall wither nor time detract. They used to

say that money couldn't buy everything, but this cliche had long been extinct. On Lussuoso they

were all young, handsome and rich. Or rather rich first-therefore young and handsome.

It did not take me long to discover that they were also boring beyond belief.

Making a lot of money seems to produce people who care only about making money.

Now I am not a snob-far from it. My circle of friends and acquaintances contains weird and

wonderful examples from all walks of life. Conmen and connoisseurs. Forgers and foresters, police

and politicians, scientists and psalm singers. All of them entertaining and good company in a

variety of strange and interesting ways.

Yet after a month on Lussuoso I was ready for anything but more of Lussuoso. Suicide

perhaps, or back into the army again, maybe swimming in a lake of sulfuric acid; any of these

would be preferable.

But I bided my time and increased my drinking for two reasons. Firstly I had paid a

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satellite-sized bundle for the medical treatments and I was going to get my money's worth.

Secondly, and more importantly, Angelina was having an incredibly good time. Our lifestyle had

previously prevented her from having female acquaintances or close lady friends. Her early and

murderous life, before the psych treatments that had turned her into a more civilized, though

still criminal, person, was far in the past and hopefully forgotten. We never discussed those

early years when I-for a rare change-was on the side of law enforcement. And she was a criminal on

the run. A very nasty criminal indeed and I could not understand how one so beautiful could be so

devious and cruel. Until she trusted me, perhaps she loved me even then, and had opened the locket

with the secret of her past. Her beauty had been the product of the surgeon's knife. That had

changed her from what she had been to how she looked now. Only her criminal existence had enabled

her to pay for the operations. Because of this, and our extra-legal standard of living, we might

have had a lonely existence in many ways. We had not led a solitary life, but it had-certainly

been a different kind of life from the normal ones led by the other 99.99 percent of mankind.

Having the twins had been a novel experience for both of us. One that I had not looked

forward to with a great deal of enthusiasm. But I had changed, for the better Angelina always

said, and she should know. When the boys were growing up we had seen that they had received the

best education. We had discussed it a lot and had finally agreed that they could choose the style

of, life that most appealed to them. In all fairness, when they were old enough, we had introduced

them to some of the more interesting aspects of our lifestyle. I am happy to say that they took to

it instantly. All of this kept us busy enough and. since Angelina had never had any close friends,

she apparently had never missed the acquaintance of those of the fairer sex. Now she had them in

abundance.

They went out together and did things together. Just what I was never quite sure. But she-

and they-did enjoy themselves. She had even mentioned lightly, and oh howl wish I had listened

more closely, the Temple of Eternal Truth. She hadn't seemed terribly interested but had gone

there at a friend's insistence.

Now this. I sipped long and hard at my drink and resisted a refill.

"DiGriz here," I called out at the instant the communicator buzzed.

"It is Captain Collin, Admiral. We have some more-and very puzzling-infonnation about

the Temple of Eternal Truth. Do you think you could come to my office..."

I was out the door even while he was still speaking.

Chapter 2

"WHAT HAVE YOU FOUND OUT?" I asked brusquely as I stamped into Captain Cohn's office. He

was speaking on the phone and he raised his hand signing me to wait.

"Yes. Thank you. I understand." He hung up. "That was the hospital. It seems that Mrs.

Vinicultura is suffering from post-traumatic amnesia-"

"She's forgotten everything that happened?"

"Precisely. There are techniques that could get access to those memories but their

application must wait until she has recovered from the shock."

"That's not why you called me here?"

"No." He ran his finger around inside his collar and-if it were possible for an

overmuscled police captain to look embarrassed-he looked embarrassed.

"Here on Lussuoso we pride ourselves on our security and the thoroughness of our records.

"Which means," I interrupted, "your security has been penetrated and your records are

doubtful?"

He opened his mouth to rebut me. Then closed it and slumped in his chair. "You're right.

But it has never happened before."

"Once is once too often. Tell me about it."

