reeked of wealth, and the latter because it combined his two other chief
preoccupations, these being theology and anatomy.
After a time, he spoke with a foreign sea captain who had overseen the
unloading of sacks of grain, and now took his rest in the shade of the
crates.
"Good morning," he said. "May your passages be free of storm and
shipwreck, and the gods grant you safe harbor and a good market for your
cargoes."
The other nodded, seated himself upon a crate and proceeded to fill a
small clay pipe.
"Thank you, old one," he said. "Though I do pray to the gods of the
Temples of my own choosing, I accept the blessings of any and all. One can
always use blessings, especially a seaman."
"Had you a difficult voyage?"
"Less difficult than it might have been," said the sea captain. "That
smoldering sea mountain, the Cannon of Nirriti, discharges its bolts against
heaven once again."
"Ah, you sailed from the southwest!"
"Yes. Chatisthan, from Ispar-by-the-Sea. The winds are good in this
season of the year, but for this reason they also carried the ash of the
Cannon much farther than any would think. For six days this black snow fell
upon us, and the odors of the underworld pursued us, fouling food and water,
making the eyes to weep and the throat to burn. We offered much thanksgiving
when we finally outran it. See how the hull is smeared? You should have seen
the sails -- black as the hair of Ratri!"
The prince leaned forward to better regard the vessel. "But the waters
were not especially troubled?" he asked.
The sailor shook his head. "We hailed a cruiser near the Isle of Salt,
and we learned of it that we had missed by six days the worst dischargings
of the Cannon. At that time, it burnt the clouds and raised great waves,
sinking two ships the cruiser did know of, and possibly a third." The sailor
leaned back, stoking his pipe. "So, as I say, a seaman can always use
blessings."
"I seek a man of the sea," said the prince. "A captain. His name is Jan
Olvegg, or perhaps he is now known as Olvagga. Do you know him?"
"I knew him," said the other, "but it has been long since he sailed."
"Oh? What has become of him?"
The sailor turned his head to better study him. "Who are you to ask?"
he finally inquired.
"My name is Sam. Jan is a very old friend of mine."
"How old is 'very old'?"
"Many, many years ago, in another place, I knew him when he was captain
of a ship which did not sail these oceans."
The sea captain leaned forward suddenly and picked up a piece of wood,
which he hurled at the dog who had rounded a piling at the other side of the
pier. It yelped once and dashed off toward the shelter of a warehouse. It
was the same dog who had followed the prince from the hostel of Hawkana.
"Beware the hounds of hell," said the captain. "There are dogs and
there are dogs-- and there are dogs. Three different kinds, and in this port
drive them all from your presence." Then he appraised the other once again.
"Your hands," he said, gesturing with his pipe, "have recently worn many
rings. Their impressions yet remain."
Sam glanced at his hands and smiled. "Your eyes miss nothing, sailor,"
he replied. "So I admit to the obvious. I have recently worn rings."
"So, like the dogs, you are not what you appear to be-- and you come
asking after Olvagga, by his most ancient name. Your name, you say, is Sam.
Are you, perchance, one of the First?"
Sam did not reply immediately, but studied the other as though waiting
for him to say more.
Perhaps realizing this, the captain continued: "Olvagga, I know, was
numbered among the First, though he never spoke of it. Whether you are
yourself among the First, or are one of the Masters, you are aware of this.
So I do not betray him by so speaking. I do wish to know whether I speak to
a friend or an enemy, however."
Sam frowned. "Jan was never known for the making of enemies," he said.
"You speak as if he has them now, among those whom you call the Masters."
The seaman continued to stare at him. "You are not a Master," he
finally said, "and you come from afar."
"You are correct," said Sam, "but tell me how you know these things."
"First," said the other, "you are an old man. A Master, too, could have
upon him an old body, but he would not-- any more than he would remain a dog
for very long. His fear of dying the real death, suddenly, in the manner of
the old, would be too great. So he would not remain so long as to leave the
marks of rings deeply imprinted upon the fingers. The wealthy are never
despoiled of their bodies. If they are refused rebirth, they live out the
full span of their days. The Masters would fear a rising up in arms among
the followers of such a one, were he to meet with other than a natural
passing. So a body such as yours could not be obtained in this manner. A
body from the life tanks would not have marked fingers either.
