Tongues of the Moon

by Philip José Farmer

  Broward's heart was beating hard at this intimacy with so many of the enemy. At the same time, he was curious. He had always wanted to know what the great base of Osorno looked like. This admission port, for instance, was enormous. It had at least fifty separate entrances for ships. After one had entered, air and heat were pumped into the individual port. The men left the vessel and went up a wide ramp into a long stone corridor. This led to a room at least five hundred meters wide and fifty high. There were desks spaced around it, but only a few were manned. At the nearest, the arrivees from Deimos reported in.

  The sergeant on duty, a man who looked as if he had been very sick not too long ago, said, "This is Lieutenant Quiroga? He is the man who is the only survivor of the de Rosas? He is to report at once to Naval Intelligence."

  "My cousin sent in a report," muttered Quiroga to Broward. "Evidently, they want to talk to me in person."

  The sergeant gave Broward and his bandaged face a hard look, but Saavedra said, "He burned his face in an accident."

  "Then, if I were he, I'd be careful," replied the -sergeant. "Those with burns are very susceptible to the sickness of tears. He should report to Hospital Unit No. 10 at once."

  "I will see that Quiroga and Malory follow their orders," the colonel said.

  He beckoned the two to follow him, and they fell in line. Saavedra walked very swiftly out of the large chamber and down a long high-ceilinged corridor until he came to an elevator. Broward was carrying both his bag and the colonel's suitcase, but, in Mars' weak gravity, they were not heavy burdens. Inside the elevator, the colonel ordered two enlisted men who had just preceded them to leave.

  "Take the next elevator. We are on very important business."

  The two soldiers left without protest. Saavedra punched the button; the doors closed.

  "Get those bandages off while we're going down," the colonel said. "Pablo, help him. It is unfortunate that you were to go to Intelligence, because they may wonder where you are and start investigating. On the other hand, they may not receive word that you are here for a long time or ever. It depends on our luck and on the intentions of God."

  Broward stuffed the bandages into his bag just as the elevator stopped. He walked out behind the others into an enormous square room—too big to be called a room, a cavern almost—cut out of granite. Luminescent panels, as on the moon, furnished lighting. Along the farther wall were several buildings composed of blocks of some red material.

  The blocks are made of piedras de care."

  "What we call foamstone," said Broward. "We've some on the Moon, too."

  The colonel glanced again at his watch. "Normally, we could walk through the halls and plazas unnoticed. But so many are sick that anybody traveling around on his own two feet is conspicuous. Nevertheless, we'll have to approach General Mier's office as if we had business there."

  Broward wondered if the only way to get anywhere was to use shank's mare. At that moment, a small vehicle rolled out of a corridor into the big chamber or plaza. It was only a lightweight frame on which were mounted the electric fuel-cell-powered motor and four bucket seats. The motor drove the two front wheels and also acted as braking power.

  Saavedra hailed the driver, who was a public taxi operator. And, as the driver told them, chattering a Spanish so provincial that the two Argentineans, let alone Broward, had trouble understanding him, he was the only taximan left in Osorno. The others had either been drafted into the hospital services or were themselves too sick to work.

  The colonel gave him an address, not correct but near their destination. After going down several different corridors and, once, down a winding ramp into a lower level, the taxi stopped. Saavedra signed a credit chit, and the taxi rolled silently away. The three walked by several barracks, all seemingly empty, and then halted before a three-story foam-stone building at the front of which hung the flag of Argentina.

  "In case Intelligence is looking for three men," said Saavedra, "it is better that only one of us go in to make inquiries. Naturally, I will have to talk to the general, since I am the only one who can claim to be his friend. If all goes well, I will send for you."

  He was gone for only a minute and returned looking worried.

  "There was only one man on duty inside, a corporal. He told me that Mier is sick in his quarters. Mier's wife died, may God receive her soul. She was a gentle woman, a fine lady, the mother of three strong sons and one beautiful daughter."

