"If it should be, we must face all its implications and be ready," he said. "Reality be Thine . . . and ours.
"However, back to the main reason I sent for you. I want you to get on that boat and observe everything you can. Find out the disposition of the captain, this King John, and his crew. Determine if they are a threat to the Ethicals. By this, I mean, do they have devices and weapons which might conceivably allow them to get into the Tower."
La Viro frowned and said, "It is time that we took a hand in this matter."
"You surely do not mean that we may use violence?"
"No, not to people. But nonviolence and passive resistance apply only to persons. Hermann, if necessary, we will sink that boat! But we will only do it as a last and regrettable measure. And we will do it only if we can be sure that no one will be harmed."
"I . . . I don't know," Hermann said. "It seems to me that, if we do that, we lack faith in the Ethicals. They should be able to handle anything that mere men can bring against them."
"You have fallen into the trap the Church continually warns against, the trap of which you have warned many yourself. The Ethicals are not gods. There is only one God."
Hermann stood up. "Very well. I will leave immediately."
"You are pale, Fenikso. Don't be so frightened. It may not be necessary to destroy that boat. In any event, we will do it only if we are one hundred percent sure that no one will be injured or killed."
"It is not that which frightens me," Hermann said. "What does is that a part of me is eager to get into the intrigue, thrilled with the idea of sinking that boat. It's the old Hermann Göring, still alive down there, though I thought I had put him away forever."
22
* * *
The Rex Grandissimus was indeed a beautiful and awing vessel. She plowed speedily in the middle of The River, towering whitely, her great black smokestacks lofty, her two giant paddlewheels churning. From atop the pole above the pilothouse, her flag whipped, showing wavily three golden lions on a scarlet field.
Hermann Göring, waiting on the deck of a three-masted schooner, raised his eyebrows. The banner was certainly not the scarlet phoenix on blue which Clemens had planned.
The sky was freckled with hang-gliders swooping above the great riverboat. The River itself was crowded with vessels of all kinds, officials, and sightseers.
Now the boat was slowing, its captain having interpreted correctly the meaning of the rockets fired from Göring's schooner. Besides, the other craft were forming an obstacle beyond which he could not go without smashing them.
Finally, it stopped, its wheels turning just enough to match the current.
As the schooner came alongside, its captain yelled through a riverdragon-fish horn at the Rex. A man on the lowest deck hurried to a phone on a bulkhead and talked to the pilothouse. In a moment, a man leaned out of the pilothouse, holding an instrument with a horn. His voice blared from it, startling Hermann. The device must amplify sounds electrically, he thought.
"Come aboard!" the man said in Esperanto.
Though the captain was at least fifty-five feet above the water, and a hundred feet away horizontally, Hermann recognized him. The tawny hair, broad shoulders, and oval face were those of John Lackland, ex-King of England, Lord of Ireland, etc., etc. In a few minutes Hermann had boarded the Rex and was accompanied by two heavily armed officers via a small elevator to the top deck of the pilothouse. On the way he said, "What happened to Sam Clemens?"
The men looked surprised. One said, "How did you know about him?"
"Gossip travels faster than your boat," Hermann said. This was true, and if he had not exactly told the truth, he also had not lied.
They entered the control room. John was standing by the pilot's chair and looking outward. He turned at the sound of the elevator closing. He was five feet five inches tall, a good-looking virile-seeming man with wide-set blue eyes. He wore a black uniform which he probably never put on except to impress locals. The black jacket, trousers, and boots were of riverdragon-leather. Gold buttons adorned the jacket, and a golden lion's head roared soundlessly from above the visor of the cap. Hermann wondered where he had gotten the gold, an extremely rare item. Probably, he'd taken it from some poor wretch.
His chest was bare. Tawny hair, a shade or two darker than that on his head, curled thickly over the V of the jacket top.
One of the officers who'd escorted him snapped a salute. "The emissary of Virolando, Sire!"
