Trekmaster. James B. Johnson

his sombrero, and, as he passed her, leaned out and down and touched his lips to her cheek, a fleeting feeling highlighted by the stiffness of his mustache. It happened so fast that he was past her before the feelings registered.

      Then, in a momentary flashback of the scene, Rebecca realized there was no threat.

      For the man had worn the symbol of the Muster about his neck. Adopted from either The Finger of God—or the war assegai, no one knew.

      She was safe.

      The city of Crimson Sapphire was just ahead, off the plains, and on the other side of the forest.

      11. TJ

      “Forgive me. Padre, for I have sinned.”

      “You do not even know the meaning of the word.” The Chief Padre put ice into his voice.

      “Are you plotting against me? Would you take my life?” TJ made his voice just as hard. He fixed Roaland Cruz with a stony glare.

      “If it were the Lord’s will,” Cruz replied evenly.

      The admission surprised TJ and made him wonder if he was pursuing a wrong guess. “Is it?”

      “I know not.” Cruz shrugged.

      TJ decided to try a different track. “Have your padres reported anyone confessing to attempting murder or hiring assassins?” He knew Cruz wouldn’t answer, but his question established the gravity of the situation to the padre and put an unspoken threat out in the open.

      “I could not say so if it were so. And if one did, the father-confessor would not tell it.”

      Like hell, TJ thought. He knew anything that could be of use to the padrehood would be passed up the line, particularly something of political importance to Cruz.

      TJ had tightened his security. He wanted to show a sense of practical concern, one that would make potential and real adversaries think a long time before they challenged him, either openly or as they had been, in secret. He had allowed some of his famous anger to seep through publicly. He scowled about court and was harsh in judgments. At his direction, known criminals were being rounded up about the city and interrogated. He had little hope for success with this, but it was a fine show of royal strength and prerogative. Additionally, it flagged his determination to his enemies.

      Padre Roaland Cruz stood before him. Camp slumped in a corner. TJ’s guards stood outside the Chief Padre’s receiving chambers. TJ had found it more effective to storm into the territory of others rather than order them into his presence at the palace. Not only did it impress people with his power, but showed his impatience and urgency. TJ folded his hands behind him and began pacing. Cruz’ chambers were thoughtfully appointed—comfortable but bare. Obviously the Chief Padre did not wish to flaunt any wealth here where he greeted most visitors. Yet TJ knew Cruz had a taste for luxury, fine wines, and thoroughbred horses for breeding and racing. Unlike many of his padres, Cruz had no penchant for women. TJ regretted Cruz’ vows of abstinence for it took away one possible handle to the Chief Padre. Even though celibacy was no longer required by the Church, many of the padres still practiced it. TJ looked at the simple cross attached to the wall. Then he glared at Cruz again, trying to make him nervous, silence speaking more than words. Cruz cleared his throat and TJ thought that it was lucky for Cruz that he had to wear those cumbersome brown robes since his legs were like parentheses. His drawn face was thin and clean shaven, topped by the regulation short hair.

      “Perhaps, TJ,” Cruz said, “there are some zealots who like not what you have done to the Church.”

      Was Cruz trying to misdirect his attention by admitting the possibility? “A hell of a lot of them,” TJ said. “Though, as usual, they pay no attention.”

      “I’ve heard that speech before, TJ,” Cruz said.

      TJ ignored him. “Devil’s balls. I conquer the whole planet, for all practical purposes, and you as Chief Padre in Crimson Sapphire inherit that mantle for all Catholics on Bear Ridge. No longer do you lord over one simple kingdom, now you have a whole planet of souls to play with.” That is to say, thought TJ, you owe me.

      Cruz looked exasperated. “What with all your bureaucratic levels in the ethnarchies and your constant governmental reorganizations, we hardly ever find the right officials to plead our case.” He paused and rearranged his robes about his knees. “Also, mind you, that the padrehood in the outer ethnarchies is looked upon as suspiciously as are your bureaucrats. It is not an easy life for my padres when they’re considered invaders, carpetbaggers.”

      TJ ignored this last—it was a recurring argument between them. “Take your case to the people. I will not interfere—but you’d best not interfere with the Muslims or Protestants. You can have all the atheists you can find.”

      “You, TJ, are you atheist?”

      “No.”

      “You are drifting away....”

      “Roaland, you know damn well I have no interest in confessing to you or your minions of padres.” TJ cursed inwardly, knowing somehow Cruz had gotten them back to their old argument and distracted him from his purpose of coming here. Their discussions almost always ended with Cruz accusing him of killing indiscriminately and TJ shouting that Cruz and his Church had benefitted from the Consolidation wars. He was aware of the lapses in logic on both sides, and suspected Cruz was, too.

      “Cut the beefaloe skin. Padre. I would like to know who is trying to kill me. And why. Perhaps some extremist group of padres? Rebels? Who?”

      “None,” Cruz said as if it were the last word.

      “I warn you. Padre....”

      “Warn me?” Cruz’ face tightened and his eyes seemed to expand.

      “Not only do I warn you, Padre, I threaten you or any of your padres should you or they be involved. Also, you can put this in your canons: do not interfere in my plans for entry into the Federation.”

      Cruz began waving his arms in that specific manner that was noted across the land. Thousands made annual pilgrimages to Crimson Sapphire to attend his services. “Your Majesty, you overstep your bounds. You mind your state business and I shall mind the business of the Lord.” He waved his arms, became conscious that he was doing so, and settled his hands on his hips. “The people are under my spiritual charge. I do not think the people of Bear Ridge are ready for your coming age. We are not ready. And I oppose what you are doing to gain technology and commerce with other planets. I shall oppose you legally where possible; I shall oppose you theologically at every step. The message shall go out to every padre and every flock.”

      TJ kept his face from reacting. He suspected Cruz had already done what he was promising to do. He found it tricky and dangerous to his rule to crowd the Church too much. Certainly he had the power—but how long would that power last if he simply had his way in everything? No, he had to work within the system, cajoling, tricking, deftly and diplomatically manipulating. Using as little of his royal power as he possibly could. Then Cruz surprised him.

      “You intend to place, perhaps one day, a space field out on the plain, do you not? Where the wonderful farming soil is thirty feet deep?”

      Taken aback at the change of subject, TJ nodded. “Yes, we can farm elsewhere.”

      “And where do the whorehouses go?” Cruz demanded. “And the gambling dens? And the moneychangers? And the beggars selling their sisters to the spacemen? Tell me where?”

      “We have already got prostitution,” TJ said, tone defensive.

      “Yes. and for that I cannot dream what terrible punishment God will make your lot for eternity.”

      “Probably to sit and listen to religious services,” TJ snapped.

      “Flippant blasphemy.” Cruz stabbed his finger at TJ’s chest. “Just as naming the Muster medallion after the Finger of God. Placing God’s name on a symbol for killing.”

      “Padre, you...,” TJ started, then