The rest of Rome was a two-mile high quadrangle around the Vatican. The Eternal Seven Hills had long ago been leveled; the Tiber ran through a plastic tube in the lower levels of Rome.
Change was the only constant in human affairs and, indeed, in the universe. Men and women were born and died... Anna!
He cried and sobbed as if great hands within him were squeezing the breath and the tears out of him. The cardinal was rigid with embarrassment, but he pulled Carmody’s head down against his chest and patted the priest’s hair while he muttered jerky and awkward consolation. Presently, his body relaxed, and his own tears fell upon Carmody.
By the time they had reached the port, Carmody was sitting up and drying his eyes on a handkerchief. “I’ll be all right now. For a while, anyway. I’m glad I have an excuse to get away. If I’d stayed, I might have fallen apart. What kind of an example would I be to those I’ve tried to support in their grief? Or to those who’ve listened to me preach that death is more an occasion for joy than sorrow, since glory awaits the dead and they’re beyond the temptations and evils of this world? I knew damn well while I was saying all those words that they meant little. It’s not until the shock and pain wear away that they’re any comfort.”
The cardinal did not reply. A moment later, they reached the port. This was a five- story building, covering thirty acres, and built largely of white marble quarried in the Whizaroo mountains some ninety kilometers from the capital city. Its huge main room was filled with human beings from every planet in the Federation and a number of other sentients. Most of them were here on government or other business; the minority were those who had enough money to afford first-class fares. The immigration section was in another part of the building, and there the people were not so expensively dressed nor so carefree.
The two priests walked slowly through the crowd, many of whom wore the “medusa” or “living wig,” which coiled itself at regulated times to form different coiffures and also every hour passed through the entire spectrum of 100,000 colors. Many wore the half- cloaks with flaring “bartizan” shoulders and material which gave forth tinkles, the notes of which varied according to minute changes in temperature and air pressure. A few of the older people had painted legs, but the rest wore boswells—tights on the surface of which appeared moving pictures of the wearer at various stages of his life, and personal statistics or capsule biographies. One expensively dressed woman had boswells which portrayed in cartoons the highlights of her life.
Carmody said good-bye to His Eminence, who wanted to return to the city and start making arrangements for the funeral. He also had several letters to dictate to the officials in the Vatican, explaining why he was delayed.
The checkout required for every interstellar traveler took a half-hour. Carmody stripped off his clothes, which were taken away to be sanitized. In the physical- examination cubicle, he stood motionless for two minutes while the scanners probed intangibly into his body. At the end of that time, he was given a certificate of good health. His garments were returned with another certificate. He put back on his three-cornered, low-brimmed hat, the stiff white collar, the simple blouse, the conservatively puffed shorts, the modest codpiece, and unadorned maroon tights. From that moment until he entered the ship, he was not allowed to re-enter the other part of the building.
However, a letter, also sanitized, was delivered to him via tube. A woman’s voice came through a speaker to inform him that the letter had just come off the
Mkuki, direct from Earth. Carmody looked at the seal, which bore his name and address and that of the sender: R. Raspold. He dropped it into his beltbag with the other letter.
Meanwhile, his passport and other papers were brought up to date, checked, and validated. He had to sign a waiver whereby both the governments of Wildenwooly and the Federation were absolved of any obligation if he were to die or be injured on Kareen. He also took out insurance for the flight as far as Springboard. Half went to his order, one quarter to his daughter (begotten two years after he had become a priest), and one quarter to the governmental agency that supervised the reservations for the sentient but primitive aboriginals of Wildenwooly.
He finished a few minutes before announcement of the takeoff of his ship, the White Mule, a small liner of the privately owned Saxwell Stellar Line. Thus, he had a little time to study his fellow debarkees. There were four, three of whom would be getting off at planets other than Kareen. The only one whose destination was the same as his was a Raphael Abdu. He was of average height, 1.9 meters, medium stocky in build, but his hands and feet were huge. He had a broad, meaty face, a dark skin, wavy brown hair, and slight epicanthic folds that indicated some Mongolian ancestors. According to the records, he was a native of Earth and had been on Wildenwooly for several weeks. His business was listed as export-import, a term covering a multitude of interests.
A voice from the speaker asked all to sit down. A minute later, the room in which the travelers sat detached itself from the main building and moved out toward the White Mule. The liner was a hemisphere the flat part of which rested on the griegite-paved landing circle. Its white irradiated plastic skin gleamed in the midafternoon sun of Wildenwooly. As the mobile room approached, the seemingly unbroken surface of the
White Mule split near the ground, and a round port swung out. The mobile, directed by remote control, nudged gently into the entrance, and its front door collapsed on itself. An officer in the green uniform of the Saxwell line entered and bade them welcome.
The passengers filed into a small chamber with only a green rug for furnishings and thence into a large room. This was a cocktail lounge, now closed. They passed through another room, where they were handed a small document. Carmody glanced through his to see if anything new had been added, then stuck the paper into a pocket of his blouse. It contained a short history of the Saxwell line and a list of procedures for the passenger, with all of which he was familiar.
There were three levels open to passengers, first, second, and third class. Carmody had purchased a ticket for third class, in accordance with the economy required by his order. His level was a huge room that looked more like a theater than anything else, except that the screen at this moment showed the view outside the ship. The seats were arranged two abreast with aisles between the rows. Most of the eight hundred seats were filled, and the room was noisy with chatter. At that moment, Carmody wished he were in a first-class cabin, where he could have privacy. But that was out of the question, so he sat down beside a vacant seat.
A stewardess checked him to make sure he was strapped in, and asked him if he had read the rules. Would he care for a space pill? He said he did not need one.
She smiled at him and went on to the next passenger. Carmody could overhear the fellow say that he wanted another pill.
The pilot’s smiling face appeared on the screen. He welcomed his passengers aboard the White Mule, a fine ship which had not had an accident or even been behind schedule in its ten years of service. He warned them that takeoff would be within five minutes and repeated the stewardesses’ instructions not to remove the straps. After a few words about their next stop, he signed off.