So, Hermann thought, it was sire, not sir.
It was evident that John did not recognize his visitor. He surprised Hermann by walking to him, smiling, and holding out his hand. Hermann took it. Why not? He was not here to revenge himself. He had a duty to perform.
"Welcome aboard," John said. "I am the captain, John Lackland. Though, as you see, I have no land I do have something even more valuable, this vessel."
He laughed and added, "I was once the King of England and Ireland, if that means anything to you."
"I am Brother Fenikso, a sub-bishop in the Church of the Second Chance and a secretary to La Viro. In his name I welcome you to Virolando. And, yes, Your Majesty, I have read about you. I was born in the twentieth century in Bavaria."
John's thick tawny eyebrows went up. "I've heard much of La Viro, of course, and we were told that he lived not too far up-River."
John introduced the others, none of whom Hermann knew except the first mate, Augustus Strubewell. He was an American, very large, blond, and handsome. He crushed Hermann's hand and said, "Welcome, Bishop." He didn't seem to recognize him either. Göring shrugged mental shoulders. After all, he hadn't been in Parolando long, and that was over thirty-three years ago.
"Would you like a drink?" John said.
Hermann said, "No, thank you. I hope you will let me stay aboard, Captain. I am here to escort you to our capital. We welcome you in peace and love and hope that you come in the same spirit. La Viro wishes to meet you and to extend his blessing. Perhaps you would like to stay awhile and stretch your legs on shore. In fact, you may stay here as long as you wish."
"I am not, as you see, a member of your congregation," John said, accepting a cup of bourbon from an orderly. "But I have a high regard for the Church. It's had a highly civilizing influence along The River. Which is more than I can say for the church to which I once belonged. It has made our voyage much easier, since it has reduced militancy. However, not many people would care to attack us anyway."
"I'm glad to hear that," Hermann said. He decided it would be best not to mention what John had done in Parolando. Perhaps the man had changed. He would give him the benefit of the doubt.
The captain made arrangements for Göring's quarters. His cabin would be in the texas, a long structure which was an extension of the room just below the pilothouse and which was on the extreme forward starboard side of the landing deck. The top officers were cabined in this.
John asked about his Terrestrial life. Göring replied that the past wasn't worth talking about. What mattered was the present.
John said, "Well, perhaps, but the present is the sum of the past. If you won't talk about yourself, would you tell me of Virolando?"
It was a legitimate question, though Göring wondered if John wished to find out the state's military potential. He wouldn't tell him that it did not have any. Let him find out for himself. He did make it clear, however, that no one of the Rex would be allowed to bring arms ashore.
"If this were any other place, I wouldn't abide by that rule," John said, smiling. "But I'm sure we'll be safe in the heart of the Church."
"This land is, as far as I know, unique," Hermann said. "It's topography and its citizens are remarkable. The first you can see for yourself," and he waved at the rock spires.
"It's a columnar country indeed," John said. "But what makes the citizens so different?"
"The great majority of them are Rivertads. When the first resurrection occurred, this area was filled with children who had died between the ages of
five and seven. There were about twenty to every adult. Nowhere else that I've heard of has had that proportion. The children seemed to be from many places and times, of many nations and races. They had one thing in common, though. They were frightened. But, fortunately, the adults were mostly from peaceful and progressive countries, Scandinavia, Iceland, and Switzerland of the twentieth century. The area wasn't subjected to the vicious struggles for power that occurred elsewhere. The strait to the west cuts off the titanthrops who lived there. The peoples immediately westward down-River were of the same kind as those here. Thus, the adults could give full time to taking care of the children.
"Then La Viro announced that he had spoken to one of the mysterious beings who had made this world. He would have been received as all prophets have been in the beginning of their careers. With rejection by all but a few. But La Viro had something substantial, something beyond words and his conviction. He had solid visible proof. It was something which no one else had, which had to be the product of the Ethicals.
