Tarot - God Of Tarot Part 2

"No hallucination, then. But possibly a practical joke?"

"No. No joke."

"Which card was it?"

"The Ten of Swords."

Brother Paul refrained from whistling, contenting himself with a grave nod.

"Signifying ruin! Was it a literal image?"

"It was. Ten tall swords piercing a corpse. All quite solid."

"That should have shaken up the party!"

"It certainly did. They pulled out the swords and turned over the body. It was a man, but none they recognized. No one was missing from their crew. They buried him, saved the swords, and wrote up a report"

"Tangible evidence. That was smart."

"Not so smart. When they arrived on Earth, the objects they claimed were swords were merely so many slivers of stone, like stalact.i.tes from a cave. A second party, sent to verify the situation, dug up the body- and found only the carca.s.s of a native animal."

"Ma.s.s hallucination?" Brother Paul suggested. "They killed an animal and thought it was a man? Because of fatigue and guilt-or because its configuration resembled that particular card? Stalact.i.tes are a bit like swords."

"That was the official conclusion." She paused, then girded herself to continue.

"The second party brought Tarot cards and played many games, this time in the line of business, but there was no duplication of the effect. Apparently the first crew had been overworked and short on sleep, while the second was fresh.

So they named the planet Tarot and approved it for colonization."

"Just like that?" Brother Paul inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"Just like that," the Reverend Mother said wryly, forgetting herself so far as to raise her own eyebrow in response. "They had a quota of planets to survey, and could not afford to waste time, as they put it, 'wild ghost chasing.'"

"How much is lost through haste!" Brother Paul remarked. But he felt a growing excitement and grat.i.tude that this mystery had come to pa.s.s. Wild ghosts? He certainly would like to see one!

"Colonization proceeded in normal fashion," she continued. "One million human beings were shipped in the course of forty days, a.s.signed to initial campsites with wilderness reduction equipment, and left to fend for themselves. Only the monthly coordination shuttle maintained contact. Colonization is," she commented with a disapproving frown, "somewhat of a sink-or-swim situation."

"Without doubt," Brother Paul agreed. "Yet the great majority of emigrants have been happy to risk it-and most seem to be swimming."

"Yes." She shrugged. "It is not the way I would have chosen-but the decision was hardly mine to make. At any rate, the colonists settled-and then the fun began."

"More Tarot animations?"

"No, not specifically. These animations were of Heaven-and of h.e.l.l. I mean the storybook Pearly Gates, with angels flying by, and harpists sitting on clouds.

Or the other extreme-fiery caves with red, fork-tailed devils with pitchforks."

"Evidently literal renditions of religious notions," Brother Paul said. "Many believers have very material views of the immaterial."

"They do. There seems to be an unusual concentration of schismatic religions in this colony world. But these were rather substantial projections." She pulled out a drawer in her desk and brought forth several photographs. "Skeptics arranged to take pictures- and we have them here." She spread them out.

He studied the pictures with amazement. "There was no, ah, trick photography?

They certainly look authentic!"

"No trick photography. There is more: the colonists organized a planetary orchestra-in any random sampling of a million people, you'll find many skills-and they practiced many semicla.s.sical pieces. One day they were doing the tone poem by Saint-Saens, 'Danse macabre,' and-"

"Oh, no! Not the dancing skeletons!"

"The same. The entire orchestra panicked, and two musicians died in the stampede. In fact, I believe the orchestra was disbanded after that, and never reorganized. But when cooler heads investigated, they found no trace of the walking skeletons."

"I begin to see," Brother Paul said, feeling an unholy antic.i.p.ation of challenge. "Planet Tarot is haunted."

"That is one way of putting it," she agreed. "We view it more seriously." She waited until his face a.s.sumed the proper expression of seriousness. "Most haunts don't lend themselves well to motion-picture photography." She brought a reel from the drawer.

Brother Paul did a double-take. "Motion-picture film of the skeletons?"

"That's right. It seems a colonist was filming the concert. He thought the skeletons were part of the show-until the stampede began."

"This I would like to see!"

"You shall." The Reverend set up a little projector, lit its lensed lamp, and cranked the handle. The picture flickered on the wall across from her desk.

It was, indeed, the dance of death. At first there were only the musicians, playing their crude, locally fashioned violins; then the skeletons pranced onstage, moving in time to the music. There was no sound, of course; a lamp-and-hand-crank projector was not capable of that. But Brother Paul could see the breathing of the players, the motions of their hands on the instruments, and the gestures of the conductor; the beat was clear.