"Therefore," he concluded, "I take you to be a man of importance other
than a Master. If you knew Olvagga of old, then you are also one of the
Firstlings, such as he. Because of the sort of information which you seek, I
take you to be one from afar. Were you a man of Mahartha you would know of
the Masters, and knowing of the Masters you would know why Olvagga cannot
sail."
"Your knowledge of matters in Mahartha seems greater than my own -- oh,
newly arrived sailor."
"I, too, come from a distant place," acknowledged the captain, smiling
faintly, "but in the space of a dozen months I may visit twice as many
ports. I hear news-- news and gossip and tales from all over-- from more
than a double dozen ports. I hear of the intrigues of the palace and the
affairs of the Temple. I hear the secrets whispered at night to the golden
girls beneath the sugar-cane bow of Kama. I hear of the campaigns of the
Khshatriya and the dealings of the great merchants in the futures of grains
and spices, jewels and silk. I drink with the bards and the astrologers,
with the actors and the servants, the coachmen and the tailors. Sometimes,
perhaps, I may strike the port where freebooters have haven and learn there
the faring of those they hold to ransom. So do not think it strange that I,
who come from afar, may know more of Mahartha than you, who may dwell
perhaps a week's faring hence. Occasionally, I may even hear of the doings
of the gods."
"Then you can tell me of the Masters, and why they are to be numbered
as enemies?" asked Sam.
"I can tell you something of them," replied the captain, "since you
should not go unwarned. The body merchants are now the Masters of Karma.
Their individual names are now kept secret, after the manner of the gods, so
that they seem as impersonal as the Great Wheel, which they claim to
represent. They are no longer merely body merchants, but are allied with the
Temples. These, too, are changed, for your kinsmen of the First who are now
gods do commune with them from Heaven. If you are indeed of the First, Sam,
your way must lead you either to deification or extinction, when you face
these new Masters of Karma."
"How?" asked Sam.
"Details you must seek elsewhere," said the other. "I do not know the
processes whereby these things are achieved. Ask after Jannaveg the
sailmaker on the Street of the Weavers."
"This is how Jan is now known?"
The other nodded. "And beware the dogs," he said, "or, for that matter,
anything else which is alive and may harbor intelligence."
"What is your name, captain?" asked Sam.
"In this port, I have no name at all or a false one, and I see no
reason for lying to you. Good day, Sam."
"Good day, captain. Thank you for your words."
Sam rose and departed the harbor, heading back toward the business
district and the streets of the trades.
The sun was a red discus in the heavens, rising to meet the Bridge of
the Gods. The prince walked through the awakened city, threading his way
among the stalls displaying the skills of the workmen in the small crafts.
Hawkers of unguents and powders, perfumes and oils, moved about him.
Florists waved their garlands and corsages at the passer-by; and the
vintners said nothing, sitting with their wineskins on rows of shaded
benches, waiting for their customers to come to them as they always did. The
morning smelled of cooking food, musk, flesh, excrement, oils and incense
all churned up together and turned loose to wander like an invisible cloud.
Dressed as a beggar himself, it did not seem out of place for him to
stop and speak to the hunchback with the begging bowl.
"Greetings, brother," he stated. "I am far from my quarter on an
errand. Can you direct me to the Street of the Weavers?"
The hunchback nodded and shook his bowl suggestively.
He withdrew a small coin from the pouch concealed beneath his tattered
garments. He dropped it into the hunchback's bowl and it quickly vanished.
"That way." The man gestured with his head. "The third street you come
upon, turn there to the left. Then follow it past two streets more, and you
will be at the Circle of the Fountain before the Temple of Varuna. Coming
into that Circle, the Street of the Weavers is marked by the Sign of the
Awl."
He nodded to the hunchback, patted his hump and continued on his way.
When he reached the Circle of the Fountain, the prince halted. Several
dozen people stood in a shifting line before the Temple of Varuna, most
stern and august of all the deities. These people were not preparing to
enter the Temple, but rather were engaged in some occupation that required
waiting and taking turns. He heard the rattling of coins and he wandered
nearer.
It was a machine, gleaming and metallic, before which they moved.
A man inserted a coin into the mouth of a steel tiger. The machine
began to purr. He pressed buttons cast in the likenesses of animals and
demons. There came then a flashing of lights along the lengths of the Nagas,
the two holy serpents who twisted about the transparent face of the machine.
He edged closer.
The man drew down upon the lever that grew from the side of the machine
cast in the likeness of the tail of a fish.
A holy blue light filled the interior of the machine; the serpents
pulsed redly; and there, in the midst of the light and a soft music that had
begun to play, a prayer wheel swung into view and began spinning at a
furious pace.