"This was The Gift, as it's generally called. You'll see it in the Temple. A golden helix. And so he made his home here.
"The children were brought up with discipline and love, and it was they who built this culture you see all about you."
John said, "If the citizens are as beautiful in spirit as their country is to the sight, then they must be angels."
"They're human," Göring said, "and so this is no Utopia, no Paradise. I believe, however, that you will not find any other place which has so many truly friendly, open, generous, and loving persons. It is a very pleasant place to live in, if you have a kindred spirit."
"Perhaps this would be a good place for a long shore leave," John said. "Besides, the motors need rewiring, and that takes time."
"How long you stay here depends upon you," Göring said.
John looked sharply at him.
Göring smiled, Was John considering how he could take advantage of the Virolanders? Or was he merely thinking that he could relax here, not have to worry about his boat being seized?
At this moment, a man entered the control room. He was about six feet high, deeply sun-bronzed, wide-shouldered, and barrel-chested. His straight hair was very black. Thick black eyebrows shaded large fierce black eyes. His face was as strong as any Göring had ever seen. The man radiated an aura which in Göring's childhood would have been called "animal magnetism."
John, catching sight of him said, "Ah, Gwalchgwynn, the captain of my marines. You must meet him. He is a capital fellow, a superb swordsman and pistol shot, a great poker player. He is a Welshman descended from kings on both sides of his family, if what he says is true."
Göring felt as if his blood had deserted his heart.
He murmured, "Burton!"
23
* * *
No one seemed to have heard him.
From Burton's shocked expression, quickly masked, Göring knew that he had recognized him. When Göring was introduced to him as Brother Fenikso, La Viro's emissary and a sub-bishop, Burton bowed. He drawled, "Your Reverence," and he smiled mockingly.
"The Church has no such titles, Captain," Göring said. Burton knew that, of course. He was just being sarcastic.
That didn't matter. What did matter was that Burton seemed to have no desire to reveal that Fenikso was in reality Göring. He wasn't doing it to help Göring because he liked him, however. If he gave Göring's natal name, then Göring would reveal Burton's. And Burton must have much more at stake than he, Göring had. Actually, Göring had no strong reason to be pseudonymous. He just wanted to avoid having to explain why he was now a member of the Church. It was a long story and took much time, and many just refused to believe that his conversion had been sincere.
King John was charming to his visitor. He must have completely failed to recognize the man whose head he'd once savagely struck with a pistol butt. Göring wanted it to stay that way. If John still believed that he could rape and rob the locals, he would be on guard if he knew that a victim of the past was present. If he thought Fenikso was just a simple innocent bishop, he might not be so careful to hide his intentions.
Of course, it might be that John's nature had changed for the better. Would Burton serve him if it hadn't?
Yes, he might if he wanted strongly to get to the headwaters.
But perhaps John was no longer a human hyena. Not that Göring meant to give the hyenas a bad name.
Wait and find out.
John invited the bishop to tour the boat. Göring accepted gladly. He'd been through it in Parolando before it was quite finished and so, even after so many years, knew its layout well. But now he could see it fully furnished and armed. He'd give a complete report to La Viro. His chief could then determine if it would be possible to sink the boat if it was necessary to do so. Göring didn't really take La Viro's statements about this seriously. He was sure that it couldn't be done without some bloodshed. However, he'd keep his counsel until asked for it.
Burton disappeared shortly after the tour began. He reappeared behind them ten minutes later and quietly rejoined them. This was just before they went into the grand salon. On entering, Göring saw the American, Peter Jairus Frigate, and the Englishwoman, Alice Hargreaves, playing billiards. He was shocked, and he stuttered for a moment replying to one of John's questions. The memory of what he'd done to them, especially to the woman, smote him with guilt.
Now his identity would be out. John would remember him. Strubewell would, too. And John would be deeply distrustful of him.
