“Do you really think he'll agree to it?” Jeffrey said, interrupting the Honchos's meditations upon vehicular adaptation.
“Eventually. But he'll probably have a lot to say about how we handle it. The Pontiff and I are in complete agreement on rebuilding civilization's infrastructure without any of the Tourist technology. But we disagree on the timetable.”
“How so?”
“As you know, there are only so many surviving governments on the continent. The more we absorb – “
“You mean, conquer.”
“Indeed. The more we conquer, the fewer are left to threaten an alliance against our expansion. To expedite the process, however, we need a mechanized army to field a decisive advantage. Which means, naturally, that we need our fuel as soon as we can get it.”
The car slowed to negotiate a turn onto Church Lane. This was facilitated by the fact that the driver had tied the reins to the steering wheel. As he hauled the wheel around to his left, this pulled in the reins for the left-hand horses, slowing them, and permitting the right-hand horses more time to cover their longer arc of the turn.
“Which is why you are proposing to make an exception and use swizzles and everflames to extract the oil and distill your gasoline,” said the Runt.
“Yes. His Holiness, however, will try to argue us out of it. He's perfectly happy to accept a more gradual expansion, if it means we can avoid what he is not willing to accept as a necessary evil.”
Jeffrey craned his neck to look at the sky. Peter could guess what he was thinking. Probably hoping there would be no rain to force them to use the leather cover, which would spoil their unobstructed view. For his part, he wasn't worried. His Meteorologist, whom the Runt referred to as the court Astrologer, had assured him there would be no rain for at least two days. He made no mention of this, however. His holiness had the same opinion of the man as Jeffrey, and it would not make their audience any smoother if the man's name were mentioned.
“I suppose,” Jeffrey said, upon reflection, “that he might make an exception should we require extra large fires for the conversion of all those Protestants and Mormons.”
Peter had to smile at that. Sometimes his son surprised him. “Probably not, unless we pointed out that the available wood might be better employed for the building of more churches in the soon-to-be conquered lands.”
He did not speak of what they both knew: that the Church had done well in the reduced circumstances Humanity faced after the Fall. What His Holiness called “the arrogance of scientific atheism” has suffered greatly when the civilization that appeared to promote it collapsed. Yes, the Church had done well after that. The problem was, other religions had, also. Many had seized upon prayer for their emotional support, once the loss of technological medicine and industrial food distribution had made survival harder. One only had to look at the Kingdom of New Israel in the Northeast and the Muslim Emirates of Dixie to see that the Church faced stiff competition for the hearts and minds of humanity.
Peter's late grandfather had made Catholicism the official religion of the Lone Star Empire, which had endeared him to His Holiness's predecessor. It was a real coup that the old dog had gotten the Pontiff of the Americas to relocate his New Vatican to Texas. There would, perhaps, be the devil to pay when contact with Europe was reestablished. If the papacy had survived the Fall there, it might mean another war. But that, thankfully, was a long way off. No one that he knew of was spending their resources building navies.
“Try not to make mention of the other religions today,” he advised his son. “This audience could be difficult enough without reminding His Holiness of his competition. And let me do most of the talking. I shouldn't need to remind you that and sign of disagreement between us will be looked upon by the Pontiff as a weakness to exploit for further concessions to the Church.”
“Further concession?” Jeffrey dropped his pretense of boredom. “Does he truly believe that we need his permission for anything? Could he actually think that Grandfather gave him asylum here because he needed him?”
Peter eyed him. “I see you have your own opinions on the matter,” he said.
The Runt pretended interest in something outside the window. “I've made no secret of them,” he muttered.
No, you haven't have you? You still have a lot to learn about governing before you're ready to assume the mantle. “You said often enough that you think the Church a quaint establishment, outdated and meaningless.” He shook his head. “Perhaps you imagine word of such sentiments will endear you to the population, especially those near your own age.”
“No,” said Jeffrey, turning back to face him. “I merely see no point or honor in lying about my beliefs.”
His father smiled at that. You just did, and you think I don't know it. But his pride at Jeffrey's attempt at deception was dampened by the knowledge that the Runt still thought he could fool him. “Then you're not as smart as I thought. Many of the people out there believe that the hardships and plagues we suffer nowadays are a punishment from God for the arrogance of the Ancients.”
Jeffrey snorted at that. “It's far more likely that the hardships and sicknesses which you refer to are the result of losing the refrigeration, vaccines, and other advantages which the science of the Ancients used to provide, until the Tourists came and meddled in our affairs.”
The Honcho's eyes narrowed. “Sometimes your cynicism is only matched by your foolishness,” he snapped. “What you say is true, but irrelevant. The majority of the public hasn't had your expensive education, your private tutors, or your access to ancient records. What they believe isn't based on the truth. It's based on what they know, or think they know. “ He could hear the rising temper in his voice and took a moment to sigh and calm himself. “It has been generations since the Fall happened. None of them has ever seen a functioning refrigerator, a light bulb, an electric stove, or any other device of the Ancients. All they have, instead, are the odd coldbox, everflame, or glow-tube, slowly dying. That, and the old stories.”
