There were many more ships in the landing circles than when he had last been here. Carmody thanked God that he had been privileged to see the planets when they were relatively untouched by human beings. Not that there weren’t many more to be discovered and explored yet. But his ways lately had been confined to much-trodden paths.
He walked around the buildings of the port for a half-hour, then went back to his terminus for the decontamination process. A large crowd in the main lobby barred his path. For a moment, he could not determine what was causing the angry shouts, red faces, threatening fists. Then he saw that a group, some of whom carried signs: Christian Protective Society, had surrounded a dozen men and women. These, aside from their defensive attitudes, seemed no different in appearance than their persecutors.
It was only when he managed to push through the crowd that he got close enough to see the broad gold rings on the index fingers of the besieged group. The rings were incised with a circle beneath which were two crossed phallic-looking spears. He had seen several of these on Wildenwooly and knew then that the attacked people were converts to Boontism. They were gathered by the customs desk and doing their best to ignore the taunts and insults howled at them. Facing the ranks of the Christian Protective Society was a beefy, thick-browed, big-nosed priest. Carmody recognized him at once, although he had not seen him in twelve years. He was Father Christopher Bakeling, and he had entered the priesthood and the Order of St. Jairus the same year as Carmody.
Carmody made his way toward him, the crowd dividing at sight of the clerical garments. Carmody placed himself between the giant priest and the Boontists.
“Father Bakeling, what’s going on?”
Bakeling’s eyes widened.
“John Carmody! What are you doing here?”
“Not making trouble, I can tell you that! What’s your beef with those people?”
“Beef!” the giant priest shouted. “Beef! Carmody, I know you well! You’re here to make trouble, sure as ‘Needlenose’ is your nickname!”
He waved his arms and sputtered for a moment, then succeeded in gaining self- control. He pointed at a tall handsome man standing at the admission desk.
“See him! That’s Father Gideon! He became a worshiper of the foul idol Boonta, and now he’s taking three of his own parish with him, to Hell! And what’s more, two of my own flock!”
A woman in the crowd yelled, “Gideon’s an anti-Christ, that’s what he is, an anti- Christ! And him my own confessor! He ought to be put in jail and locked up where he can’t go spilling all his secrets.”
“He ought to be stoned!” Bakeling cried.”Stoned! Or hung in a field, like Judas! He’s betrayed his own sweet Lord for a devil, and he’s lured...”
“Shut up, Bakeling,” Carmody said harshly. “You’re making a bad situation worse by your big mouth and public antics! I’d think you’d want to keep this quiet. This kind of advertisement for them, and for us, is best avoided.”
Bakeling, his fists clenched, thrust himself against Carmody and forced the little priest back. “You taking their side? I know you, Carmody! You aren’t free of the Boontist taint, yourself! I’ve even heard that you fornicated with the priestess of Boonta or did some- thing equally wicked, and that the son of Boonta is also your son! I didn’t believe it; no man of the cloth could be so evil, not even a freak like you! But now I’m not so sure!”
“Get away from me, Bakeling,” Carmody said. He felt anger rising like mercury in a heat wave.”Back away, and try to act like a man of God!”
He paused, then could hold his anger no longer.”Don’t push me! I’m warning you!”
“Ah, you banty rooster, you believe your own reputation for being a dangerous man! You’re too little for me to even spit on! And not good enough for me to spit on, either!”
The woman who had denounced Gideon spoke out again. “What kind of a priest are you? Taking up sides against your own religion, your own people?”
Carmody attempted to calm himself. In a lower voice, he said,”I am trying to do the Christian thing, trying to keep you people from acting with hate. Remember: Love thy enemy.”
The woman screamed,”Next you’ll be telling us to turn our other cheek and invite that filth to dinner! They’re evil, Father, evil! And that Father Gideon is Satan himself! How could he... how could he...?” And she burst into a string of oaths and invective that Carmody in his former days, would have admired. Whatever else possessed the woman, she certainly had imagination and a flair for the profane.
“Out of my way, Carmody!” the huge priest bellowed. “I’m going to make Gideon recant if I have to wring his neck!”
“This isn’t the way to do it!” Carmody said.
“The hell it isn’t!” Bakeling shouted, and he swung at Carmody. As the little priest ducked under the ponderous fist, the anger and frustration that had been burning in him since Anna’s death took over. He rammed the stiffened fingers of his left hand into the big soft belly before him. Bakeling clutched at his stomach, whooshed, bent over and was hit squarely in the nose with a fist. Blood spurted out over his shoes onto Carmody’s legs.
A single roar welled from the crowd. They surged forward, drove Carmody back by the wall of their bodies, and pressed him against the screaming and yelling Boontists. Police whistles blew. Several fists struck Carmody, and he lost consciousness.
When he opened his eyes, his head, jaw, ribs, and shoulders hurt. He was being administered to by a policeman in the white-and-black uniform and cone-shaped hat of the Springboard city force. Before Carmody could say anything, he was jerked upright and carried along by two big men toward the lobby and outdoors. Here several paddy wagons were waiting for him and for the other rioters who had not been swift enough or had been too injured to run.
However, he was given special treatment. While most of the others were forced into the wagons, he was urged ungently into the back seat of a patrol car. A lieutenant sat on one side of him. On the other was Father Bakeling, a handkerchief pressed to his nose.
“Now see what you’ve done, you troublemaker!” Bakeling mumbled. “You started a riot, and you’ve disgraced your Church and your vicarship!”
“I?”
Carmody looked startled, then he started to laugh but quit when his ribs wrenched a groan from him. “Are we going to be booked?” he said to the lieutenant.
“Father Bakeling is pressing charges against you.” He handed the priest a wristphone. “You are entitled to one call to your lawyer.”
Carmody ignored him and spoke to Bakeling, “If I’m delayed so long I miss getting a ship to Kareen, you’ll have to answer to the highest authority for it. And I mean the highest.”
Bakeling dabbed at his nose with his handkerchief and growled, “Don’t threaten me, Carmody. Remember, I know you for what you are, a lying little trickster.”
“I’ll make a call after all,” Carmody said. He took the phone. “What’s the anticode?”
The lieutenant told him the numbers, and Carmody repeated them. The gray half- moon on the upper half of the 5.08-centimeter disc became luminous.
“What’s Bishop Emzaba’s number?”
Bakeling started; the lieutenant’s eyes blinked. Bakeling said, “I won’t tell you.”