Göring wished now that he'd given his old name as soon as he met John. But who would have thought that, out of over thirty-five or -six billion people, one whom he'd known too well would be on this boat? And who would have imagined that not one but three such would be aboard?
Gott! Were there others? Where was that Neanderthal, Kazz, who worshipped Burton? The Arcturan who also claimed to be from Tau Ceti? The Tokharian, Loghu? The Jew, Ruach?
Like most of the many people in the salon, they looked up when the party entered. Even the black man playing the ragtime piece, "Kitten on the Keys," on the piano stopped, his fingers poised.
Strubewell loudly asked for silence and attention and got it. He introduced Brother Fenikso, La Viro's emissary, and said that Fenikso would be traveling with them to Aglejo. He was to be treated with every courtesy but at this time was not to be approached. His Majesty was taking him for a tour of the Rex.
The piano playing and the conversation started up again. Frigate and Hargreaves stared at him for a minute longer, then returned to their game. They did not seem to recognize him. Well, Göring thought, it has been nearly sixty years since we last saw each other. They didn't have his near-perfect recall. Still, their experiences with him had been so harrowing that he would have thought they'd never forget his face. Besides, Frigate, on Earth, had seen many photographs of him as a young man, which should reinforce his memory.
No, they wouldn't have forgotten. What had happened was that Burton had gotten to them during his absence from the tour. He'd told them to act as if they'd never seen him before.
Why?
To spare him guilt, their silence saying, in effect, "We forgive you now that you've changed. Let it be as if we're meeting for the first time"?
That didn't seem likely unless Burton's character had also changed. The true reason probably was that Göring, if revealed, would then reveal Burton. And for all he knew, Frigate and Hargreaves were under false names.
He didn't have much time to think about this matter. King John, playing the gracious host, insisted on showing him almost everything in the Rex. He also introduced him to many people, a large number of whom had been famous, infamous, or well known in their time. John, during the many years of travel up The River, had had a chance to pick up such notables. Which meant that he must have had to kick off those not so famous to make room for the famous.
Göring was not as impressed as John had expected him to be. As one who'd been the second-in-
command of the German empire and thus had met many of the world's greats, Göring was not easily awed or bamboozled. Even more, his experiences with the greats and the near-greats on both worlds had made him well aware that the public image and-the person behind the facade were often pathetically or disgustingly dissimilar.
The one who'd impressed him most on the Riverworld was a man who, on Earth, would have been thought a complete nonentity and failure by almost anybody. That was Jacques Gillot, La Viro, La Fondinto.
During his Terrestrial existence, however, the person who'd awed him the most, in fact, overpowered him, enslaved him by force of personality alone, had been Adolf Hitler. Only once had he stood up to his Fuhrer during the many times he'd known the Fuhrer was wrong, and then he'd quickly backed down. Now, in the retrospect of many years on the Riverworld and the knowledge he'd gained as a Second Chancer, he had no respect at all for the madman. Nor did he have any respect for the Göring of that time. Indeed, he loathed him.
But, he wasn't so full of self-hatred that he considered himself past salvation. To think thus was to put himself into a special class, to be criminally proud, to be full of hubris, to possess a peculiar form of self-righteousness.
However, there was also the danger of having all these prides because you didn't have them. To be proud because you were humble.
This was a Christian sin, though also counted as such in some other religions. La Viro, who'd been a stoutly devout Catholic all his Terrestrial life, had never even heard of such a sin then. His priest had never mentioned it during his long sleep-inducing sermons. Gillot had conceived of this old but little-publicized sin himself after he'd come to this planet.
Though Göring recognized before the end of the war that Hitler was crazy, he'd still remained loyal to him. Loyalty was one of Göring's virtues, though in him it was so resistant to reason that it became a fault. Unlike most of the others at the Nuremberg trial, Göring had refused to renounce and denounce his chief.
R.W. IV - The Magic Labyrinth Page 16