The man wore a beatific expression. After several minutes, the machine
shut itself off. He inserted another coin and pulled the lever once more,
causing several of those nearer to the end of the line to grumble audibly,
remarking to the effect that that was his seventh coin, it was a warm day,
there were other people waiting to get some praying done and why did he not
go inside and render such a large donation directly to the priests? Someone
replied that the little man obviously had much atoning to do. There then
began some speculation as to the possible nature of his sins. This was
accompanied by considerable laughter.
Seeing that there were several beggars waiting their turn in line, the
prince moved to its end and stood there.
As the line advanced, he noted that, while some of those who passed
before the machine pushed its buttons, others merely inserted a flat metal
disc into the mouth of the second tiger on the opposite side of the chassis.
After the machine had ceased to function, the disc fell into a cup and was
retrieved by its owner. The prince decided to venture an inquiry.
He addressed the man who stood before him in line:
"Why is it," he asked, "that some men do have discs of their own?"
"It is because they have registered," said the other, without turning
his head.
"In the Temple?"
"Yes."
"Oh."
He waited half a minute, then inquired, "Those who are unregistered,
and wish to use it-- they push the buttons?"
"Yes," said the other, "spelling out their name, occupation, and
address."
"Supposing one be a visitor here, such as myself?"
"You should add the name of your city."
"Supposing one is unlettered, such as myself-- what then?"
The other turned to him. "Perhaps ''twere better," he said, "that you
make prayer in the old way, and give the donation directly into the hands of
the priests. Or else register and obtain a disc of your own."
"I see," said the prince. "Yes, you are right. I must think of this
more. Thank you."
He left the line and circled the fountain to where the Sign of the Awl
hung upon a pillar. He moved up the Street of the Weavers.
Three times did he ask after Janagga the sailmaker, the third time of a
short woman with powerful arms and a small mustache, who sat cross-legged,
plaiting a rug, in her stall beneath the low eave of what once might have
been a stable and still smelled as if it were.
She growled him directions, after raking him upward and down again with
oddly lovely brown-velvet eyes. He followed her directions, taking his way
up a zigzagging alley and down an outer stair, which ran along the wall of a
five-story building, ending at a door that opened upon a basement hallway.
It was damp and dark within.
He knocked upon the third door to his left, and after a time it opened.
The man stared at him. "Yes?"
"May I come in? It is a matter of some urgency . . ."
The man hesitated a moment, then nodded abruptly and stepped aside.
The prince moved past him and into his chamber. A great sheet of canvas
was spread out over the floor, before the stool upon which the man reseated
himself. He motioned the prince into the only other chair in the room.
He was short and big in the shoulders; his hair was pure white, and the
pupils of his eyes bore the smoky beginnings of cataract invasion. His hands
were brown and hard, the joints of his fingers knotted.
"Yes?" he repeated.
"Jan Olvegg," said the other.
"The old man's eyes widened, then narrowed to slits.
He weighed a pair of scissors in his hand.
"'It's a long way to Tipperary,' " said the prince.
The man stared, then smiled suddenly. "'If your heart's not here,'" he
said, placing the scissors on his workstand. "How long has it been, Sam?" he
asked.
"I've lost count of the years."
"Me too. But it must be forty -- forty-five?-- since I've seen you.
Much beer over the damn dam since then, I daresay?"
Sam nodded.
"I don't really know where to begin . . ." said the man.
"For a start, tell me-- why 'Janagga'?"
"Why not?" asked the other. "It has a certain earnest, working-class
sound about it. How about yourself? Still in the prince business?"
"I'm still me," said Sam, "and they still call me Siddhartha when they
come to call."
The other chuckled. "And 'Binder of the Demons,'" he recited. "Very
good. I take it, then, since your fortunes do not match your garb, that you
are casing the scene, as is your wont."
Sam nodded. "And I have come upon much which I do not understand."
"Aye," sighed Jan. "Aye. How shall I begin? How? I shall tell you of
myself, that's how. . . . I have accumulated too much bad karma to warrant a
current transfer."
"What?"