"It is this Temple of Eternal Truth. It appears to have been duly registered as a

qualified religion. They kept accurate records and reported regularly on their financial position,

though of course like all religions they pay no taxes. Everything seemed quite aboveboard. The

directors are on record and, most discreetly of course, we know about all of its members."

"All about? Would you like to explain that?"

He looked uncomfortable. "Well, like any civilized planet we practice the galactic

constant of complete freedom of religion. You have heard of the Interstellar Freedom of Religion

Act?"

"Vaguely, in school."

"The Act is not vague. The history of religion is a history of violence. Only too often

religion kills, and we have had enough killing. Therefore no state or planet can have an official

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religion. Neither can a state or planet make any laws controlling religion. Freedom of worship and

assembly is essential to civilization."

"What about nut cults?"

"I was coming to that. Galactic law requires us not to interfere with any religion and to

adhere to that rule sternly. But since the weak and the juvenile require protection so that,

always legally and with the utmost caution, we do investigate all religions thoroughly. We make

ongoing investigations to assure that religious rights are not violated, that each religion has

the freedom to practice in its own way, that minors' rights are not violated, that parishioners

have complete freedom of choice-"

"What you are trying to say is that you keep tabs on who goes to what church and how often

and you know what they are getting up to."

"Precisely," he growled defensively. "The records are secure and can only be accessed at

the highest level in case of emergency."

"All right. We have an emergency and they have been accessed. Tell me."

"Rowena Vinicultura is one of the first members of the Temple. She attends regularly. She

brought your wife to exactly four seances or sessions or whatever they call them."

"So?"

He was beginning to look uncomfortable again. "So, as I have explained, our records are

detailed and complete. Except, that the leader of the Temple of Eternal Truth, one Master

Fanyimadu, is, well..."

His voice ran down and he stared at his desktop. I finished the sentence for him.

"Master Fanyimadu does not appear in any entry in any of your records."

He nodded without looking up. "We know his place of residence and have documented his

attendance at the temple. However to preserve religious freedom we have done no more than that."

"No investigations? No cross-reference with Immigration or Criminal Affairs?"

He shook his head in silence. I glowered. "Let me guess. You don't know how he came to

this planet, or if he is still here-or if he has left. Is that correct?"

"There has been. . . a certain failure of communication, an oversight."

"Oversight!" I exploded, jumping to my feet and stamping the length of the room and back.

"Oversight! Fire and blood and an explosion, a woman in the hospital and my wife vanished-and you

call that oversight!"

"There is no need to lose your temper-"

"Yes there is!"

"-we are proceeding with the investigation and have already made some progress." He

ignored my sneer. "The blood found in the temple has been subjected to analysis down to the

molecular and subatomic levels. These results have been compared to those of everyone on this

planet. We keep complete health and hospital records as you might imagine. Computers are accessing

this immense data base at the present moment. When I called you earlier the search had been

narrowed to less than twenty possibilities. As we talked I have been following the progress on

this readout." He tapped the screen on the desk. "The exacting comparison has now been reduced to

five. No- four. Wait-there are only three now, And two of them are women! And that remaining man

is..."

As he tore the slip from his printout we turned as one and raced for the door.

"Who?" I shouted as we ran. He read without breaking his stride.

"Professor Justin Slakey."

"Where?"

"Under sixty seconds' flight from here."

At least he was right about that. The copter was airborne even as we fell through its

door. The military must have had the news the instant that the police did because a cover of

military jets roared by above us. Even before we began our descent we could see that copcopters

were already hitting the ground and unloading troops to surround the house. Rotors roaring we

dropped down onto the stone-flagged patio. Cohn had produced a large gun and was a fraction of a

second ahead of me as we kicked open the doors.

The house was empty, the bird flown.

A suitcase was obviously missing, a gaping hole like a missing tooth from what had been a

row of four in the bedroom closet. The garage door gaped open. A commofficer strode in, saluting

as he pulled a printout from his chest pack.

"Gone, sir," he said. Collin snarled as he grabbed the sheet.

"Professor J. Slakey, passenger on the stellar liner Star of Serendipity. Departed. . ."