One skeleton pa.s.sed close to the camera, its gaunt, white ribcage momentarily blotting out the orchestra. Brother Paul peered closely, trying to ascertain what manner of articulation those bones possessed; it was hardly credible that they could move without muscle, sinew, or wires. Yet they did.

Then the scramble began; the picture veered crazily and clicked off.

"I understood there was a one-kilogram limit on personal possessions for emigrants," Brother Paul commented. "How did a sophisticated device like a motion-picture camera get there?"

"They can make them very small these days," the Reverend said. "Actually, two emigrants shared their ma.s.s allotment in this case, and three others in the family collaborated by taking fragments of a matching projector that could be run by hand. Like this one." She patted it. "They yielded to need rather than philosophy; nevertheless, they were ingenious. Now we know how fortunate that was. No one on Earth would have believed their story otherwise. This film is evidence that cannot be ignored; something is happening on Planet Tarot, something extraordinary. The authorities want to know what."

"But why should they come to us?" Brother Paul asked. "I should think they would send scientists with sophisticated equipment."

She moved one hand in an unconscious "be patient" gesture. "They did. But the effect seems to be intermittent."

Intermittency-the scourge of repairmen and psychic investigators! How was it possible to understand something that operated only in the absence of the investigator? "Meaning the experts found nothing?" he asked.

"Correct But they also interviewed the colonists and a.s.sembled a catalogue of episodes. They discovered that the manifestations were confined to certain times and certain places-usually. And they occurred only in the presence of believers."

"This has a familiar ring," Brother Paul said. "The believer experiences; the nonbeliever doesn't. It is the way with faith." He remembered his own discussion with the boys and girls of the village cla.s.s; his belief had been stronger than their disbelief.

"Precisely. Except that the skeptics of the colony were able to witness a few of the phenomena. Whereupon they became believers."

As Saul of Tarsus had witnessed the grandeur of G.o.d on the road to Damascus, and become Christian. As the village youths had witnessed the power of martial arts.

"Believers in what?"

"In whatever they saw. There may have been skeptics when the "danse macabre"

recital began, but there were none at the end, because the skeletons were tangible. But there were other manifestations. In one case it was G.o.d-or at least a burning bush that spoke quite clearly, claiming to be G.o.d."

Presumptuous bush! "Sounds like a case for the priests, rabbis, or holy men."

"They were the next to investigate. They proceeded directly to the haunted regions." She stopped, and Brother Paul did not prompt her with another question. She stared at the desk for some time, as though probing every fissure in its rough grain, and finally resumed. "It was a disaster. Two resigned from their ministries, two had to be incarcerated as mentally incompetent, and two died. It seems they experienced more h.e.l.l than Heaven. That is how the job filtered down to us."

"Those apparitions actually killed. Took human life? No stampede or other physical cause?"

"Those apparitions, or whatever it was those people experienced, actually did destroy minds and take human life." She faced Brother Paul squarely, and her concern for him made her almost radiant. He knew she would turn the same expression on a wounded rattlesnake or a torn ma.n.u.script; that was what made her so lovely. "Now you know what I fear. Are you ready to go to h.e.l.l?"

Ready? He was eager! "It sounds fascinating. But what exactly would be my mission there? To exorcise the Devil of Tarot?"

"No. I fear that would be beyond your powers, or mine, or any of our Order." She smiled very briefly. "The holy men who failed were prominent, devout men, thorough scholars, whose faith in their religions was tested and true. I find it strange that they should have suffered so greatly, while the large majority of the colonists, who represent a random sampling of Earth, have had few such problems."

Brother Paul nodded. "Perhaps not so strange. It may be that training and belief are liabilities in that situation."

"Perhaps. It is true that those who feel most strongly about religion obtain the strongest response from Planet Tarot. Those whose primary concern is to feed their faces-do just that."

As luck would have it, a strong waft of the aroma of Brother Peter's hot bread pa.s.sed through the room, making Brother Paul's mouth water. "Are you suggesting that my concern is to feed my face?" he asked with a smile. Now that the nature of the mission had been clarified, his tension was gone.

"You know better than that, Paul! But you are not a divinity specialist. Your background is broader, touching many aspects of the human state. More than the experience of most people. You know the meaning of prayer-and of pipefitting. Of divination-and gambling."

"Those are apt parallels."

"Thank you. You are aware of things that are beyond my imagination." Brother Paul fervently hoped so; had she any inkling of the mishmash of notions that coursed through his brain, she would be shocked. He was reminded of a childhood game his friends had played, called Heaven or h.e.l.l. One boy and one girl were selected by lot to enter a dark closet. For one minute he had either to kiss her (Heaven) or hit her (h.e.l.l). Once Brother Paul had dreamed of taking the Reverend into such a closet, and he had awakened in a cold sweat, horrified. The very memory was appalling, now. Until that memory was gone, he would not be fit material for advancement within the Holy Order of Vision.