"Bad karma, that's what I said. The old religion is not only the
religion-- it is the revealed, enforced and frighteningly demonstrable
religion. But don't think that last part too loudly. About a dozen years ago
the Council authorized the use of psych-probes on those who were up for
renewal. This was right after the Accelerationist-Deicrat split, when the
Holy Coalition squeezed out the tech boys and kept right on squeezing. The
simplest solution was to outlive the problem. The Temple crowd then made a
deal with the body sellers, customers were brain-probed and Accelerationists
were refused renewal, or . . . well . . . simple as that. There aren't too
many Accelerationists now. But that was only the beginning. The god party
was quick to realize that therein lay the way of power. Having your brains
scanned has become a standard procedure, just prior to a transfer. The body
merchants are become the Masters of Karma, and a part of the Temple
structure. They read over your past life, weigh the karma, and determine
your life that is yet to come. It's a perfect way of maintaining the caste
system and ensuring Deicratic control. By the way, most of our old
acquaintances are in it up to their halos."
"God!" said Sam.
"Plural," Jan corrected. "They've always been considered gods, with
their Aspects and Attributes, but they've made it awfully official now. And
anyone who happens to be among the First had bloody well better be sure
whether he wants quick deification or the pyre when he walks into the Hall
of Karma these days.
"When's your appointment?" he finished.
"Tomorrow," said Sam, "in the afternoon. . . . Why are you still
walking around, if you don't have a halo or a handful of thunderbolts?"
"Because I do have a couple friends, both of whom suggested I continue
living-- quietly-- rather than face the probe. I took their sage advice to
heart and consequently am still around to mend sails and raise occasional
hell in the local bistros. Else"-- he raised a callused hand, snapped his
fingers-- "else, if not the real death, then perhaps a body shot full with
cancer, or the interesting life of a gelded water buffalo, or . . ."
"A dog?" asked Sam.
"Just so," Jan replied.
Jan filled the silence and two glasses with a splashing of alcohol.
"Thanks."
"Happy hellfire." He replaced the bottle on his workstand.
"On an empty stomach yet. . . . You make that yourself?"
"Yep. Got a still in the next room."
"Congratulations, I guess. If I had any bad karma, it should all be
dissolved by now."
"The definition of bad karma is anything our friends the gods don't
like."
"What made you think you had some?"
"I wanted to start passing out machines among our descendants here. Got
batted down at Council for it. Recanted, and hoped they'd forget. But
Accelerationism is so far out now that it'll never make it back in during my
lifetime. Pity, too. I'd like to lift sail again, head off toward another
horizon. Or lift ship. . ."
"The probe is actually sensitive enough to spot something as intangible
as an Accelerationist attitude?"
"The probe," said Jan, "is sensitive enough to tell what you had for
breakfast eleven years ago yesterday and where you cut yourself shaving that
morning, while humming the Andorran national anthem."
"They were experimental things when we left home," said Sam. "The two
we brought along were very basic brain-wave translators. When did the
breakthrough occur?"
"Hear me, country cousin," said Jan. "Do you remember a snot-nosed brat
of dubious parentage, third generation, named Yama? The kid who was always
souping up generators, until one day one blew and he was so badly burned
that he got his second body-- one over fifty years old-- when he was only
sixteen? The kid who loved weapons? The fellow who anesthetized one of
everything that moves out there and dissected it, taking such pleasure in
his studies that we called him deathgod?"
"Yes, I recall him. Is he still alive?"
"If you want to call it that. He now is deathgod-- not by nickname, but
by title. He perfected the probe about forty years ago, but the Deicrats
kept it under wraps until fairly recently. I hear he's dreamed up some other
little jewels, too, to serve the will of the gods . . . like a mechanical
cobra capable of registering encephalogram readings from a mile away, when
it rears and spreads its fan. It can pick one man out of a crowd, regardless
of the body he wears. There is no known antidote for its venom. Four
seconds, no more. . . . Or the fire wand, which is said to have scored the
surfaces of all three moons while Lord Agni stood upon the seashore and
waved it. And I understand that he is designing some sort of jet-propelled
juggernaut for Lord Shiva at this moment. . . things like that."
"Oh," said Sam.
"Will you pass the probe?" Jan asked.
"I'm afraid not," he replied. "Tell me, I saw a machine this morning
which I think may best be described as a pray-o-mat-- are they very common?"
"Yes," said Jan. "They appeared about two years ago-- dreamed up by
young Leonardo over a short glass of soma one night. Now that the karma idea
has caught on, the things are better than tax collectors. When mister
citizen presents himself at the clinic of the god of the church of his
choice on the eve of his sixtieth year, his prayer account is said to be
considered along with his sin account, in deciding the caste he will enter--
as well as the age, sex and health of the body he will receive. Nice. Neat."