“Told by the priests – as moral lessons,” his son spat. “By the flunkies of the old fraud we are on our way to kowtow to.”
Peter managed not to slap him. Managed only because of two reasons. First, because it would be taken as a sign of weakness if he let the boy provoke him into losing control – and he wouldn't give the Runt the pleasure of thinking he was slipping. Your promotion is a long ways away, you senseless idler! But the main reason, at the moment, was that they at that very instant pulling into the papal compound. If he struck the lad as he deserved for that crack, it would likely leave a mark – and he'd be damned if he'd show the Pontiff the slightest sign of division in their ranks.
“We are not kowtowing,” he hissed. “The Church is an effective tool of statecraft. If you paid attention to your history tutor you'd know that by now. We don't have to believe in it, in order to use it. And we don't have to suffer the kind of trouble he could cause for us, if nothing more than a show of respect and courtesy will prevent it.”
“Or a crossbow at short range.” Jeffrey grimaced. “It's not prayer that makes crops grow or herds increase.” Seeing Peter's expression, he held up his hands. “Oh, all right, I'll make nice for the sake of the Empire. I'll pretend a respect that I'll never have.”
How did I raise such an insolent fool? It was a question he asked himself often, and he asked it yet again while they sat in the Pontiff's outer room. Could I have been that bad before my own promotion, when I was the Runt?
The problem was, he actually agreed with the boy on many points. In a country poised for greatness, the Church contributed little and consumed much. Every bit of coin or hempscript dropped into the coffers of the Texan Catholic Church was money that could have gone to finance his growing army. And unlike other enterprises in his empire, the TCC paid no taxes on its incomes or properties, a convention as inconvenient as it was ancient.
Still, they were needed, at least for the short term. People had to have something to be
lieve in. Naturally, he wished that he were that something, but even he had to admit that the Honcho could not make it rain or ward off sickness. Some of the old stories said the Ancient had controlled the weather. Well, that ability was long gone. Mankind was once again at the mercy of the vagaries of Fate, and until he could offer a viable alternative to their comforting belief in a benevolent Creator watching over them, he was not going to make life harder by trying to take that away from his people.
But what about Jeffrey? Could he make him understand before the idiot inherited the throne? Eventually, the growth of the Lone Star Empire would put them up against the Dixie Emirates. Even if he succeeded in fielding a mechanized army, the Church could come in handy then. A holy war would play out far better in the farms and cottages of the commoners than the mere continuation of the expansionist agenda. With a provoked incident here, and a widely publicized outrage there, they might even volunteer for it and make conscription unnecessary.
Chapter 14
Jeffrey: “where the dreams cross”
By the time they were admitted into the presence of the Pontiff Jeffrey felt like screaming. It was never easy spending time with the Honcho, and even less so when his father was in the mood to teach him. I've read the books. I know some of the roles the Church has played in history. Constantine, also, thought he could tame the Church for his own uses. But he was wrong. When they became the official religion of the Roman Empire, they ended persecution of Christians … and immediately set about the persecution of both older religions and younger cults. My father, led my the example of his father, is making the same mistake as Constantine.
But I shall not repeat his mistake, or continue it, when I am Honcho.
When the chamberlain entered the waiting room, he stood, without waiting for his father to do the same. He could see that the official was amused by this sign of youthful rebellion.
“His Holiness will see you now.”
Following his father into the audience chamber, he was amused to see that the Holy Father's minion had crafted him a papal throne, with a short row of lower chairs arranged in front of it. He could see the Honcho's eyes narrow at this, at the way the head of the TCC put him at a disadvantage – from the seats provided, they would be looking up at he who filled the shoes of the Fisherman. Jeffrey wondered how his father would make reply to this without drawing attention to it.
He did not have wait long for his answer. As they approached, His Holiness Pope Rodrigo, the Second of that name, did not stand; he was not a tall man, and it would not have contributed much to the effect his raised throne had already established. This was especially so because he was also not a thin man. He smiled innocently at them and raised his hand, extended his ring to be kissed.
The Honcho replied with just as innocent a smile, but reached forward and shook the Pontiff's hand.
Jeffrey stifled the urge to laugh out loud. The message had been delivered! We are not your flunkies. His Holiness's mask of cordiality slipped for just a second, as his eyes flashed with anger, then just as suddenly it was back in place, his smile broad, if a trifle forced. “We are always pleased to greet you, Your Excellency. Please be seated.”
Without that “please”, thought Jeffrey, I would have ignored him, and remained upright. He waited for his father to seat himself, then settled himself in the chair to the right of him. No disunity, but a united front. I am his right-hand man. As far as you know, “Holiness”.
“Now then, your Excellency,” the man on the throne continued, “to what do We owe the pleasure of this visit?”