  Broward suggested that, rather than walk or wait for the taxi to come back this way, they commandeer one of the military jeeps parked nearby. No sooner said than done. There was no key problem, since these vehicles had none. Apparently, it had not occurred to the authorities that anybody would steal them in this small and close-knit community. Or maybe the penalties for theft were so severe that crime was scarce.

  Two minutes later, they had turned into the largest "plaza" yet and parked before one of the ubiquitous foamstone cubes. The colonel knocked on the door of the ground-floor apartment. Nobody answered; he pushed open the door. The first room was luxuriously furnished by Moon standards; it was filled with furniture of the late nineteenth-century period that must have been imported from Mier's estate in Argentina.

  "General! Are you home? It is Colonel Saavedra."

  A weak voice bade them come into the bedroom. They went through a large dining-room and down a hallway to the room from which the voice had come.

  Mier was lying in bed. He was a dark-skinned man of about fifty-five, bald, and with a craggy face and eagle's-beak nose. He would have been an impressive man at another time. Now, he was shaking and his teeth were chattering. Tears ran down his cheeks.

  "General Mier!" Saavedra said. "Have you no one to take care of you? Where is your daughter, your sons?"

  'Two of my sons are dead," the general said. "My daughter has gone where only God and the devil know. Rather, the devil knows, for I think she has been made one of Howards' secretaries."

  "Nombre de Dios! You mean... ?"

  Mier nodded and then could not stop nodding. Finally, managing to control himself, he said, "When Carlota was ordered to report to that fiend, I knew what was in store for her. I phoned Howards, begged that she be allowed to remain with me, to nurse me. But he refused. He said the state needed her. The state! L'etat, c'est Howards! Carlota is a beautiful girl, and that beast saw her and desired her. He dared to take her only because I am sick and he thinks I will die soon.

  "Oh, if only my son, the only left alive to me, my brave strong Ulises, were here! He would do what I am too weak to do. He would avenge our honor."

  "We will avenge you," cried Saavedra. "But it would be senseless to try to storm Howards' building with only three of us. We would accomplish nothing but our own deaths."

  "If I could walk, if I could hold a gun," Mier said, "I would go into that building alone. I would shoot until they killed me. At least, I would have shown them that the father of Carlota Mier is no coward nor a man to treat lightly."

  "No one doubts your courage," the colonel said. "But we are here for something even more important—if you will forgive me for saying so—than removing the stain on your family honor. We are here to save Mars. To save humanity."

  "I do not understand," Mier replied through clicking teeth.

  Saavedra told him as swiftly as he could, touching only the most significant of the events that had brought them here, Mier said, "Holy Mother of Christ! My Ulises was with the fleet that was sent to the Moon! Young man, you yanqui, you say that two of our ships did escape? Destroyers?"

  Mier raised himself a little from his pillows, but he fell back. "Then there is still a chance that my Ulises is alive. He was on a destroyer."

  "Let us hope so," Broward answered. "And, if our plans work, your son may live to be a hundred or more. And you may have many fine grandchildren."

  Mier said, "There is only one thing to do. My friends, those who have been wronged by Howards, those who hate him only because of what he is, these mu
st help us."

  Saavedra suggested several names. At each one, Mier shook his head.

  No. That one was dead. No. That one was on Phobos. No. This one was even sicker than he, Mier. That one was no man; he had been greatly wronged but he loved his worthless life more than his self-respect.

  Again, Saavedra looked at his wristwatch. "Is there no one to help us? Surely..."

  "There is His Holiness," Mier said.

  "But he is a priest," Saavedra replied. "What could he do?"

  "Wait a minute," Broward said. "The Pope escaped? He is here?"

  "Not the saintly Pelagio III," said Quiroga. "He was in Buenos Aires when the bombs struck. The present Holy Father was Father Vonheyder, the Bishop of Mars. He assumed the pontificate, as was his right, and the name of Siricio II. Saint Siricius, his namesake, was the 38th pope."