He looked up and his face was grim. "A little over an hour ago."

"So they are already in warpdrive and cannot be contacted until they emerge." I considered

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the possibilities. "You will of course be in touch with the authorities at their scheduled

destination. Which is an operation that might work normally-but this is not a normal situation. I

have a strong suspicion that this suspect is ahead of us all of the way. Contacting the ship's

destination will probably do no good at all because the spacer will arrive instead at some

unscheduled chartpoint. If you ask me you've lost him, Captain. But you can at least tell me who-

or what-he is supposed to be."

"That is the worst part. He really is Professor Slakey. I started a search as soon as

his name appeared. I have just received a report directly from the medical authorities. He is a

physicist of interstellar repute who was requested to come here by the Medical Commission, no

expense was too great to acquire his services. Something to do with retarded entropy as applied to

our hospital work."

"Sounds reasonable. Slow down entropy and you slow down aging. Which is what this planet

is all about. Was he for real?"

"Undoubtedly. I had the privilege of meeting him at a function once. Everyone there, the

scientists, physicists for the main part, were greatly in awe of his talents and the work that he

did here. lam getting reports now," he touched his earphone, "that they all refuse to believe he

had anything to do with the Fanyimadu personality."

"Do you?"

Before he could answer there was a shouted exchange outside, then the door was- thrown

open and a policeman ran in. Holding an insulated container.

"The search team found this when they were going through all the debris in the Temple of

Eternal Truth, Captain-crushed under the machinery in the temple. We had no idea it was there

until the wreckage was lifted. It's a.. . human hand."

He put it on the table and, in silence, we looked through the transparent side at the

crushed and mangled hand inside. I had a long moment of panic before I could see by the size, the

shape, that it was certainly male.

"Did anyone think to take the fingerprints of this?" I said.

"Yes, sir. They were sent for comparison..

He was interrupted by the ring of the phone. Captain Collin put it to his ear, listened,

replaced it slowly.

"Positive identification. This is-Professor Slakey's hand."

I pointed. "If you need proof, there it is. They were one and the same person. The blood

tests, now this. Slakey was Fanyimadu. Keep me informed of everything. Understand?"

I did not wait around for an answer. Turned on my heel-and left. Called back over my

shoulder. "I assume that all details on Slakey will be in my commhopper when I get home."

So much for the police and the authorities. It was time to get to work. I radioed for a

cab, told the driver to have my own car returned from the Central Police Station--one of the perks

of the rich is letting the menials do as much as possible-and planned each step of the action that

must be taken.

"Let me off here," I ordered while we were still a kilometer from my house. I was too

jumpy to be driven around in luxury. I wanted to walk-and think. I had the strong feeling that the

police were not going to come up with any answers for this one. They had been out-thought right

down the line. But could I do any better?

The homes were luxurious, surrounded by brilliant gardens, the air rich with bird sound. I

heard little, saw nothing. Though I was aware when I walked up the path to my home that the front

door was slightly open. I had left it closed. Thieves? No way-at least they took care of the

ordinary kind of crime on lovely Lussuoso. I was smiling as I banged my way in. James jumped to

his feet and we embraced warmly. Or was it Bolivar?

"It's James, Dad," he said, knowing my weaknesses. "One day you better learn to tell us

apart."

"I do. You usually wear blue shirts."

"This one is green-you have to do better than that."

He poured a drink for me, his already in hand, and I reported the progress or lack of it

by the police. Then he spoke the words we had been both avoiding.

"I'm sure Mom is all right. Disappeared, yes. In trouble, undoubtedly. But she is the

toughest one in the family."

"She is, of course, comes up aces always." I tried, to keep the gloom from my voice, could

not. He grabbed my shoulder, very hard.

"Something terrible has happened. But that Rowena women said gone--not dead. So we get to

work to find her and that is that."

"Right." I heard the roughness in my voice; a sentimental old gray rat. Enough. "We'll do

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it. If the diGriz clan can't do it-it can't be done."