"I will not pass the probe," said Sam, "even if I build up a mighty
prayer account. They'll snare me when it comes to sin."
"What sort of sin?"
"Sins I have yet to commit, but which are being written in my mind as I
consider them now."
"You plan to oppose the gods?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"I do not yet know. I shall begin, however, by contacting them. Who is
their chief?"
"I can name you no one. Trimurti rules-- that is, Brahma, Vishnu and
Shiva. Which of these three be chiefest at any one time, I cannot say. Some
say Brahma-- "
"Who are they-- really?" asked Sam.
Jan shook his head. "I do not know. They all wear different bodies than
they did a generation ago. They all use god names."
Sam stood. "I will return later, or send for you."
"I hope so. . . . Another drink?"
Sam shook his head. "I go to become Siddhartha once more, to break my
fast at the hostel of Hawkana and announce there my intent to visit the
Temples. If our friends are now gods then they must commune with their
priests. Siddhartha goes to pray."
"Then put in no words for me," said Jan, as he poured out another
drink. "I do not know whether I would live through a divine visitation."
Sam smiled. "They are not omnipotent."
"I sincerely hope not," replied the other, "but I fear that day is not
far off."
"Good sailing, Jan."
"Skaal."
Prince Siddhartha stopped on the Street of the Smiths, on his way to
the Temple of Brahma. Half an hour later he emerged from a shop, accompanied
by Strake and three of his retainers. Smiling, as though he had received a
vision of what was to come, he passed through the center of Mahartha, coming
at last to the high, wide Temple of the Creator.
Ignoring the stares of those who stood before the pray-o-mat, he
mounted the long, shallow stairway, meeting at the Temple entrance with the
high priest, whom he had advised earlier of his coming.
Siddhartha and his men entered the Temple, disarming themselves and
paying preliminary obeisances toward its central chamber before addressing
the priest.
Strake and the others drew back a respectful distance as the prince
placed a heavy purse in the priest's hands and said, in a low voice:
"I'd like to speak with God."
The priest studied his face as he replied, "The Temple is open to all.
Lord Siddhartha, where one may commune with Heaven for so long as one
wishes."
"That is not exactly what I had in mind," said Siddhartha. "I was
thinking of something more personal than a sacrifice and a long litany."
"I do not quite follow you . . ."
"But you understand the weight of that purse, do you not? It contains
silver. Another which I bear is filled with gold-- payable upon delivery. I
want to use your telephone."
"Tele . . . ?"
"Communication system. If you were of the First, such as I, you would
understand my reference."
"I do not . . ."
"I assure you my call will not reflect adversely upon your wardenship
here. I am aware of these matters and my discretion has always been a byword
among the First. Call First Base yourself and inquire, if it will put you at
ease. I'll wait here in the outer chamber. Tell them Sam would have words
with Trimurti. They will take the call."
"I do not know. . ."
Sam withdrew the second purse and weighed it in the palm of his hand.
The priest's eyes fell upon it and he licked his lips.
"Wait here," he ordered, and he turned on his heel and left the
chamber.
Ili, the fifth note of the harp, buzzed within the Garden of the Purple
Lotus.
Brahma loafed upon the edge of the heated pool, where he bathed with
his harem. His eyes appeared closed, as he leaned there upon his elbows, his
feet dangling in the water.
But he stared out from beneath his long lashes, watching the dozen
girls at sport in the pool, hoping to see one or more cast an appreciative
glance upon the dark, heavily muscled length of his body. Black upon brown,
his mustaches glistened in moist disarray and his hair was a black wing upon
his back. He smiled a bright smile in the filtered sunlight.
But none of them appeared to notice, so he refolded his smile and put
it away. All their attention lay with the game of water polo in which they
were engaged.
Ili, the bell of communication, buzzed once more, as an artificial
breeze waited the odor of garden jasmine to his nostrils. He sighed. He
wanted so for them to worship him-- his powerful physique, his carefully
molded features. To worship him as a man, not as a god.
But though his special and improved body permitted feats no mortal man
could duplicate, still he felt uneasy in the presence of an old war horse
like Lord Shiva-- who, despite his adherence to the normal body matrix,
seemed to hold far more attraction for women. It was almost as if sex were a
thing that transcended biology; and no matter how hard he tried to suppress
the memory and destroy that segment of spirit, Brahma had been born a woman
and somehow was woman still. Hating this thing, he had elected to incarnate
time after time as an eminently masculine man, did so, and still felt
somehow inadequate, as though the mark of his true sex were branded upon his
brow. It made him want to stamp his foot and grimace.
