As Zeer drove, his thoughts began to wander back. It was a strange adventure that he had lived these last several decades. “This might be the strangest twist of all me bucko.” said the voice of his father.
Without thinking, Zeer answered, “Aye, Da’. If I wasna there, I’d have not believed how I could have arrived in this strange place.”
“Right sonny! Here you are Zeer MacTarn, prince of all the Emerish. Ye’v been on the run most of yer born life. As a member of the Clan MacTarn, hereditary rulers of Emerand, yer life has been forfeit by decree more’n three decades, hunted by the blasted "Froggers" as all the Emerish called the Sanser Imperion.”
Zeer shook his head in sad remembrance, “Aye…right ye are.”
“And lately, listed as a master jewel thief, ye have added the fine officers of the Galactic Guardians to the list of hunters.”
“Aye, it’s a fine mess I’ve made of it,”
“Dinna be harsh, laddy. Ye had few choices. Yer a dead man if they find ya anyways.”
Zeer thought back to one cycle ago. It seemed longer, but that’s all it was. Once again, he found himself on the run again from a minor disagreement over some green fire earrings on Zephyr III. As luck would have it, in an alley behind a sleazy little bar, he found a dead seaman. In his pocket were orders to ride a long jump freighter. Zeer quickly disguised himself to match the ID. Using this means, he had escaped. He had come aboard at final check in. He had correctly guessed that they wouldn’t be too picky. Zeer had gotten the berth because the freighter was so short of help that they didn't check his papers too closely.
Twelve shifts into the flight, the watch master had sent him to do an inventory during a forenoon watch. Back in the far corner, he had found the Preacher's traveler craft. Inside, nearly starved, Zeer found a Par Cat female and some dead old codger already stinking.
The bus had been set in the far back edge of the biggest hold in the huge freighter and forgotten, lost behind some fourteen story buildings and a nearly assembled space station. By the looks of things, that old preacher man had died several weeks back. The woman was nearly dead, too.
He approached her carefully. He did not speak Paronese. He tried Standard, “Ma’am…are thee alright?”
“No hurt Paris…” she spoke a form of hissy Standard, but he understood her well enough.
“I would not hurt ye…”
“Preacher Mans dead…”
With a protein stick from his pocket, Zeer had gotten the Par cat to let Zeer into the craft.
“I see that. Are thee alright?” He moved carefully to the man and inspected the body.
“No hurt… hungry… food locker on voice recognition of Preacher Man…”
“Let me help ye. “He pulled his knife out of his pocket and fiddled with the cover. It popped off. “Here!”
“MMmmmm…” She curled up in the driver’s couch happily purring and eating her meal.
The voice locks of the pantry were no match for a master jewel thief. He had them open in three ticks. Then, he reset them to her voice. She smiled a toothy smile and licked his cheek with a scratchy tongue. “Paris like you… You like Paris?”
“Sure…” he got out of there and back to work before he was missed. He proceeded quickly to go through the old man's clothes. In them, he found all the papers and identity tags that he would need to make his next transformation. Since they looked so much alike already, it would be simple to once again morph himself into a new persona.
Next shift, he began eating with and talking to the Par Cat. At first, she had defended the body as if she did not understand that the old coot was done for. Zeer put some knock outs in her food. While she was asleep, he disposed of the body out of a garbage chute. She seemed to pay no notice, then, she asked, “Where Preacher Mans go?”
“I dunno… he went fer a walk I guess…”
“Oh…” She curled up around him, “I likes you better anyways…” He stroked her back and she fell back to sleep with her head on his lap. Sitting with her, he read and re-read all the papers until he was satisfied that he could answer any questions as the Brother.
The dead man’s name was Rone Taflick. If his papers were to be believed, the old man had been a legitimate Preacher man. He had just finished a pretty unsatisfying two cycle stint on a planet known as Paron. Zeer figured that was where he must have gotten the girl. Zeer had not seen many ParCats, but she looked like a very young adult, barely out of her teens.
On the manifest, she was listed as housekeeper. Taflick’s own journals told the story. Tiring of leading a small backwater church on Paron, he had contracted himself to a missionary society. He was headed anywhere they would send him. The society was looking for a person with a family to fulfill a commission. Someone on Tarra had commissioned his society to pay for a traveling home and all transport fees to the mining town where this good soul had made his fortune. Following the wishes of a rich miner's will and, of course, using the dead miner's money, they had recruited Rone and sent him to the richest planet in that sector.
Zeer stopped reading and nodded in accordance. He was all too familiar with the legends of Tarra’s infamous wealth. For some time now, Zeer had been scheming to get there. The solution that presented itself was to get on board this particular freighter as that dead seaman. It was working out well so far. The best way to get at a fortune in Quallium, the energy jewel, was to get to Tarra. Now, his Emerish luck was holding. The next step in the unfolding plan was to become this Brother. This poor, dead Traveler was now his ticket to those mines.
His dad interrupted his revery, "Always be ready to shuck all plans especially when you haven't got one in the first place."
"Shut up, old man," Zeer said, wishing that his dad would not follow him around so much. Sharing memories with a ghost never failed to shake him up.
The ghost replied with a sound that sounded really close to passing gas. This was followed by the sound of fading laughter.
"You were always disgusting, Dad."
"I do try."
"You do try me patience, that’s wot."
