Stainless Steel Visions

"Garth — you native-cheating extortionist — where are you?" the ship's speaker boomed. The lines of the spacer had looked only slightly familiar, but there was no mistaking the rasping tones of that familiar voice. Garth had a twisted smile when he stepped out into the open and whistled shrilly through two fingers. A directional microphone ground out of its casing on the ship's fin and twisted in his direction.

"What are you doing here, Singh?" he shouted toward the mike. "Too crooked to find a planet of your own so you have to come here to steal an honest trader's profits?"

"Honest!" the amplified voice roared. "This from the man who has been in more jails than cathouses — and that is a goodly number in itself, I do declare. Sorry, friend of my youth, but I cannot join you in exploiting this aboriginal pesthole. I am on course to a more fairly atmosphered world where a fortune is waiting to be made. I only stopped here since an opportunity presented itself to turn an honest credit by running a taxi service. I bring you friendship, the perfect companionship, a man in a different line of business who might help you in yours. I'd come out and say hello myself, except I would have to decon for biologicals. I'm cycling the passenger through the lock, so I hope you won't mind helping with his luggage. "

At least there would be no other trader on the planet now, that worry was gone. But Garth still wondered what sort of passenger would be taking one-way passage to an undeveloped world. And what was behind that concealed hint of merriment in Singh's voice? He walked around to the far side of the spacer where the ramp had dropped, and looked up at the newcomer in the cargo lock, who was wrestling ineffectually with a large crate. The man turned toward him and Garth saw the clerical dog collar and knew just what it was Singh had been chuckling about.

"What are you doing here?" Garth asked, and in spite of his attempt at self-control he snapped out the words. If the man noticed this he ignored it, because he was still smiling and putting out his hand as he came down the ramp.

"Father Mark, " he said, "of the Missionary Society of Brothers. I'm very pleased to meet… "

"I said, what are you doing here. " Garth's voice was under control now, quiet and cold. He knew what had to be done, and it must be done quickly or not at all.

"That should be obvious, " Father Mark said, his good nature still unruffled. "Our missionary society has raised funds to send spiritual emissaries to alien worlds for the first time. I was lucky enough… "

"Take your luggage and get back into the ship. You're not wanted here — and you have no permission to land. You'll be a liability and there is no one on Wesker to take care of you. Get back into the ship. "

"I don't know who you are, sir, or why you are lying to me, " the priest said. He was still calm but the smile was gone. "But I have studied galactic law and the history of this planet very closely. There are no diseases or beasts here that I should have any particular fear of. It is also an open planet, and until the Space Survey changes that status I have as much right to be here as you do. "

The man was of course right, but Garth couldn't let him know that. He had been bluffing, hoping the priest didn't know his rights. But he did. There was only one distasteful course left for him, and he had better do it while there was still time left.

"Get back in that ship, " he shouted, not hiding his anger now. With a smooth motion his gun was out of the holster and the pitted black muzzle only inches from the priest's stomach. The man's face turned white, but he did not move.

"What the hell are you doing, Garth?!" Singh's shocked voice grated from the speaker. "The guy paid his fare and you have no right at all to throw him off the planet. "

"I have this right, " Garth said, raising his gun and sighting between the priest's eyes. "I give him thirty seconds to get back aboard the ship or I pull the trigger. "

"Well, I think you are either off your head or playing a joke, " Singh's exasperated voice rasped down at them. "If this is a joke it is in bad taste. But either way you're not getting away with it. Two can play at that game — only I can play it better. "

There was the rumble of heavy bearings and the remote-controlled four-gun turret on the ship's side rotated and pointed at Garth. "Now — down gun and give Father Mark a hand with the luggage, " the speaker commanded, a trace of humor back in the voice now. "As much as I would like to help, old friend, I cannot. I feel it is time you had a chance to talk to the father; after all, I have had the opportunity of speaking with him all the way from Earth. "

Garth jammed the gun back into the holster with an acute feeling of loss. Father Mark stepped forward, the winning smile back now. A Bible, taken from a pocket of his robe, in his raised hand. "My son—" he said.