So much for being veterans together, Gorppet thought. He went back to the barracks and told the males of his squad what the new plan was. None of them had much to say about it. Betvoss was too startled-perhaps too appalled-even to complain. An orderly came by with the locale of the house of superstition to which the squad was assigned. That confirmed Gorppet’s words and left everyone glummer than ever.
When morning came, all the males made sure they were carrying plenty of ammunition. They also made sure their body armor did the best possible job of covering their vitals. It might not hold out a high-powered bullet, but it was the best hope they had.
To Gorppet’s relief, the house of superstition where his squad had to collect fees wasn’t far from the barracks. The troopers got there just before sunrise. A landcruiser had already arrived, which made the squad leader feel better. He devoutly hoped its immense bulk and formidable gun would make the Big Uglies think twice about any trouble.
A Tosevite in wrappings and head cloth was expostulating at the landcruiser commander, who stood up in his cupola watching and waiting. That male either spoke no Arabic or preferred to pretend he didn’t. The Big Ugly rounded on Gorppet. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.
“Collecting money,” Gorppet answered. “If your males and females do not pay half a dinar each, they do not go in.”
“Half a dinar?” the Big Ugly howled. “Half a dinar at each of five daily prayers? You will make beggars of us!”
“I have my orders,” Gorppet said stolidly. He gestured with his rifle barrel toward the landcruiser. “I have the power to make orders good.”
“You are wicked. The great Satan will burn you in the fires of hell forever!” the Big Ugly said. “Why do you torment us? Why do you persecute us?”
As far as Gorppet was concerned, Tosevites tormented the Race far more than the other way round. Before he could say as much, amplified screeches from the towers at the corners of the house of superstitions summoned the local Big Uglies to the day’s first petitions to the imaginary all-powerful Big Ugly beyond the sky.
Gorppet positioned his males in the entranceway. Since he knew more Arabic than the others, he made the announcement: “Half a dinar to go inside. If you do not pay, go home and venerate the spirits of Emperors past.”
His fellow males backed him up with rifles aimed at the Big Uglies coming to worship. The landcruiser backed him up with its cannon and machine gun and intimidating massiveness. Despite all that, he thought he would have to start firing into the building crowd. The Tosevites screamed and cursed and waved their arms in the air and jumped up and down. But they had been taken by surprise, and had not thought to bring firearms to the house of superstition.
Some of them threw down coins or fluttering pieces of paper also in circulation as money. Gorppet wasn’t sure all of those payments were half-dinars. He didn’t check very closely. Any payment was enough to satisfy him. He used the barrel of his rifle to beckon into the house of superstition those who gave money of any sort.
Some of the others kept angrily milling about. Others headed back toward their homes. He hoped they were relieved to have an excuse to go away, and were not going to return later with weapons.
Rather to his surprise, the Big Uglies didn’t start shooting. Betvoss said, “Well, we got away with it. I would not have believed that we could.”
“We got away with it this time,” Gorppet said. “These Tosevites come here to pray five times a day, remember. We are going to have to charge them this fee every time they come. Who knows how long they will tolerate it?” He sighed. “If only they would venerate the spirits of Emperors past, life would be easier for us.”
“Truth,” Betvoss said. “But they have all these houses for their own superstition, and none for the truth. How can we expect them to venerate the Emperors if they have nowhere to do it?”
Gorppet stared at the other male in surprise. Like any malcontent, Betvoss was full of ideas. As with any malcontent, most of them were bad. But this one struck Gorppet as quite good. He said, “You ought to pass that along to the authorities, Betvoss. It might get you a bonus or a promotion.”
If it got Betvoss a bonus, that might improve his sour attitude. Stranger things had happened-on Tosev 3, plenty of stranger things had happened. And if it got Betvoss a promotion, Gorppet wouldn’t have to worry about him any more. Gorppet swiveled his eye turrets this way and that. He wouldn’t have to worry about much of anything-not till the next call for worship at this house of superstition, anyhow.
Along with his family, Reuven Russie walked toward the synagogue a few blocks away for Friday evening services. He was less devout than his parents, and sometimes felt guilty about it. They’d suffered because of their Judaism even before the Nazis invaded Poland. For him, being a Jew had been pretty easy through most of his life: the Lizards generally preferred Jews to Muslims. He wondered if his faith needed strengthening in the fire of persecution.
On the other hand, Judith and Esther took their belief more seriously than he did his, and they’d never been persecuted at all. They chattered with their mother as the family rounded the last corner on the way to the synagogue. Maybe they just hadn’t yet been exposed to the flood of secular knowledge he’d acquired.
But his father was full of secular knowledge, too, and still believed. Reuven scratched his head. Plainly, he didn’t understand everything that was going on.
Moishe Russie pointed toward a crowd of Jews gathered in front of the synagogue. That was unusual. “Hello,” he said. “I wonder what’s going on.”
Whatever it was, a lot of people were excited. Angry shouts in Yiddish and Hebrew reached Reuven’s ears. Rivka Russie pointed, too. “Look,” she said. “There’s a Lizard standing in front of the entrance. What’s he doing there?”
“Maybe he wants to convert,” Esther said. Judith giggled.
Reuven leaned toward his father and murmured, “How would we circumcise him?” Moishe Russie let out a strangled snort. He waggled a reproachful finger at Reuven, but his heart wasn’t in the gesture. It was the sort of joke any doctor or medical student might have made.
As Reuven got closer to the synagogue, the shouting began turning into intelligible words. “An outrage!” someone cried. “An imposition!” someone else exclaimed. “We won’t put up with this!” a woman warned shrilly. Reproach filled a man’s voice: “After all we’ve done for you!”
The Lizard-who was armed and wearing body armor-kept speaking hissing Hebrew: “I have my orders. I cannot go against my orders.”
“What are your orders?” Reuven asked in the language of the Race, pushing through the crowd toward the doorway.
As he’d hoped, the male responded to hearing his own tongue. “Perhaps you will explain it to these Tosevites better than I can,” he replied. “My orders are that no one may enter this house of superstition without first paying five hundred mills.”
“Half a pound?” Reuven exclaimed. “Why? What is the purpose of this order? How can I explain it if I do not understand it?”
“It is to reduce superstition,” the Lizard told him. “If you Tosevites have to pay a tax to gather together to celebrate what is not true, the hope is that you will turn toward the veneration of the spirits of Emperors past, which is true.”
A woman grabbed at Reuven’s arm. “What’s he saying?” she demanded.
Reuven translated the male’s words. They brought a fresh storm of protest. Some of the language in which the protest was couched made Esther and Judith exclaim, whether in horror or in admiration, Reuven couldn’t quite tell. “A tax on religion?” someone said. “Who ever heard of a tax on religion?”
But an old man with a white beard answered, “I came to Palestine when the Turks still ruled here. They used to tax Jews, and Christians, too. Only Muslims got off without paying.”
Understanding that, the Lizard said, “We tax Muslims, too. We tax all who do not venerate the Emperors.”
“They’re trying to con
vert us!” a woman said indignantly.
The Lizard understood that, too, and made the negative hand gesture. “You may follow your superstition,” he said. “If you do, though, you have to pay.”
Moishe Russie took out his wallet. “I am going to pay,” he said, and gave the male a two-pound note and another worth five hundred mills. “This is for all my family.”
“Pass on,” the Lizard said, and stood aside to let the Russies into the synagogue. Reuven discovered they were not the first to go in. He and his father sat on the right side of the aisle, his mother and sisters on the left. All the conversation, among men on the one side and women on the other, was about the tax.
“How will poor Jews pay it?” a fat man asked. “It is not a small fee.”