He rose and stalked off toward his pavilion, past stunted trees that
twisted with a certain grotesque beauty, past trellises woven with morning
glory, pools of blue water lilies, strings of pearls swinging from rings all
wrought of white gold, past lamps shaped like girls, tripods wherein pungent
incenses burnt and an eight-armed statue of a blue goddess who played upon
the veena when properly addressed.
Brahma entered the pavilion and crossed to the screen of crystal, about
which a bronze Naga twisted, tail in teeth. He activated the answering
mechanism.
There was a static snowfall, and then he faced the high priest of his
Temple in Mahartha. The priest dropped to his knees and touched his caste
mark three times upon the floor.
"Of the four orders of gods and the eighteen hosts of Paradise,
mightiest is Brahma," said the priest. "Creator of all. Lord of high Heaven
and everything beneath it. A lotus springs forth from your navel, your hands
churn the oceans, in three strides your feet encompass all the worlds. The
drum of your glory strikes terror in the hearts of your enemies. Upon your
right hand is the wheel of the law. You tether catastrophes, using a snake
for rope. Hail! See fit to accept the prayer of your priest. Bless me and
hear me, Brahma!'
"Arise . . . priest," said Brahma, having forgotten his name. "What
thing of mighty importance moved you to call me thus?"
The priest arose, cast a quick glance upon Brahma's dripping person and
looked away again.
"Lord," said the priest, "I did not mean to call while you were at
bath, but there is one among your worshipers here now who would speak with
you, on a matter which I take to be of mighty importance."
"One of my worshipers! Tell him that all-hearing Brahma hears all, and
direct him to pray to me in the ordinary manner, in the Temple proper!"
Brahma's hand moved toward the shutoff switch, then paused. "How came
he to know of the Temple-to-Heaven line?" he inquired. "And of the direct
communion of saints and gods?"
"He says," replied the priest, "that he is of the First, and that I
should relay the message that Sam would have words with Trimurti."
"Sam?" said Brahma. "Sam? Surely it cannot be . . . that Sam?"
"He is the one known hereabouts as Siddhartha, Binder of the Demons."
"Await my pleasure," said Brahma, "singing the while various
appropriate verses from the Vedas."
"I hear, my Lord," said the priest, and he commenced singing.
Brahma moved to another part of the pavilion and stood awhile before
his wardrobe, deciding what to wear.
The prince, hearing his name called, turned from the contemplation of
the Temple's interior. The priest, whose name he had forgotten, beckoned him
along a corridor. He followed, and the passage led into a storage chamber.
The priest rumbled after a hidden catch, then drew upon a row of shelves
that opened outward, doorlike.
The prince passed through this doorway. He found himself within a
richly decorated shrine. A glowing view-screen hung above its
altar/control-panel, encircled by a bronze Naga, which held its tail in its
teeth.
The priest bowed three times.
"Hail, ruler of the universe, mightiest of the four orders of gods and
the eighteen hosts of paradise. From your navel springs forth the lotus,
your hands churn the oceans, in three strides -- "
"I acknowledge the truth of what you say," replied Brahma. "You are
blessed and heard. You may leave us now."
"That is correct. Sam is doubtless paying you for a private line, is he
not?"
"Lord . . . !"
"Enough! Depart!"
The priest bowed quickly and left, closing the shelves behind him.
Brahma studied Sam, who was wearing dark jodhpurs, a sky-blue khameez,
the blue-green turban of Urath and an empty scabbard upon a chain belt of
dark iron.
Sam, in turn, studied the other, who stood with blackness at his back,
wearing a feather cloak over a suit of light mail. It was caught at the
throat with a clasp of fire opal. Brahma wore a purple crown, studded with
pulsating amethysts, and he bore in his right hand a scepter mounted with
the nine auspicious gems. His eyes were two dark stains upon his dark face.
The gentle strumming of a veena occurred about him.
"Sam?" he said.
Sam nodded.
"I am trying to guess your true identity. Lord Brahma. I confess that I
cannot."
"This is as it should be," said Brahma, "if one is to be a god who was,
is and always shall be."
"Fine garments, those you wear," said Sam. "Quite fetching."
"Thank you. I find it hard to believe that you still exist. Checking, I
note that you have not sought a new body for half a century. That is taking
quite a chance."