Zeer thought back over the last few cycles. The jewelry business was getting harder and harder for him to work. Maybe a rich strike of Quallium could be his last heist and he could retire.
"Aye, son, staying a jewel thief requires too much climbin' and swingin' for yer spindly old legs."
"What old legs, you old coot. I be fit enough!" His dad just laughed a ghostly laugh.
Those next few shifts on board the cargo ship, he had resumed his seaman duties to avoid bringing suspicion onto him before he was ready to make his break. He also practiced the new disguise. He was waiting for her when she awoke.
"Preacher man! You come back….You awake now…You okay?" She seemed genuinely glad to see him.
"I'm okay."
"Where new man go?" (So far, so good)
"He had to get back to work."
"Paris missy snuggles. Preacher man wanna play?" (So, her name was Paris. What are snuggles, I wonder.)
Zeer knew from reading the old man’s diaries that he had taught her to speak a sort of hissy Standard. Zeer was now finding out that the old man had taught her other things as well. Zeer had heard that a Par cat was not your regular house pet, if you had no prejudices against animal husbandry, so to speak. He knew that if he could fool her, he could fool any one. If he didn't fool her, she never let on.
Later that evening, with the Par Cat on more friendly terms after he learned what “snuggles” meant, he began moving his stash of stolen jewels and his other belongings onto the traveler. He had hoped that a Preacher man would not be searched too thoroughly when they got to Tarra. What he really hoped was that Security would be too busy trying to keep the crew from jumping ship to head for the mines to be worried about some half crazy Preacher man and his pet.
Over the next weeks and moons, he began to stay in the bus more and more. Luckily, Taflick was a pack rat. In various cabinets, Zeer found all of the books that he needee to le
arn what to say to convince the authorities that he was a missionary. He began to read the books in the evening. Paris would lie next to him and bring him drinks. Over the seven moon cycle trip, they fell in love there in the hold of that giant freighter. There were more changes. The studies of the Master’s Word changed how he reacted to Paris. Until now, he had loved women, but, never attached himself to one or allowed one to get too close to him. This was different. He was becoming different.
Zeer had continued to switch identities to move about freely. He needed to keep the seaman scam running. Plus, it was the only way to get food and drink to the bus. As the voyage drew to a close, he decided that they needed a test.
One night, he asked Paris, “Lassie, we canna go on like this…”
“What you mean, Preacher man?”
“We are living in sin, child…”
“We mates… not sin.”
“No, darlin’, what we are doing is sinful.”
“Okay then, what we do?”
“Will ya marry me?”
She leaped into his arms, “Oh, yesss…”
They called the captain on the intercom. “Sir, we are two of your passengers. May we come to see you?”
“Aye. If you come to my stateroom now, I will see you.”
“We’ll be right there.”
They hurried to the appointed place. The captain looked right at Zeer, disguised as the Preacher man. No sign of recognition was evident. “Sir, I am Rone Taflick. This is Paris. We wish to ask thee if thee will ya marry us while we’re still in space?”
The captain brightened, “I’d be honored to perform this service, Father. I have never married one of the cloth.”
“Me either, captain… It’s a busman’s holiday fer me. heh, heh. What time shall we come?”
“I must get to work now, but I am off the bridge at six bells. How’s that?”
Zeer acted dumb. “What would that be in People time sir?”
“Ummm, 1630”
“We’ll be here, Sir…” So, later that evening, they killed two birds with one stone. He had fooled the captain with his disguise and he would now be able to serve the Master with his new mate. When the freighter docked at Tarra, Zeer, now disguised as the Preacher man, took his strange new mate and left with the other miners and colonists.
Once on Tarra, Zeer took to preaching easily. Zeer remembered that his dad had used the preacher man scam often when a little cash was needed to buy a pint of bitters or two. Time passed and as they worked, more than two moon cycles had passed since their arrival on Tarra. Thus far, they had traveled for little or nothing in the way of pay. The mines and their supporting towns that were near to Space Port City had been played out by the time he and Par had arrived. The society expected the travelers to preach well enough that the congregations would support them. This was difficult here because the money and the miners had moved outward.
But, for the time being, he had been content to stay in character, traveling steadily toward his goal, MS-1. He used the time to practice his preaching craft and learn the Rote o’ Kirk, the various special services that keep church from getting dull. The farther they had gotten from Space Port City, the fewer Guardian patrols they saw. This allowed Zeer to let his hair grow and gradually get back to his natural face. No one here knew what he looked like anyway.
Another lucky break was that Rone Taflick was a journaler. He had kept copious notes of his boring little life as a Breather of the Word. The margins of his training manuals were filled with notes about the discussions that he had engaged in during study times. Often, these notes brought light to many arcane passages in Scripture. It would often be these notes that were repeated while trying to serve the miners and their families through his early days on the planet.
Zeer read the books carefully. He began acting as the Traveler manuals told him to. He wandered from town to town to bring the heathen miners the Word. Being taken for a member of the Brotherhood had made it easy enough for him. The bus was a movable church. It had a fold out pulpit on the side and a hold full of Books of the Living Word. Huge letters in several languages printed on the side of the bus said,
SPREADING THE WORD OUT IN THE MASTER'S OWN AIR.
He also thought about his own Father. Several cycles back, a viddy news show had shocked him with the report that a famous outlaw, Zack MacTarn had been blasted in a Pleasure Dome called, “Quid’s”.