"Damn right! I have a message from Bolivar. He should be here very soon. He was in a

spacer doing a lunar geological survey. Dropped everything and should be in faster than light

drive by now."

"Lunar geology? That's a change. I thought he had become a stockbroker?"

"He was-found it too boring. When he had stacked away his millions, more profits than

those of his clients I am sure, he burnt his business suits and bought a spacer. What do we do

next."

"Top up this drink, if you please." I dropped into a chair. "Fill it with one-hundred-

proof Old Cogitation Juice. We have some work to do."

"Like what?"

"Like first forgetting about collaboration with the authorities. They have got this

investigation completely wrong so far and can only get it worse."

"And we can do better." He said it as a fact-not a question.

"That's for sure. The bureaucrats are going to do an incredibly detailed and thorough

search for this Slakey. We are not." I saw his eyebrows rise and I had to smile. "If their search

is successful, which I doubt, we will bear about it quickly enough. Meanwhile we want to find out

everything we can about the Temple of Eternal Truth. We go to the horse's mouth, so to speak. The

church members will tell us what we want to know." I waved the membership list I had extracted

from the police with not too much difficulty. "There are three of these ladies whom we are very

closely acquainted with. Shall we begin?"

"As soon as I dipil my face and get a clean shirt. I'm a handsome devil and have a way

with women."

I sighed happily. Some might have called this braggadocio, but I saw it as simply speaking

the truth. In this family we do not condone false modesty. "You do that. Meanwhile I'll fire up

the family car."

An expression empty of meaning since this healthy planet had what was probably the most

rigidly enforced clean air act in the galaxy. You would probably get clapped in jail for even

thinking about an infernal combustion engine. Vehicles were powered by atomic or electric

batteries. Or, like our luxurious Spreadeagle, they ran on the energy stored in a flywheel. It

plugged into the electricity supply at night and the motor was run up to speed. During the day the

motor became a generator and the spinning wheel generated electricity for the driving wheels. All

six of them. A heavy flywheel made for a big car- I had stinted on nothing. The robot driver

tooled the thing out of the garage when I whistled, nodding his plastic head and smiling inanely.

The gold plated door to the passenger compartment lifted heavenward while soft, welcoming music

played.

I sat on the divan and the television came on. It was a news program with no news I wanted

to hear. "Sports," I said and a high speed balloon race replaced it. The bar served me a glass of

champagne just as James appeared.

"Wow!" he admired. "Real gold?"

"Of course. As well as diamond headlamps and a prescription windshield. No expense

spared."

"Where to?" he asked, sipping his drink.

"Vivilia VonBrun is first on the list. On anyone's list I imagine. Incredibly rich,

desirably attractive. I phoned and she awaits our pleasure."

She swept out to greet us, smiling compassionately. She had permitted a tiny rim of red to

remain around her gorgeous eyes, to express her unhappiness at recent events. Which of course had

been described in gruesome detail by the news programs.

She was wearing something diaphanous and gray, which revealed enticing glimpses of tanned

skin when she moved. She looked too good to be true, twenty-five years old, going on twenty-six

maybe, and she was. Too good to be true, that is. I didn't dare think of her real age; the number

was too large. She extended a delicate hand to me; I took it and kissed it lightly about the

knuckles.

"Poor, dear Jim," she sighed. "Such a tragedy."

"It will all end well. May I present my son, James."

"What a dear man. How nice of you to come. My husband, Waldo, is away on one of those

boring hunting things, blowing up wild animals. So if you need a place to stay..."

Vivilia wasted no time. While Waldo was destroying robot predators she was doing a

little predation herself. And she was probably old enough to be James's great-great-grandmother.

Which meant she certainly had some experience-I put the thought from me and got to work.

"Vivilia, you can help us find Angelina. You are going to tell us everything you

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know about the Temple of Eternal Truth."

"You are so forceful, Jimmy. I'm sure that your son takes after..."

"Facts first, lust later," I snapped.

"Coarse but to the point," she smiled, uninsultable. "I'll tell you everything

that I know."

