Forbidden Sanctuary Page 7

  There were dwellings all around him now, but no sign of what he was looking for. Pray, he must pray. His legs must continue to move, he must fight off the tears....

  And eventually he saw it—sharply etched against the planet's bright half-moon, just as he had imagined it. Angela's words echoed in his mind: they put Him to death on a cross. And she herself had worn a tiny gold cross around her neck. Symbol of her faith.

  O, lucky people, who could display their symbols so openly! He rushed over the banks of snow to the building with the cross, joy and anticipation warming his frigid body. Across the walk, up the short flight of stairs...

  And the door was locked. Tenon stared at it in disbelief. That could not be. Then he reasoned: not everyone on the planet was a follower of Jesus. Perhaps there were still people who wanted to harm them. Of course they would lock their place of worship in that case. But certainly their chief priest or priestess would be inside—asleep, most likely, but eager to help a believer in trouble.

  He pounded on the door. No one came. He pounded again. His hands, already cut and raw from the wire of the fence, ached with the effort, but the door remained locked. Finally he gave up and started to walk around the building, looking for other entrances. They were all locked. There were windows, of course. He could break a window and get inside. But that would be desecration. That would not be allowed.

  He came around to the front again and sat on the steps, exhausted and fearful. Perhaps someone would open it up in the morning. But how long would it be until morning? He could not survive much longer without shelter. How much worse a death that would be—frozen on the very steps of their temple, his goal reached but meaningless.

  That could not happen. He struggled to think things through. It was clear that he had to get indoors. There were plenty of dwellings. Most of them were probably occupied. What he needed was one occupied by a follower of Jesus. But how would he know?

  He would have to take a chance. Which one?

  The one nearest the temple, obviously. Would someone who was not a follower of Jesus want to live next to one of His temples?

  Tenon got up and walked across a short pathway to the nearest dwelling. It was in darkness, like the temple. He stood in front of the door for a long time, summoning his courage. It has to be done, he told himself. There was no other way. He knocked.

  And knocked. And after an eternity a light appeared behind the door. He saw the shadow of a person through the small, curtained glass panes and heard a brief, gruff sentence. There was nothing he could say, so he knocked some more.

  Finally the door opened a crack—still locked with a chain—and a face appeared.

  They looked at each other through the crack, and Tenon dimly realized that the man was as frightened as he was.

  With his trembling hands Tenon tried to form a cross. "Jesus," he whispered, hoping it sounded right on his alien tongue. "Jesus."

  The man kept looking at him, and the chain remained in place, and suddenly Tenon could take no more, and the tears came streaming out of his eyes. "Jesus," he moaned as he felt his legs giving way, and then he heard the chain move, and the door swung open, and he fell forward into warmth and light.

  Chapter 8

  Father Gardner, in pajamas and ratty bathrobe, looked relieved and grateful. "Thanks, Al, I didn't know—I wouldn't have—"

  "Of course, Ed. This is serious business. Who'd you steal that bathrobe from?"

  He smiled and led Bernardi down to the kitchen.

  The alien was sitting against the radiator, a blanket around his shoulders, his bandaged hands clasping a cup of tea. He stared at the two men as they stood in the doorway.

  "His hands were kind of cut up," Gardner said. "I did what I could."

  "He looks frightened," Bernardi noted. "And human."

  "He likes tea," Gardner remarked.

  Bernardi walked over to the huddled figure. "Tenon?" he asked.

  The alien put down his cup and moved his hand quickly in a circle.

  "I think that means he agrees with you," Gardner said from across the room.

  Bernardi pointed to himself. "Al Bernardi." Then he put out his hand.

  Tenon grasped it with both of his. "Albernardi," he repeated. Then he withdrew his hands, formed them into a cross, and pointed inquiringly at Bernardi.

  Bernardi nodded vigorously, thought for a moment, and spun his hand in a circle.

  Tenon's eyes lit up and he too spun his hand.

  "It's the latest dance," Bernardi said to Gardner.

