Attitudes
by PHILIP JOSE FARMER
Roger Tandem crouched behind his pinochle hand as if he were hiding behind a battery of shields. His eyes ran like weasels over the faces of the other players, seated around a table in the lounge of the interstellar liner, Lady Luck.
“Father John,” he said, “I’ve got you all figured out. You’ll be nice to me, you’ll crack jokes,’ and you’ll play pinochle with me, though not for money, of course. You’ll even have a beer with me. And, after I begin thinking you’re a pretty good guy, you’ll lead me gradually to this and that topic. You’ll approach them at an angle, slide away when I get annoyed or alarmed, but always circle back. And then, all of a sudden, when I’m not watching, you’ll jerk the lid off hell’s flames and invite me to take a look. And you think I’ll be so scared I’ll jump right back under the wing of Mother Church.”
Father John raised his light blue eyes long enough from his cards to say, mildly, “You’re right about the last half of your last sentence. As to the rest, who knows?”
“You’re smart, Father, with this religious angle. But you’ll get no place with me. Know why? It’s because you haven’t the right attitude
The eyebrows of the other five players rose as high as they could get. The captain of the Lady Luck, Rowds, coughed until he was red in the face and then, sputtering and blowing into a handkerchief, said, “Hang it all, Tandem, what — ah — do you mean by saying that — ah — he hasn’t got the right attitude?”
Tandem smiled as one who is very sure of himself and replied, “I know you’re thinking I’ve a lot of guts to say that. Here’s Roger Tandem, a professional gambler and a collector — and seller — of interstellar objets d'arty reproaching a padre. But I’ve got more to add to that. I not only do not think Father John has the right attitude, I don’t think any of you gentlemen have.”
Nobody replied. Tandem’s lips curved to approximate a sneer, but his fellow-players could not see them because he held his cards in front of his mouth.
“You’re all more or less pious,” he said. “And why? Because you’re afraid to take a chance, that’s why. You say to yourself that you’re not sure there’s life beyond this one, but there just might be. So you decide it’s playing safe if you hitch a ride aboard one or another religion. None of you gentlemen belong to the same one, but you all have this in common. You think you have nothing to lose if you profess to believe in this or that god. On the other hand, if you deny one, you might lose out altogether. So, why not profess? It’s safer.”
He laid his cards down and lit up a cigarette and quickly blew smoke out so it formed a veil before his face.
“I’m not afraid to take a chance. I’m betting big stakes. My so-called eternal soul against the belief that there is nothing beyond this life. Why should I always not do what I want to and thus make myself miserable and hypocritical, when I can enjoy myself thoroughly?”
“That,” said Father John Carmody, “is where you may be making a mistake. My opinion is that you have the wrong attitude. All of us are betting in a game where there is only one way in which we can win. That is by faith. But your method of placing your stakes is not, from my viewpoint, the sensible one. Even if you should be proved correct, you would not know it. How would you collect your wager?”
“I collect it while I live, Father,” said Tandem. “That’s enough for me. When I’m dead, I won’t worry about anyone welshing on me. And I might point out, Father, that you had better have more luck with your faith than you do with your cards. You’re not a very good player, you know.”
The priest smiled. His round pudgy face was not at all handsome, but, when he was amused, he looked pleasant and likeable. You got the impression he had a tuning fork inside him, and it was shaking him with a mirth he invited you to share.
Tandem liked it except when the laughter seemed to be at his expense. Then his mouth curved into the expression it so often took when his cards hid it.
At that moment a loud voice came over the intercom, and a yellow light began flashing above the entrance to the lounge room. Captain Rowds rose and said, “Ah, pardon me, gentlemen. The — ah — pilot-room wants me. We’re about to come out of Translation. Don’t forget that we’ll be — ah — in free fall as soon as the red light comes on.”
The hand was not finished. The cards were put away in a box whose magnetized side would cling to an iron panel set in the table. The players leaned back to wait until the Lady Luck came out of Translation and went into free fall for a period of ten minutes while the automatic computer took its bearings.
If they had emerged from no-space at the desired point, they would then continue to their destination by normal space-drive.
Tandem looked around the lounge and sighed. Pickings had been slim during this trip. Most of his time had been spent playing for fun with Father John, Captain Rowds, the Universal Light missionary, and the two sociology professors. It was too bad his companions had no money and thought of themselves as gentlemen. Had they played for keeps, they would have been offended if anyone had insisted on suspending a PK or ESP indicator above the cardtable. And Tandem would, then, have had no second thoughts about using cither of those talents. He reasoned that they had been given to him for a purpose. The question of from whom they had come did not shadow his mind.
He’d made some money during the hop from B Velorum to Y Scorpii when he had struck up an acquaintance with a rich young dice-enthusiast, the type who was insulted if you set an alarm on the floor. He was a real gambler. That is, he understood that one PKer could detect when another was using energies supposedly forbidden during a game. But he also understood that, nowadays, one of the most exciting risks was that of running up against somebody who might be as good as you. Or better.