Sam shrugged. "Life is full of chances, gambles, uncertainties. . ."
"True," said Brahma. "Pray, draw up a chair and sit down. Make yourself
comfortable."
Sam did this, and when he looked up again, Brahma was seated upon a
high throne carved of red marble, with a matching parasol flared above it.
"That looks a bit uncomfortable," he remarked.
"Foam-rubber cushion," replied the god, smiling. "You may smoke, if you
wish."
"Thanks." Sam drew his pipe from the pouch at his belt, filled it,
tamped it carefully and struck it to fire.
"What have you been doing all this time," asked the god, "since you
left the roost of Heaven?"
"Cultivating my own gardens," said Sam.
"We could have used you here," said Brahma, "in our hydroponics
section. For that matter, perhaps we still could. Tell me more of your stay
among men."
"Tiger hunts, border disputes with neighboring kingdoms, keeping up the
morale of the harem, a bit of botanical research-- things like that-- the
stuff of life," said Sam. "Now my powers slacken, and I seek once more my
youth. But to obtain it again, I understand that I must have my brains
strained. Is that true?"
"After a fashion," said Brahma.
"To what end, may I ask?"
"That wrong shall fail and right prevail," said the god, smiling.
"Supposing I'm wrong," asked Sam, "how shall I fail?"
"You shall be required to work off your karmic burden in a lesser
form."
"Have you any figures readily available as to the percentage that
fails, vis-á-vis that which prevails?"
"Think not less of me in my omniscience," said Brahma, stifling a yawn
with his scepter, "if I admit to having, for the moment, forgotten these
figures."
Sam chuckled. "You say you have need of a gardener there in the
Celestial City?"
"Yes," said Brahma. "Would you like to apply for the job?"
"I don't know," said Sam. "Perhaps."
"And then again, perhaps not?" said the other.
"Perhaps not, also," he acknowledged. "In the old days there was none
of this shillyshallying with a man's mind. If one of the First sought
renewal, he paid the body price and was served."
"We no longer dwell in the old days, Sam. The new age is at hand."
"One would almost think that you sought the removal of all of the First
who are not marshaled at your back."
"A pantheon has room for many, Sam. There is a niche for you, if you
choose to claim it."
"If I do not?"
"Then inquire in the Hall of Karma after your body."
"And if I elect godhood?"
"Your brains will not be probed. The Masters will be advised to serve
you quickly and well. A flying machine will be dispatched to convey you to
Heaven."
"It bears a bit of thinking," said Sam. "I'm quite fond of this world,
though it wallows in an age of darkness. On the other hand, such fondness
will not serve me to enjoy the things I desire, if it is decreed that I die
the real death or take on the form of an ape and wander about the jungles.
But I am not overly fond of artificial perfection either, such as existed in
Heaven when last I visited there. Bide with me a moment while I meditate."
"I consider such indecision presumptuous," said Brahma, "when one has
just been made such an offer."
"I know, and perhaps I should also, were our positions reversed. But if
I were God and you were me, I do believe I would extend a moment's merciful
silence while a man makes a major decision regarding his life."
"Sam, you are an impossible haggler! Who else would keep me waiting
while his immortality hangs in the balance? Surely you do not seek to
bargain with me?"
"Well, I do come from a long line of slizzard traders-- and I do very
badly want something."
"And what may that be?"
"Answers to a few questions which have plagued me for a while now."
"These being . . . ?"
"As you are aware, I stopped attending the old Council meetings over a
century ago, for they had become lengthy sessions calculated to postpone
decision-making, and were primarily an excuse for a Festival of the First.
Now, I have nothing against festivals. In fact, for a century and a half I
went to them only to drink good Earth booze once more. But, I felt that we
should be doing something about the passengers, as well as the offspring of
our many bodies, rather than letting them wander a vicious world, reverting
to savagery. I felt that we of the crew should be assisting them, granting
them the benefits of the technology we had preserved, rather than building
ourselves an impregnable paradise and treating the world as a combination
game preserve and whorehouse. So, I have wondered long why this thing was
not done. It would seem a fair and equitable way to run a world."
"I take it from this that you are an Accelerationist?"
"No," said Sam, "simply an inquirer. I am curious, that's all, as to
the reasons."