  "I'm glad you're both having a good time," Gardner replied. "But what are we going to do with him, Al?"

  Bernardi looked down at Tenon and considered. "Well, I guess he's escaped from the ship, probably because they found out about his religion. So presumably they'll want him back. But do we want to let them take him?"

  "He can't stay here," Gardner interjected hurriedly. "I've got a parish to run. I can't—"

  Bernardi waved him silent. He walked over and leaned back against the sink. Tenon's eyes followed him. Did he understand what they were talking about?

  "If we send him back, Ed, they'll kill him."

  "But if we keep him, we're liable to get arrested or something. Why do we have to make that decision?"

  Bernardi thought for a moment and nodded slowly. "You're right. So let's call the Vatican." He fished in his pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper. There was a wall phone next to the door. He went over to it and punched in a bunch of numbers. "What time do you figure it is in Rome?" he asked as the connection was made. Father Gardner shrugged helplessly.

  Collingwood answered in Italian. He sounded sleepy.

  "Anthony, it's Bernardi. From America. We have a complication."

  "What's that?" The voice was instantly alert.

  "Our friend from the ship has escaped. He's sitting with us in the rectory kitchen at Most Precious Blood."

  "How the hell did he manage that?"

  "Beats me. It also beats me how he ended up here, but he did. So now what?"

  There was a long silence as the problem crossed the ocean. "If we hold onto him," Collingwood said finally, "it will probably force everything out into the open. Clement will have to take a stand."

  "That's pretty risky, though."

  "True, but if we give him back we're just washing our hands of the whole business."

  "So you say keep him?"

  Another silence. "Can you do it?"

  Bernardi considered. "We'll have to go into hiding, I suppose. I might—"

  "Don't tell me," Collingwood interrupted. "I don't want to know. Let's keep the Vatican as clean in this as possible."

  "Fine by me. But look—if I'm out hiding with him on my own, I'm going to stay hiding until I get the message otherwise. From the Pope."

  "Right. Until Clement gives the word."

  Bernardi smiled. "Hey, Tony? I'm a little surprised at you. Isn't your neck sticking out a bit far on this?"

  There was a slight pause. "I've been known to consider the good of the Church, Al," Collingwood replied.

  "Well, I approve. See you who knows when."

  "Right. Good luck, then."

  "Thanks. I'll need it."

  Bernardi hung up. The adrenaline was pumping already. He felt great.

  "You're going to take him?" Gardner asked.

  "Sure. Wanna come along?"

  "No thanks. Where will you go?"

  "You don't want to know."

  "That's true."

  Bernardi looked over at Tenon, whose eyes were fixed on them. His mug of tea was empty. "You think he's warm enough to take a trip?"

  "I guess so. I'll lend him a coat. Are you going back to the residence first?"

  "No, I think we'll just disappear into the night."

  "They won't like you taking their car."

  Bernardi laughed. "We all have to make sacrifices. Get that coat, will you? People may already be looking for him."

  * * *

  Car. That's
what Albernardi called it. His vocabulary was increasing. Grammar was the hard part, though. He had heard them talking about that on the ship. Only Ergentil seemed to have any idea how to put the words together.

  But now he knew this was a car, and he blessed it, because it was taking him far from the ship. He was streaking through the night, warm and secure, with a friend by his side. It was unbelievable, but he had succeeded. For the first time in a long while he began to relax. The hum of the car was so nice. He closed his eyes and listened to the hum.

  * * *

  The darkness was changing almost imperceptibly into predawn fog. He would have to hurry. They rose at some ungodly hour, and he would prefer to be seen by as few people as possible. Even them.

  When he was a couple of miles away, Bernardi stopped and took out his phone. He looked over at Tenon. Still asleep. He made his call.

  The phone rang several times, and Bernardi began to think the whole thing wasn't such a hot idea. Then there was a click and an alert hello, and Bernardi explained his situation as quickly and as vaguely as he could. The response was brief and affirmative, so he got back in the car and headed for the place.