Whatever happened, when two of the “talented” were in a game with a group of non-PKers, neither would divulge that the other was a cheater. Then it became a duel between the two who thought of themselves as the “aristocrats” of gambling. The plebs were left outside in the cold, and possessed neither wisdom nor money at the game’s end.
Tandem had had the edge with the rich young man. But, just when he had jockeyed him to the verge of making some big bets, the Lady Luck (a misnamed vessel if ever there was one!) had Translated outside their destination, the game had ended, and the sucker had left shortly after.
Now, he was not only getting close to broke, he was, far worse, bored. Even the long argument with Father John — if you could call anything so mild such — no longer titillated him. And now, perhaps, it was that failure to be excited and the vague feeling that the padre had gotten the better of him that made him do what he did. For, as the red light began flashing and the intercom warned the passengers to watch themselves, Tandem unbuckled the belt that held him to the chair. He pushed himself upwards with a slight tap of his foot. As he floated towards the ceiling, he put his hands to his lips in an attitude of prayer and adopted an expression that was a marvelous blend of silliness and saintliness.
“Hey, Father John!” he called. “Look! Joseph of Cupertino!”
There were embarrassed looks and a few nervous laughs from the loungers. Even the apostle of the Universal Light, though the padre’s competitor, frowned at what he thought was very bad taste and, in a way, a slight upon his own beliefs.
“Wrong attitude,” he muttered, “definitely the wrong attitude.”
Father John blinked once before he saw that Tandem was parodying the difficulties that a famous medieval saint had had with involuntary levitations. Far from being offended, however, he calmly took a notebook from his pocket and began writing in it. No matter what the event, he tri
ed to profit from it. Even the devil must be thanked for giving examples. Tandem’s antics had inspired him with an idea for an article. If he finished it in time and got it off on a mail-ship, he might have it published in the next issue of his order’s periodical.
It would be titled The Free Fall of Man: Down or Up?
II
Tandem had been briefly tempted to get off at the next stop, Wilden- wooly. It was a virgin planet that offered much work to its settlers and very few avenues of amusement. Gambling was one. But the trouble with Wilden- wooly was that it also did not have many men who had any really big money, and that all were pathologically quick to take offense. Tandem’s luck might make them suspicious and, if an indicator were available, it might be used. Nor would it help him much to damp out his powers. The result would be just as extraordinary a streak of bad luck.
Everybody had some PK. The indicators were set too high to register the average energy. Tandem and men like him could not consistently key their output to the normal man’s unless they kept a rigid control. And almost always they would get excited during a game, or succumb to temptation, and use an abnormal amount. The result would be their exposure. So, to avoid that, they had to suppress their talent completely. This ended in just as much suspicion. And, while the Woolies could not prove that he had been cheating, they might follow their habit of taking the law into their own
hands.
As Tandem didn’t relish beatings or being ridden out of town on a rail — an unlovely revival of an old American custom — he decided he would stick to the Lady Luck until she arrived at Po Chii-I. That was a planet full of Celestials whose pockets bulged with Federation credits and whose eyes were bright with the gleam of their ancient passion for Dame Fortune.
Before the liner got to Po Chii-I, it stopped off at Weizmann and picked up another rich young man. Tandem rubbed his hands and took the sucker for all he could. This was the beauty of the technological age. No matter what the scientific advances, you could find the same old type of human being begging to be fleeced. The rich young man and he located several others who would play with them until the stakes got too high. Tandem’s former partners, the captain, the professors, and the two reverends were ignored while he piled up the chips. Unfortunately, just after they took off' from Po Chii-I, the rich young man became sullen, argued with him about something unconnected with the gambling, and gave him a black eye.
Tandem did not strike back. He told the rich young man that he would file suit against him in an Earth court for having violated his free will. He had not given anybody permission to strike him. Moreover, he would submit willingly to an injection of Tclol. Questioning under the influence of that drug would reveal that he had not been cheating.
For some reason he did not understand, nobody except Father John would speak to Tandem the rest of the trip. And Tandem did not care to talk to the padre. He swore he’d get off at the next stop regardless of what type of world it was.
The Lady Luck balked him by setting down upon a planet that was terra incognita as far as Earthmen were concerned. No human settlements had been made there at all. The only reason the liner landed was the need of water to refill its fuel tanks.
Captain Rowds announced to the crew and passengers that they might step out upon the soil of Kubeia and stretch their legs. But they were not to venture beyond the other side of the lake.
“Ah — ladies and gentlemen — ah — it so happens that the Federation Sociological Agent has — ah — made an agreement with the aborigines whereby we may use this area. But we are not to enter into any traffic with the — ah — Kubeians themselves. These people have many peculiar institutions which we — ah — Terrans might offend through — if you will pardon that expression — ignorance. And some of their customs are — ah — if I may so express it, rather — ah — beastly. A word to the wise is — ah — sufficient.”