  "We've no time for ecclesiastical history," the colonel said. "I will admit that the Holy Father has reason to wish that another than Howards was his secular chief. It is obvious by now to everyone that Howards would like for all of the remaining priests in the world to die. There are only thirty left. But he would not dare to make an overt move against them. He would have a revolt on his hands."

  Broward said, suddenly, "There's your answer!"

  Startled, they stared at him. "What do you mean?"

  "Look, I know you aren't going to like what I'm about to propose. But a desperate situation requires swift and desperate measures. You can't afford to be scrupulous. What if one of you made an anonymous call to Howards? Told him that the Pope was plotting to lead a revolt against him because the Pope fears that the Church is in mortal danger of perishing forever?

  "Then Howards will be forced to arrest Siricio. And when that happens, you can get some quick action and support from those who have hitherto held back. They won't dare not fight; their souls will be in danger if they do."

  Saavedra exploded. "You are crazy, you atheist Soviet! We should betray the Holy Father to save our lives? And lose our souls?"

  "I would not think of it" Quiroga said. His face was white.

  Mier's weakening voice seemed to originate at the bottom of his lungs and taper off before it reached his lips. Broward bent over him.

  "Do not try to force the Holy Father into such a situation. He will not be your tool. But go to him, talk to him. Perhaps he can suggest something. He is a very wise and a very strong man. And there are many devout Catholics here. Originally, Howards sent high-ranking potential troublemakers here, many of whom were Catholics, to get rid of them. But that was before he thought of coming here himself. The Holy Father was one of those he got transferred to Mars. Talk to him. Perhaps..."

  Saavedra said, "Is he all right?"

  "I think he's dying," replied Broward. He moved away to allow the colonel to get closer to Mier. But Mier spoke loudly enough for all to hear.

  "Ay de mi! Save my daughter! Save..."

  There was a rattling. The general's mouth dropped open, and his eyes stared.

  Saavedra covered the face with a sheet. He was weeping. "He was my friend!" he sobbed. "He was a brave man!"

  Quiroga had already picked up a phone and was trying to get through to a priest But Broward pressed the button that turned the phone off.

  "We'll go to the Pope's house," he said. "We can send a priest from there to Mier. There's no time to waste."

  "We will be under surveillance," said Saavedra. "The moment we enter, Intelligence will know. It won't be difficult for them to identify Pablo and me. And a little checking will tell them that we left the port with a third man whose face was bandaged. That will be enough for them to investigate. They won't lose any time."

  "What do you suggest? We haven't any time to lose, either."

  The two Argentineans looked helpless. Broward said, "I'm going there. Don't stop me. You know what will happen if you do."

  Saavedra took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes. He said, "Very well. We'll go with you. God help us, we can do nothing else."

  On the way, Saavedra said, "So far, we've been lucky not to have been stopped by roving Angelos. These Angels are Howards' personal army and secret service. They have many privileges, which they abuse. One of them is the right to stop and question any citizen whom they think suspicious. They do it quite frequently and use the opportunity to get bribes."

  They drove through various corridors of varying sizes. At the intersections of the tunnels were signs, suspended from the ceilings, that indicated the names and east-west or north-south locations and the levels. Saavedra was familiar' with this section, so he did not have to use the maps in the jeep. But he confessed that there were many parts of Osorno where he would have been lost without their help.

  The jeep halted before a line of elevator doors. The colonel pressed a button on the panel of the jeep, and the door directly in front of them slid open. The jeep entered; Quiroga got out to press the down button.

  "If Osorno grows to be a great city," Broward said, "it will be haunted by the thought that some day another bomb, such as the one now above Mars, may be dropped on this planet. If we succeed here, I intend to destroy the bomb that now exists. But the people who made it, they still exist, and they can make another. If they survive under the sea and some day emerge, they will be a threat to all of humanity."

  The elevator stopped, the door opened, the jeep drove out onto the third level.

  "Destroy the bomb by dropping it on Earth," said Saavedra. "That way, you will kill two birds with one stone. The bomb and knowledge of how to make it will cease to exist in a single explosion."