  It took a while, but finally there was a rutted country road, then a long, winding drive up a rocky hill. Not a pleasant route in fog and darkness, with little sleep. If he missed the road, he could get them both killed. A strange way to die.

  But he made it to the top. He stopped the car at the far end of the empty parking area. He looked at Tenon again. Best to wake him this time. No telling what he would do if he woke by himself here.

  Tenon looked baffled for a moment when he opened his eyes. Bernardi couldn't be sure he got his message across with his gestures, but Tenon seemed to understand, and stayed where he was when Bernardi walked away from the car.

  Bernardi strode quickly up to the front door of the building and gazed in. With a sigh of relief he saw the gray-fringed bald head of his friend, sitting in a chair reading a book. Bernardi rapped softly on the glass door. The man looked up, smiled, and let him in. "Well, what in the world are you up to, Albert?" the man whispered.

  "A long story, Michael. I'm sorry if I got you up."

  "Oh, nonsense. I rise at two."

  Bernardi shook his head. "I wouldn't last a day with you guys. May I—?"

  "Of course. Come into my office. I have a feeling great favors are going to be asked of me."

  "Oh no, no. Just advice."

  They both smiled.

  Bernardi sat opposite Michael in his sparsely furnished office and told him the story from the beginning.

  "Quite exciting," Michael commented at the end, in the voice of one whom nothing excited. "I guess I can see where it's all heading. And now you want my advice."

  Bernardi smiled.

  "My advice is for you to leave immediately and go far away. Chances are they will track you down, you know."

  "I see what you mean. And you?"

  Michael shrugged. "Our lives are very peaceful. Nothing happens here."

  "Lucky you." Bernardi arose. "Time to be going, then."

  "I'll see you to your car."

  Bernardi walked back outside, with Michael following. Dawn was clearly approaching now, and with it some promise of warmth after the long night. Tenon was still sitting in the car, huddled in Father Gardner's coat. "Will you introduce me?" Michael asked.

  "Of course."

  They laughed, and Bernardi performed the amenities. Then Michael grasped Bernardi's hand. "Good luck, Albert. It may be dangerous."

  "Oh well. It's about time I had a little danger in my life."

  Michael looked at him. "I do believe you're enjoying this."

  Bernardi looked back. "Aren't you?"

  They laughed again, and then turned back to Tenon.

  Chapter 9

  Sabbata awoke shivering. She had never felt such cold. It was beyond discomfort, beyond pain. It was killing her. She instinctively reached out for Tenon....

  But Tenon wasn't there.

  And then her mind started to sort things out. It wasn't her feeling, it was a bonding feeling; sometimes powerful emotions or sensations leaked across, even unconsciously. She must have been dreaming of Tenon and slipped into the familiar routine while still asleep. It was Tenon's coldness, then. He was somewhere in the cold.

  He had left the Ship.

  Sabbata willed the bonding away, and the coldness retreated to the fringes of her mind. Her normal feelings flooded in to take its place, and she began to cry. How could he leave the Ship? That was not only forbidden, it was unthinkable. He was disappearing into the alien world, and leaving her behind.

  Her body began to produce its own coldness.

  There was supposed to be such a depth of feeling between you and your bondmate. It was inevitable, they said. But Tenon had always been so distant, so uninterested. They had worked together all right until the Voyage, but then things had deteriorated until there was nothing: no bond, only the weight of his mind, resisting. She should have told someone right away, before the Voyage, but that would have meant she couldn't go, and she kept hoping it would change, that she could make Tenon respond.

  But now her bed was empty, and she had to decide what to do.

  Zanla had to be told. Should she go up there now, awaken him, tell him everything? No, she couldn't bring herself to do that. What if she were wrong? What if there had been a duty change that Tenon hadn't bothered to tell her about? What if Zanla had sent him on some kind of secret mission? It was all so confusing. She would wait, she decided finally. If he had not returned by worktime, she would speak to Zanla.