The Honcho eyed him, “I suspect that you already know,” he said. “But in case your spies are less efficient than I thought, or haven't reported to you yet, I'll summarize. I'm planning a major offensive to expand the Empire, using some vehicles and weapons of the Ancients discovered in an buried Armory.”
The Pontiff blinked. “Is this a change in policy – consulting with Us on matters of military strategy?”
“No,” said Peter. “Unfortunately, we do not have any fuel for the motorized vehicles. My technicians assure me that they have adequate information to distill sufficient fuel from the crude oil available in the old wells, but there is a catch.”
“Word had reached me about the Armory you discovered,” Pope Rodrigo admitted. “But my operatives thought that there would be fuel stored along with the vehicles, as undoubtedly there is ammunition for the weapons.” He gazed at nothing for a moment. “You mentioned a catch. Let me see. You have the vehicles, and you have the old oil wells, and plans to distill usable fuel from the crude oil. So the question must be how to get the oil out of them. I've heard that there used to be wells called 'gushers' in the old days that literally spewed oil out of the ground when breached by a drill. I take it that you do not have any of those left?”
“None. We'll have to pump it out by force.”
Now His Holiness appeared to be confused. “But pumps are simple. Our monks use them all the time to get well water for drinking, cooking and watering crops.”
“We will need a lot of crude oil to make our fuel,” the Honcho told him. “And it is deep underground. Hand pumps won't do the job. We could devise rotary-operated pumps driven by teams of oxen, but they'd take forever to bring up the quantity required.”
The Pontiff absorbed that. “How did the Ancients solve this problem?” he asked.
“Machine pumps. But even if we could build them, they'd be useless.”
The heir of Saint Peter lifted his eyebrows. “Why?”
“Because they'd need a power source, either the same fuel we don't have and are trying to make…or the tamed lightning of the Ancients that we don't have anymore. There appears to be no conventional solution. We're going to have to think outside the box.”
The ecclesiastical eyes narrowed at that. “Now I begin to understand. No conventional solution, but you have thought of an unconventional one. One that you know will upset Us, or you would not be here today.”
“Correct. “We're going to have to use swizzles and everflames. I know the Church is dead against any official use of the Gifts of the Tourists, but in this case – “
Rodrigo held up a finger, interrupting him. “Hold on. I see why you want to use swizzles, but why the everflames too?”
“Once we get the oil out of the ground, we need to heat it up and distill gasoline and diesel fuel out of it. The scale of what I'm planning would require so much firewood that it would seriously hamper our ability to build on the conquered lands for lack of lumber, if we burned that wood to make fire instead.”
“Couldn't you just trade with other countries for coal? You could burn that instead.”
“Not a good idea, Holiness. They're not dumb. They'd wonder what I need all that extra coal for. Once the army moves out and they understand, trade will grind to a halt. Once we locate and take possession of the coal mines, of course, we can use coal-fired heating for the refineries from then on. But in the short term – “
“ – you will need the short cut of the everflames. I see.” The Pontiff rested his chin in a palm, reflecting on this. “We have a long-standing ban on the use of the Gifts,” he reminded them. “The use of this sorcery from the demon 'Tourists' is what led to the downfall of the Ancients and all their marvels, as you well know. We are still paying penance for it, even after all this time.”
“I won't argue theology with you. I agree with the Church's position, you know that. The only way to rebuild civilization is the hard way – the way it was done before.” Peter leaned back in his chair. “But political unification has to come first, or we'll spend the next thousand years slowly advancing, while fighting little wars with increasing death tolls from better weapons. We can't let that happen.”
It was a nice speech, Jeffrey thought. But you left out a key part, father. The real reason you're in such a hurry is you want it to happen in your own lifetime. So that you can rule it all.
“Why not?” asked His Holiness. “I mean, granted,
the loss of life would be be regrettable, but it worked that way the first time. Maybe God wants us to do it the same way – the hard way – to show we've learned from our mistakes.”
“I don't think so,” said the Honcho. “And I'll tell you why. God knows something that you might not have considered, and He knows we have to progress faster this time.”
Pope Rodrigo regarded him, amusement plain on his face. “Has He told you something he has kept secret from Us? That would seem unlikely.”
“No, I've just thought about it more than you have. The Tourists could come back. Or others could follow in their footsteps. For all we know, they may have told others about Earth, and put us on the celestial map for everyone out there. We have to be ready for them.”
The Pontiff's eyes grew wider. “You're right. I hadn't thought of that.” He was silent for a minute. “If God let them come once, He may do so again, if He decides we need further punishment. We have been thinking of the past, and not the future.”
He drummed his fingers on the armrest of the papal throne. “It would be…awkward to make an official announcement that Our policy has changed. We would have to give reasons, reasons that could stir up unrest among the faithful.”
Peter nodded. “I know that. You don't have to say anything, provided we come to an agreement about this between ourselves. I won't flaunt your ban publicly, and you won't have to condemn what the government is doing … publicly.”
Pathspace: The Space of Paths Page 7