Enjoyable as that prospect was it would have taken far too long. I kept her memoirs to

the point. A very interesting point as it turned out to be.

With boredom at Olympic intensity on Lussuoso, sports, escapism and cult religions were

going concerns. Master Fanyimadu had begun to appear at various soirees and parties, his

fascinating beliefs excelled only by the intensity of his gaze.

Ladies of leisure looked in on the Temple of Eternal Truth and most went back a second

time. It was easy to see why. Vivilia explained. "It wasn't so much the consolation of his

religion as the positive promise of eternal bliss. Not that he doesn't preach a good sermon, mind

you, better than TV any day. It is what his sermons are all about. He tells you that if one

attends often enough and prays with great intensity, as well as donating enthusiastically, one

might get a little look-in on Heaven."

"Heaven?" I asked, trying to remember some rudimentary theology.

"Heaven, of course, you must have heard of it? Or perhaps your religion..."

"Dad's an atheist," James said. "We all are."

Vivilia sniffed meaningfully. "Well, I suppose most people are in this age of realism and

social equality. But there is a down side to that, to worshiping the nitty-gritty of society. It

is boring to be so practical. Therefore you can understand why some of us with more sensitivity

search for a higher meaning."

It was I who sniffed meaningfully this time but she graciously ignored me. "If you had

studied more diligently in school and not ignored your Applied Theology class you would know all

this already. Heaven is the place where we go after we die and if we have been good, there you

will reside in happiness forever. Hell is where you go if you have been bad, to suffer intensely

for eternity. I know it sounds very simplistic and illogical. I, as well as lot of the other

girls, felt that way when we first heard of Heaven and Hell. But as I said, to add weight and

gravitas to Heaven it is possible to visit the place, at least temporarily. So you see, having

been there I have lost, shall we say, a certain amount of credulity."

"Hypnotic suggestion," I suggested.

"Jimmy, you sounded just like Angelina when you said that. She flared her nostrils and

snorted lightly in exactly the same way. I told her that I bad felt exactly the same way when

other of my friends had told me about their Heavenly excursions. But I know hypnotism when I see

it-and this was no trance. I can't begin to describe the process of going to Heaven. But I was

there, with Master Fanyimadu holding one of my hands and that incredibly stupid Rosebudd holding

the other. I don't think she has enough mind to hypnotize. Yet we saw each other in Heaven,

experienced the same things. It was simply wonderful and too beautiful to explain in mere words.

It was very. . . inspirational." She had the grace to blush when she spoke the word; inspiration

not being her usual line of work.

"Had Angelina been to Heaven?" I asked. "She never mentioned anything about it to me."

"I know nothing about that. I would never think of snooping into another person's personal

secrets."

She ignored my lifted eyebrow at this preposterous statement. Nor would she go into any

more detail. Saying that if we had the faith we would see Heaven for ourselves. She was very

determined and sure of that; a rock of belief. It was only after she had changed the subject and

taken James by the arm to show him the house I knew that I at least had worn out my welcome. She

was reluctant to let him leave, but a provident call from Bolivar from the spaceport supplied an

inescapable reason to escape.

As we drove towards the spaceport I found myself scowling as I grew more and more angry

"Rrrrr ..." I finally said.

"That was a pretty fair growl, Dad. You wouldn't care to expand upon it?"

"I would-and I shall! I'm angry, James-and growing angrier by the minute. There are a lot

mysteries here-but one thing is not mysterious at all. This con man and his fake church are

raising the wrath in me."

"I thought you had a soft spot for cons and scams?"

"I do-~but only when it comes to bilking the filthy rich. I don't con widows or orphans or

those who can't afford it. And I work for money. Good old green, the folding and golden stuff..."

"I get you now," James said, his angry scowl matching mine. "You're for a good clean con,

taking money from the rich and giving it to the slightly less rich. Namely you. But no one gets

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hurt in the process."

"Exactly! There is money involved in this con, sure, but there is also belief. This fake

guru is trampling about where he doesn't belong. In people's beliefs, their most intimate

feelings. In the matter of religion it is live and let live, I say. I tell no one what to believe.