  * * *

  Worktime. Sabbata was not used to being on the third level, particularly this early in the morning. She looked nervously up and down the corridor, expecting Samish to appear and reprimand her. She wished with all her heart that she didn't have to be here, but there was no avoiding it now. Tenon was gone, and it was her duty to report it.

  When Zanla finally approached, she had to suppress an urge to flee. He looked surprised, of course, a trifle uncertain. She bowed deeply. "Alm a Numos."

  "Alm a Numos, Sabbata. What, uh, brings you up here?"

  "Master, Tenon—my bondmate—I think he's gone."

  "Gone?"

  "Left the Ship," she managed to whisper.

  Zanla stared at her for a long moment, then opened the door of his office. "Come inside," he commanded.

  She followed him in. She had never seen the Master's office before. She barely saw it now, as she concentrated on the details of her story. She went through all of it, everything she should have told before, everything she thought might matter now.

  At the end Zanla was silent for a while, looking down at the table in front of him. "You felt cold last night," he said finally. "Any bonding feelings now?"

  She searched. "Nothing. He could be asleep or—"

  "Or unconscious. Or dead."

  "Or the bond could just be broken," she added, unwilling to consider those possibilities.

  Zanla gestured slackly in agreement. "All right, then. Why? Why would he act like this?"

  The question was familiar to Sabbata. She had been asking herself the same one for a long time. Her answer was strange and frightening, but it was all she could think of. "I think... he may be a disciple of Chitlan."

  "You think? Have you any proof?"

  "I only know that this should be the greatest opportunity in the life of a citizen of Numos," she replied. "And Tenon scorned it. I feel he must have had some other hasali. Otherwise..." She could not finish.

  Zanla pondered her answer, then motioned wearily to the door. "Go get Samish," he said. "We will search the Ship, just to be sure."

  She bowed in obedience and rose. "Master?" she asked hesitantly, afraid to bring this last question up.

  "Yes?"

  "What will happen to me, Master? Without my bondmate—"

  "Oh, don't worry," Zanla said, apparently trying to be cheerful. "It's not your fault. We s
till have the power to return, even if we don't get Tenon back. But we will get him back."

  Sabbata should have been reassured by the last sentence, but instead Zanla's tone frightened her more than ever. She bowed again, and hurried off to find Samish. It was out of her hands now.

  * * *

  The search was quickly completed, and Samish stood in front of Zanla, awaiting further instructions. "Get last night's exit guard and have him questioned," Zanla ordered. "If he was asleep, relieve him of his duties. Tell the Earth guards that all meetings are canceled for today and that I wish to see Bacquier immediately."

  "Yes, Master," Samish replied. "Priestess Ergentil—"

  "And keep Ergentil away from me, will you?" he snapped.

  Samish bowed and scurried away, All he needed now was to have Ergentil carping at him, Zanla thought. He had to have time to plan before he confronted Bacquier, and she would only draw him into a fruitless argument over who was to blame, only point out the consequences that were already all too apparent to him.

  You've taken far too many risks, he could hear her say. We should have left as soon as we discovered the planet had intelligent inhabitants. Let the Council decide how—or whether—to deal with these creatures. Now see what has happened. Now look at the chaos you've created.

  But they were necessary risks, Zanla thought, unconsciously slipping into a mental debate with her. Isn't the purpose of these Voyages to find another intelligent race? And after generation upon generation of fruitless searching, are we to leave the race behind the instant we find it, with the possibility that the retheo setting was incorrect, or that a comet will strike, and we will never find it again? What is my job for, if not to—

  He noticed Samish standing in front of him. "The guards say that Bacquier will be coming shortly, Master."

  "Did they seem surprised when you called off the meetings?" Zanla inquired.

  Samish considered. "I don't know. They asked me why, but—"

  He didn't need to complete the answer. Zanla understood. How can you interpret their gestures, expressions, words, when you have no referents, when you're not even entirely sure they have the same emotions as you?