But she was unaware of this chasm within him-an innocence for which he sincerely thanked G.o.d. "I feel you would not concentrate exclusively on the religious implications of the problem," she continued blithely. "You would relate to the concerns of the colonists as well. Perhaps you will be able to ascertain not only what happened to the priests, but why it doesn't happen to the colonists, and why faith seems to be such a liability. But more important-"

"I think I antic.i.p.ate you," Brother Paul murmured.

"We want to ascertain whether this phenomenon is ultimately material or spiritual. We have observed only the fringes of it so far, but there appear to be elements of both. One explanation is that this is a test for man, of his coming-of-age: that G.o.d, if you will, has elected to manifest Himself to man in this challenging fashion. We do not want to ignore that challenge, and certainly we do not wish to risk crucifying Christ again! But we also cannot afford to embarra.s.s ourselves by treating too seriously a phenomenon that may have completely mundane roots."

"G.o.d has completely mundane roots," Brother Paul pointed out, with no negative intent.

"But He also has completely divine branches. The one without the other-"

"Yes, I appreciate the delicacy of the problem."

"If this manifestation should actually stem from G.o.d, we must recognize and answer the call," the Reverend Mother said. "If it is a purely material thing, we would like to know exactly what it is, and how it works, and why religion is vulnerable to it. That surely will not be easy to do!" She paused. "Why am I so excited, Paul, yet so afraid? I have urged you not to go, yet at the same time-"

Brother Paul smiled. "You are afraid I shall fail. Or that I will actually find G.o.d there. Either would be most discomfiting-for of course the G.o.d of Tarot is also the G.o.d of Earth. The G.o.d of Man."

"Yes," she said uncertainly. "But after all our centuries of faith, can we really face the reality? G.o.d may not conform to our expectations, yet how could we reject Him? We must know Him! It frightens me! In short-"

"In short," Brother Paul concluded, "you want me to go to h.e.l.l-to see if G.o.d is there."

∞.

Unknown Consciousness has been compared to a mirror in which the body contemplates its own activities. It would perhaps be a closer approximation to compare it to the kind of Hall of Mirrors where one mirror reflects one's reflection in another mirror, and so on. We cannot get away from the infinite. It stares us in the face whether we look at atoms or stars, or at the becauses behind the becauses, stretching back through Eternity. Flat-Earth science has no more use for it than the flat-Earth theologicians had in the Dark Ages; but a true science of life must let infinity in, and never lose sight of it... Throughout the ages the great innovators in the history of science had always been aware of the transparency of phenomena towards a different order of reality, of the ubiquitous presence of the ghost in the machine-even such a simple machine as a magnetic compa.s.s or a Leyden jar. Once a scientist loses this sense of mystery, he can be an excellent technician, but he ceases to be a savant.

Arthur Koestler: The Ghost in the Machine

The Station of the Holy Order of Vision was, Brother Paul was forcibly reminded, well out in the sticks. It had not always been that way. This had once been a ghetto area. In the five years of the Matter Transmission program, officially and popularly known as MT and Empty respectively, several billion human beings had been exported to about a thousand colony planets. This was a rate that would soon depopulate the world.

But it was not the policy of the Holy Order of Vision to interfere in lay matters. Brother Paul could think his private thoughts, but he must never try to force his political or economic opinions on others. Or, for that matter, his religious views.

So now he trekked through the veritable wilderness surrounding the Station, past the standing steel bones of once-great buildings projecting into the sky like remnants of dinosaurs. During winter's snows the effect was not so stark; the bones were blanketed. But this was summer. His destination was the lingering, shrinking technological civilization of the planet. The resurging brush and shrubs grew thicker and taller as he covered the kilometers, as though their growth kept pace with his progress, then gave way on occasion to cl.u.s.ters of dwellings like medieval villages. Each population cl.u.s.ter centered around some surviving bastion of technology: electricity generated from a water wheel, a wood-fueled kiln, or industrial-scale windmills.

Village, he thought. From the same Latin root as villa, the manor of a feudal lord. Inhabited by feudal serfs called villains, whose ignorant nature lent a somewhat different meaning to that word in later centuries. Society was fragmenting into its original components, under the stress of deprivation of energy. Electronics was virtually a dead science in the hinterlands where there was no electricity; automotive technology was pa.s.se where there was no gasoline.