  "I cannot do it. How can I know for sure that another bomb will be made or that it'll be used? Besides, I am sure that there are other places under the ground and under the seas of Earth where others, innocents, you might say, live. They, too, would die."

  "Man has always lived under some form of threat of annihilation," Quiroga said. "In the ancient times, it was the wrath of God or plague and then it was the atomic bombs; somehow, he has managed to survive."

  "His luck may run out at any minute," Broward replied. "Oh, oh, who are they?"

  They had left the elevator chamber and driven through a long tunnel into a tremendous plaza. Now, a jeep

  with three men was driving towards them, and its siren was whooping. Two of the three men were armed with submachine guns.

  "The Angels," said Colonel Saavedra. "You will notice that traffic is very small here. It always is. That neo-Gothic building over there is Howards' residence. Anybody who enters this plaza is likely to be challenged. He takes no chances."

  "If they try to take us into custody, shoot," Broward said. He nodded at another building across the plaza from Hows' mansion. By the colonel's description, he knew it was the Pope's house. "We'll make a run for it"

  "Then what?" muttered Quiroga.

  Broward stopped the jeep. The Angels' vehicle turned broadside and halted just before the jeep. Its occupants, dressed in white uniforms with much gold braiding, got out. One of the gunners walked around behind the jeep to cover it. The officer approached from the driver's, Broward's, side. The second gunner remained by his car.

  The officer, a short very muscular man with a hard face, said, "Let's see your identification and travel permits."

  "We just got here from Deimos," the colonel replied. "I was told nothing about local travel permits."

  "Your identification," said the officer harshly.

  Broward reached into his coveralls, saying, "I have the permit, Captain. I did not think it necessary to burden the colonel with knowledge of it."

  His words did not make logic, but he was talking to divert the officer's mind. The captain reached out his hand to take the papers, and Broward pressed the little knob on the matchbox-sized object in his hand. The captain, his heart muscles spasming, fell to the ground.

  Broward whirled around and caught the other two with a sweep of the beam. The man by the jeep fell at once. The other, behind the jeep, shifted the
tommy to his shoulder to fire, and then he fell face forward on his weapon.

  "Knock them out," ordered Broward loudly. "Quickly. They'll recover almost at once."

  He jumped from the jeep and brought the edge of his palm against the thick neck of the captain, who was just rising from the ground. As if it had been planned, the colonel took the man nearest him, the Angel by the official vehicle. He drove his knee upwards to catch the rising man under the chin with it. The Angel fell backwards and struck the back of his neck against the wheel. Quiroga kicked the gunner behind the jeep in the belly.

  Broward looked across the plaza towards Howards' building. The plaza was empty, and nobody was coming out of the mansion. It seemed incredible that nobody had noticed the fight. But they had not.

  Under Broward's direction, the Angels were dragged into the back of the jeep. "Quiroga, drive their jeep into the corridor. I'll drive ours there."

  In the corridor, out of sight of anybody in the plaza, Broward began to undress the captain. The others followed suit with each of the Angels.

  "What do we do with them?" said the colonel. He glanced toward the tunnel leading to the elevator chamber.

  "Why didn't I think of that?" moaned Broward. "Let's get out of here and into an elevator. We'll do the uniform exchange there."

  They drove the jeeps into the tunnel and thence into the room beyond and then dragged the unconscious men into the elevator at the extreme left end of the room. Quiroga started it downward, then resumed taking his man's clothes off. He paused several times to reverse the elevator's direction.

  "That little weapon of yours is a wonderful device," the colonel said. He was breathing hard. "We don't have anything like that, that I know of."

  They completed the switch. One Angel groaned, and Broward kicked him hard in the head. "Stop it at the level where we got on," he said to the lieutenant. "We've got to get something to hold the door open while we send this elevator back up again. Well drop these men down the shaft."

  The cage stopped; the door slid open. With the tommy held ready, Broward stepped out into the room. He saw five Angels getting out of a jeep; the foremost was walking towards another elevator entrance.