The morning sun fell on a front wall of emerald green, the other walls were red and golden and deep sky blue. The temple of Mota was ready for converts -- and for others.
Most important, none but a Caucasian could now pass through its door with impunity.
An hour before daylight Jeff posted himself at the door and waited nervously. The sudden transformation was sure to stir up another search squad; if necessary he must stop them, stun, or even kill -- but no search could be permitted. He hoped to dissuade; the temple must be established as an enclave used only by the slave race. But a slight excess of zeal on the part of an underling could force him to violent means, and thereby destroy the hope of peaceful penetration.
Howe came up behind him and made him jump. "Uh? Oh, Alec! Don't do that. I'm nervous as a cat already. "
"Sorry. Major Ardmore is on the circuit. He wants to know how you are making out."
"You'll have to talk to him. I can't leave the door."
"He wants to know when Scheer will be back, too."
"Tell him I'll send him back just as soon as I know it's safe to step outside this door and not a minute sooner."
"O. K. " Howe turned away. Jeff looked back at the street and felt the hair on his neck stand up. A PanAsian in uniform was staring curiously at the building. The foreigner stood for a moment, then went away at the dog trot they all affected when moving on duty.
"Mota, old boy," Jeff said to himself. "It's time to do your stuff."
Less than ten minutes later a squad arrived commanded by the same officer who had searched the building before. "Stand aside, Holy One."
"No, Master," Jeff said firmly, "the temple is now consecrated. None may enter but worshipers of the Lord Mota."
"We will not harm your temple, Holy One. Stand aside. "
"Master, if you enter I cannot save you from the wrath of the Lord Mota. Nor can I save you from the wrath of the Imperial Hand." Before the officer had time to turn this over in his mind Jeff went quickly on, "The Lord Mota expected this visit from you and greets you. He bids me, his humble servant, to make you three gifts."
"Gifts?
"For yourself --" Jeff laid a heavy purse in his hand. "For your superior officer, may his name be blessed -- " A second purse followed. "-- and for your men." A third purse was added; the PanAsian was forced to use both hands.
He stood there for a moment. There could be no doubt in his mind, from the weight alone, as to what the purses contained. It was more gold than he had ever handled in his life. Shortly he turned, barked an order at his men, and strode away.
Howe came up again. "You made it, Jeff?'"
"This round, at least." Thomas watched the squad move up the street. "Cops are all alike, the world over. Reminds me of a railroad dick I once knew."
"Do you think he'll share it out the way you suggested?"
"The men won't get any, that's sure. He may split with his boss, to keep him quiet. He'll probably find some way to hide the third lot of loot before he gets back to the station. What I'm wondering is: is he an honest politician?"
"Huh?"
"'An honest politician is one that stays bought.' Come on, let's get ready for customers."
They held their first services that evening. As church services they were nothing much, since Jeff was still feeling out the art. They conformed to the good old skid-road mission principle: sing a hymn and eat a meal. But the meal was good red meat and white bread -- and the recipients had not eaten that well in many months.
CHAPTER SEVEN
"Hello? Hello? Jeff, are you there? Can you hear me?"
"Sure I can hear. you. Don't shout, Major."
"I wish these damn rigs were regular telephones. I like to see a man I'm talking to."
"If they were ordinary phones our Asiatic pals could listen in on us. Why don't you ask Bob and the colonel to whip up a vision circuit? I'll bet they could do it."
"Bob has already done so, Jeff, but Scheer is so busy machining parts for altar installations that I don't like to ask him to make it. Do you suppose you could recruit some assistants for Scheer? A machinist or two, maybe, and a radio technician? The manufacturing end of this enterprise is getting out of hand and Scheer is going to crack up from overwork. Every night I have to go around and order him to go to bed."
Thomas thought about it. "I have one man in mind. Used to be a watchmaker."
"A watchmaker! That's swell!"
"I don't know. He's a little bit balmy; his whole family was wiped out. A sad case, almost as sad as Frank Mitsui. Say, how. is Frank? Is he feeling any better?"
"Seems to be. Not down inside of course, but he seems happy enough at his work. He's taken over the kitchen and the clerical work you used to do for me, both."
"Give him my best."
"I will. Now about this watchmaker -- you don't have to be as careful in recruiting personnel for the Citadel as you have to be in picking field workers, since once they are inside they can't get out."
"I know that, boss. I didn't use any special tests when I sent you Estelle Devens. Of course I wouldn't have sent her if she hadn't been about to be shipped out as a pleasure girl."
"You did all right. Estelle is a fine woman. She helps Frank in the kitchen, she helps Graham sew the robes, and Bob Wilkie is training her as a pararadio operator." Ardmore chuckled. "Sex is rearing its interesting head. I think Bob is sweet on her."
Thomas's voice was suddenly grave. "How about that, boss? Is it likely to louse things up?"
"I don't think so. Bob is a gentleman and Estelle is a nice girl if I ever saw one. If biology starts getting in the way of their work, I'll just up and marry them, in my capacity as high priest of the supercolossal god Mota."
"Bob won't go for that. He's a bit of a puritan, if you ask me."
"All right then, in my capacity as chief magistrate of this thriving little village. Don't be stuffy. Or send me up a real preacher."
"How about sending up more women, Major? I sent Estelle on impulse, more or less, but there are many more young women just as badly in need of help as she was."
There was a long wait before Ardmore replied, "Captain, that is a very difficult question. Most reluctantly I am forced to say that this is a military organization at war, not a personal rescue mission. Unless a female is being recruited for a military function to which she is adapted, you are not to recruit her, even to save her from the PanAsians' pleasure cities."
"Yes, sir. I will comply. I shouldn't have sent Estelle. "
"What's done is done. She's working out all right. Don't hesitate to recruit suitable women. This is going to be a long war and I think we can maintain morale better with a mixed organization than with a strictly stag setup. Men without women go to pieces; they lose purpose. But try to make the next one an older woman, something between a mother superior and a chaperone. An elderly trained nurse would be the type. She could be lab assistant to Brooks and house mother to the babes, both."