I even listen carefully to sincere beliefs, no matter how nutsy they sound. But Slakey-Fanyimadu

is playing with fire. Preaching fakery, using machines to con the unsuspecting into believing in

an afterlife that in this case can't possibly be true. If Heaven is the place you go after you

die,-well there is only one way of getting there. Guided tours for a quick inspection are just not

in order. What is going on here is very dirty and could be very hurtful as well. If he were

showing his unsuspecting marks a real Heaven they would go to, well fine. He would only be

depriving them of their money, which is a wonderful and noble thing to do. But he is depriving

them of their individuality and their trust. He is lying to them, preying upon their fear of

death. When they discover what has been done to them they will be hurt, shattered, emotionally

destroyed. Whatever else happens-he must be stopped."

We growled in unison as we pulled up at the arrivals terminal. Bolivar waved and opened

the door. Tanned by UV and still wearing his spacer's gear, we brought him up to date during the

drive home. Once in the house I felt a twinge of appetite. I glanced through the autocook menu

with little enthusiasm, unadventurously punched up three of my usual aardvark steak and fries.

Silently wishing that I had been ordering for four- a banquet of exotica had that been the case.

"Very well done, Dad, you're quite a cook," Bolivar said pushing away his plate and

untouched glass of wine. "It has been dehydrated-rehydrated space rations for far too long. I have

been thinking of eating their wrappings, which would probably taste better than their contents.

So, time to get down to work..

At this precise moment as the clock struck the hour, the central computer terminal buzzed,

while its screen lit up with Angelina's image.

"I've left this recording for you, Jim," she said, and- my heart, which had leaped up into

my throat, settled slowly back to its usual position. "I'm off to church soon, for what promises

to be an interesting experience. I don't believe any of the guff this meandering idiot Fanyimadu

has been feeding us-but I do know that something most interesting is happening. Physical travel of

some kind and, I suspect, it may be offplanet. I can't tell you more right now since lam going

mostly on guesswork and, don't laugh, intuition. It will be dangerous, but I'm going prepared. So

if you lose track of me for a bit-don't lose hope. Bye."

She blew a kiss in my direction and the recording clicked off.

"Did she say offplanet?" Bolivar asked. I nodded. "Let's play it again."

We did. And when it ended a second time my mind was made up. "She said offplanet-and she

meant it. Any ideas?"

"Plenty," Bolivar said. "Let us forget Slakey, as you suggested, Dad. The police can

search the police files without our help. But this recording tells us things they don't know.

Offplanet covers a lot of space-and so will, we. We must start searching the galactic records. We

have to find this Temple of Eternal Truth when it surfaces again-under any other name or guise. We

list the characteristics it must have and get our search agencies to digging into the records."

"Exactly so," I agreed. "We will be looking for the modus operandi,"

"I'm not so great on the old dead languages, Dad," Bolivar said. "But if you mean we will

track down this joker and that nutsy religion I am for it!"

"That's the idea. It may very well have a different name, and different ways of bringing

in the suckers-but the operating basis will be the same."

"What is that?"

"I haven't the slightest idea. You'll have to work it out as you go along."

"And we search in the past as well as the future," James said.

"There is no reason that this church should be confined to just this one planet, and every reason

to believe that it isn't."

"Too right," Bolivar agreed. "That goes into the searchplan."

I was proud of my boys. They were taking over, plowing ahead without a moment lost. As for

me, I wasn't that rusty an old rat-not yet.

But it was nice to see a couple of shiny young ones sharpening their teeth.

They started at once, putting the search operation into effect. Dividing up the planets

between them and working out in an ever-expanding sphere of communication and interrogation. I

left them to it. Found a cold beer, took it to my study and whistled at my computer terminal to

turn it on. I sipped the beer while I surfed through various data bases, zeroing in on Religion. I

needed to know more about this Heaven and Hell business. I found what I needed under Eschatology.

It was all about future life after death and was all very confusing. Down through the ages there

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