Beyond determining that the religious sect in question was less than two centuries old — unsettling, that, but surely not without a satisfactory explanation — Father Pirella’s most basic questions had been met with an uncomprehending stare. He had suggested that the easiest and most logical solution was to go to the nearest structure and start there with concrete articles. After establishing a little common ground, they could then progress to abstractions.

Mantha had agreed.

The native held the door open for him — hinges…the technological level here was startlingly depressed — and Father Pirella entered the cool dim interior.

He saw seats but no altar. Stark and alone, a huge, life-size crucifix dominated the far end of the chamber. He hurried forward, eager to study it. Merely to find the Christ figure here on this isolated world would be quite enough; but to demonstrate that it held a central position in the culture would be more than anyone in the order or the Church had ever dreamed. It would be the consummation of –

"Mother of God!"

The words echoed briefly in the dimness. Father Pirella's feet began to slide on the polished floor as he recoiled in horror at the sight of the figure on the cross. Crushing disappointment fanned his indignation.

"This is sacrilege!" he hissed through clenched teeth framed in tight, bloodless lips. "Blasphemy!"

For a moment he almost gave in to the urge to hurl himself at the astonished and confused Mantha, then he shuddered and rushed out into the bright, wholesome daylight.

"I did not know what you were looking for," Mantha said when he finally caught up to Father Pirella, "but I had a feeling you would not find it in there."

"Why didn't you warn me?"

Mantha gently took the priest's arm and began to lead him down a path through the trees.

"Come. Come with me to God's-Touch and you will perhaps understand."