Tandem found out that the ship would take at least four hours for refilling. Therefore, he reasoned, if he cared to do a little exploring, he would have more than enough time. He was determined to get at least a slight view of Kubeia. Their situation inside a little forest-covered valley forbade that. If he were to climb a hill and then a tree, he could sec the city of the natives, whose white buildings he had glimpsed from the porthole as the ship sank towards this alien soil. He had no particular interest, really, except that the captain had forbidden it. That, to Tandem, was equal to a command. Even as a child, he had always taken a delicious delight in disobeying his father. And, as an adult, he would not bow to authority.
Head bent slightly downwards, his hand stroking his chin and mouth, he sauntered around the other side of the gigantic liner. There was no one there to order him back. He stepped up his pace. And, at the same time, he heard a voice.
“Wait for me! I’ll go with you a way!”
He turned. It was Father John.
Tandem tensed. The priest was smiling, his light blue eyes beaming. And that was the trouble. Tandem did not trust this man because he was altogether too inconsistent. You couldn’t predict his behavior. One minute he was smooth as a banana peel; the next, rough as a three-day beard.
The gambler dropped his hand to reveal his half-smile, half-snarl.
“If I ask you to go with me a mile, Father, you must, according to your belief, go with me at least two miles.”
“Gladly, son, except that the captain has forbidden it. And, I presume, with good cause.”
“Look, Father, what possible harm could come from just sneaking a glance outside? The natives think this area is tabu. They won’t bother us. So, why not take a little walk?”
“There is no good reason to disregard the captain. He has complete temporal jurisdiction over the ship, which is his little world. He knows his business; I respect his orders.”
“O.K., Father, wrap yourself up in your little robe of submission, You may be safe in it, but you’ll never sec or enjoy anything outside it. As for me, I’m going to take a chance. Not that it’ll be much of one.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Look, Father, get that woeful expression off your face. I’m just going up the hill a little ways and climb a tree. Then I’m coming right back down. Anything wrong with that?”
“You know whether or not there is.”
“Sure, I do,” said Tandem, speaking through his fingers, now held over his mouth. “It all depends on your attitude, Father. Walk boldly, be unafraid, don’t hide from anything or anybody, and you’ll get out of life just what you put in it.”
“I’ll agree with you that you get out of life just what you put in it. But as to the former part of your statement, I disagree. You’re not walking boldly. You’re afraid. You’re hiding.”
Tandem had turned to stride away, but he halted and spun back.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that you feel you must hide from someone or something all the time. Otherwise, why do you always cover your lips with your hand, or, if not with that, with a shield of playing cards? And when you are forced to expose your face, then you twist your mouth into a rictus of contempt for the world. Why?”
“Now it’s psychiatry 1” snarled Tandem. “You stay here, Father, stuck in your little valley. I’m going to see what the rest of Kubeia has to offer.”
“Don’t forget. We leave in four hours.”
“I have a watch,” said Tandem, and he laughed and added, “I’ll let it be my conscience.”
“Watches run down.”
“So do consciences, Father.”
Still laughing, Tandem walked off. Halfway up the hill, he paused to peer back between the trees. Father John was standing there, watching, a lone and little black figure. But he must have turned a trifle at just the right angle, for the sun flashed on the crescent of white collar and struck Tandem in the eyes. He blinked and cursed and lit a cigarette and felt much better as the blue curtain drifted up past his face. There was nothing like a good smoke to relax a man.
III
It might have been said of Tandem that he had been looking all his life for black sheep to fleece. Nor did he have any trouble finding them now.
From his spy-post near the top of a great tree, he could look down into the next valley. And there he could see the black sheep. Even on Kubeia.
There was no mistaking the purpose of the crowd gathered in two concentric rings at the bottom of the hill. There was the smaller circle of men inside, all on their knees and regarding intently some object in their center. And behind them stood a greater number of people, also watching intently the thing that resembled, as near as he could tell, a weathercock. Obviously, it wasn t that. He could tell from the attitudes of those around it what its purpose was. And his heart leaped. There was no mistake. He was able to smell a crap game a mile away. This might be a slightly different form than the Terran type, but its essence was the same.
Hastily, he climbed down the tree and began threading through the trunks that covered this hill. A glance at his wrist watch showed him he had three and a half hours left. Moreover, it was inconceivable that Captain Rowds would set off without his passenger. Tandem had to watch this Kubeian game of chance. He wouldn’t enter it, of course, because he didn’t know the rules and had no local currency with which to buy his way in. He’d just observe a while and then leave.
His heart beat fast; his palms grew moist. This was what he lived for, this tension and uncertainty and excitement. Take a chance. Win or lose. Come on, cubes, roll Daddy a natural!
He grinned to himself. What was he thinking of? He couldn’t possibly get into the fun. And there was the possibility that the Kubcians would be so upset by the appearance of an Earthman that the game would break up. He doubted that, though. Gamblers were notoriously blase. Nothing but cataclysm or the police could tear them away as long as there was money yet to win.
Before he revealed himself, he examined the players. Humanoid, they had brown skins, round heads covered with short coarse auburn hairs, triangular faces innocent of whiskers except for six semi-cartilaginous bristles on their long upper lips, black noses like boxing gloves, black leathery lips, sharp meat-catcr’s teeth, and well developed chins. A ruff of auburn hairs grew' like a boa around their necks.
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