Horsepower and handicrafts had quickly resumed their former prominence, and Brother Paul was not prepared to call this evil. Pollution was a thing of the past, except in mining areas, and children today did not know what the term "inflation" meant, since barter was the order of the day. People lived harder lives now, but often healthier ones, despite the regression of medical technology. The enhanced sense of community in any given village was a blessing; neighbor was more apt to help neighbor, and the discontented had gone away.

Light-years away.

However, he approached each village carefully, for the villains could be brutish with strangers. Brother Paul was basically a man of peace, but neither a weakling nor a fool. He donned his Order habit when near population centers to make himself more readily identifiable. He would defend himself with words and smiles and humility wherever he could, and with physical measures when all else failed.

Though he was a Brother of an Order with religious connotations, he neither expected nor received free benefits on that account. He rendered service for his night's board and lodging; there was always demand for a man handy with mechanical things. He exchanged news with the lord of each manor, obtaining directions and advice about local conditions. Everyone knew the way to MT. Each night he found a different residence. In some areas of the country, actual primitive tribes had taken over, calling themselves Saxons, Huns, Cimmerians, Celts, or Picts, and in many respects they did resemble their historic models.

The Saxons were Americans of northern European descent; the Huns were Americans of middle European admixed with Oriental descent; the Cimmerians seemed to be derived from the former fans of fantasy adventure novels. Elsewhere in the world, he knew, the process was similar; there were even Incas in Asia. He encountered one strong tribe named Songhoy whose roots were in tenth-century Black Africa. Their location, with ironic appropriateness, was in the badlands of black craters formed by savagely rapid and deep strip mining for coal. Once there had been enough coal in America to power the world for centuries; no more.

The Holy Order of Vision, always hospitable to peaceful travelers, had entertained and a.s.sisted Shamans and Druids and other priestly representatives, never challenging their beliefs or religious authority. A Voodoo witch-doctor could not only find hospitality at the Station, he could converse with Brothers of the Order who took him completely seriously and knew more than a little about his practice. Now this policy paid off for Brother Paul. The small silver cross he wore became a talisman of amazing potency wherever religion dominated-and this was more extensive every year. Political power reached only as far as the arm of the local strong man, but clerical power extended as far as faith could reach. The laity gave way increasingly to the clerical authorities, as in medieval times. Thus Brother Paul was harvesting the fruit of the seeds sown by his Order. In addition, he had rather persuasive insights into the culture of Black societies, whether of ancient Africa or modern America. He fared very well.

After many pleasant days of foot travel he entered the somewhat vaguely defined demesnes of twentieth-century civilization. Here there was electricity from a central source, and radio and telephones and automotive movement. He obtained a ride on a tram drawn by a woodburning steam engine; no diesels or coal-fired vehicles remained operative, of course. The electricity here was generated by sunlight, not fossil fuel, for MT was as yet unable to preempt the entire light of the sun for the emigration program. "Maybe tomorrow," the wry joke went.

The reason for the lack of clear boundaries to the region was that the electric power lines did not extend all the way to the periphery, and batteries were reserved for emergency use. But radio communication reached some distance farther out, so that selected offices could be linked to the news of the world.

At this fringe, wood was the fuel of choice where it was available.

This was a pleasant enough ride, allowing Brother Paul to rest his weary feet.

He felt a bit guilty about using the Order credit card for this service, but in one day he traversed more territory than he had in a week of foot travel. He could not otherwise have arrived on time.

He spent this night at the Station of the Coordinator for the Order in this region: the Right Reverend Father Crowder. Brother Paul was somewhat awed by the august presence of this pepper-maned elder, but the Right Reverend quickly made him even less at ease. "How I envy you your youth and courage, Brother! I daresay you run the cross-country kilometer in under three minutes."

"Uh, sometimes-"

"Never cracked three-ten myself. Or the five-minute mile. But once I managed fifteen honest pullups in thirty seconds on a rafter in the chapel." He smiled ruefully. "The chapelmaster caught me. He never said a word-but, oh, the look he gave me! I never had the nerve to try it again. But I'm sure you would never allow such a minor excuse to interfere with your exercise."

Obviously the man knew something about Brother Paul's background-especially the calisthenics he had been sneaking in when he thought no one was watching. He hoped he wasn't blushing.

"The mission you now face requires a good deal more nerve than that sort of thing," Right Reverend Crowder continued. "You have nerve, presence of mind, great strength, and a certain refreshing objectivity. These were qualities we were looking for. Yet it will not be easy. Not only must you face G.o.d-you must pa.s.s judgment on His validity. I do not envy you this charge." He turned and put his strong, weathered hands on Brother Paul's shoulders. "G.o.d bless you and give you strength," he said sincerely.

G.o.d bless you... Brother Paul swayed, closing his eyes in momentary pain.