"Then, to answer your questions," said Brahma, "it is because they are
not ready for it. Had we acted immediately-- yes, this thing could have been
done. But we were indifferent at first. Then, when the question arose, we
were divided. Too much time passed. They are not ready, and will not be for
many centuries. If they were to be exposed to an advanced technology at this
point, the wars which would ensue would result in the destruction of the
beginnings they have already made. They have come far. They have begun a
civilization after the manner of their fathers of old. But they are still
children, and like children would they play with our gifts and be burnt by
them. They are our children, by our long-dead First bodies, and second, and
third and many after-- and so, ours is the parents' responsibility toward
them. We must not permit them to be accelerated into an industrial
revolution and so destroy the first stable society on this planet. Our
parental functions can best be performed by guiding them as we do, through
the Temples. Gods and goddesses are basically parent figures, so what could
be truer and more just than that we assume these roles and play them
thoroughly?"
"Why then do you destroy their own infant technology? The printing
press has been rediscovered on three occasions that I can remember, and
suppressed each time."
"This was done for the same reason-- they were not yet ready for it.
And it was not truly discovered, but rather it was remembered. It was a
thing out of legend which someone set about duplicating. If a thing is to
come, it must come as a result of factors already present in the culture,
and not be pulled from out of the past like a rabbit from a hat."
"It seems you are drawing a mighty fine line at that point, Brahma. I
take it from this that your minions go to and fro in the world, destroying
all signs of progress they come upon?"
"This is not true," said the god. "You talk as if we desire perpetually
this burden of godhood, as if we seek to maintain a dark age that we may
know forever the wearisome condition of our enforced divinity!"
"In a word," said Sam, "yes. What of the pray-o-mat which squats before
this very Temple? Is it on par, culturally, with a chariot?"
"That is different," said Brahma. "As a divine manifestation, it is
held in awe by the citizens and is not questioned, for religious reasons. It
is hardly the same as if gunpowder were to be introduced."
"Supposing some local atheist hijacks one and picks it apart? And
supposing he happens to be a Thomas Edison? What then?"
"They have tricky combination locks on them. If anyone other than a
priest opens one, it will blow up and take him along with it."
"And I notice you were unable to suppress the rediscovery of the still,
though you tried. So you slapped on an alcohol tax, payable to the Temples."
"Mankind has always sought release through drink," said Brahma. "It has
generally figured in somewhere in his religious ceremonies. Less guilt
involved that way. True, we tried suppressing it at first, but we quickly
saw we could not. So, in return for our tax, they receive here a blessing
upon their booze. Less guilt, less of a hangover, fewer recriminations-- it
is psychosomatic, you know -- and the tax isn't that high."
"Funny, though, how many prefer the profane brew."
"You came to pray and you are staying to scoff, is that what you're
saying, Sam? I offered to answer your questions, not debate Deicrat policies
with you. Have you made up your mind yet regarding my offer?"
"Yes, Madeleine," said Sam, "and did anyone ever tell you how lovely
you are when you're angry?"
Brahma sprang forward off the throne. "How could you? How could you
tell?" screamed the god.
"I couldn't, really," said Sam. "Until now. It was just a guess, based
upon some of your mannerisms of speech and gesture which I remembered. So
you've finally achieved your lifelong ambition, eh? I'll bet you've got a
harem, too. What's it feel like, madam, to be a real stud after having been
a gal to start out with? Bet every Lizzie in the world would envy you if she
knew. Congratulations."
Brahma drew himself up to full height and glared. The throne was a
flame at his back. The veena thrummed on, dispassionately. He raised his
scepter then and spoke:
"Prepare yourself to receive the curse of Brahma . . ." he began.
"Whatever for?" asked Sam. "Because I guessed your secret? If I am to
be a god, what difference does it make? Others must know of it. Are you
angry because the only way I could learn your true identity was by baiting
you a little? I had assumed you would appreciate me the more if I
demonstrated my worth by displaying my wit in this manner. If I have
offended you, I do apologize."
"It is not because you guessed-- or even because of the manner in which
you guessed-- but because you mocked me, that I curse you."
"Mocked you?" said Sam. "I do not understand. I intended no disrespect.
I was always on good terms with you in the old days. If you will but think
back over them, you will recall that this is true. Why should I jeopardize
my position by mocking you now?"
"Because you said what you thought too quickly, without thinking a
second time."
"Nay, my Lord. I did but jest with you as any one man might with
another when discussing these matters. I am sorry if you took it amiss. I'll
warrant you've a harem I'd envy, and which I'll doubtless try to sneak into
some night. If you'd curse me for being surprised, then curse away." He drew
upon his pipe and wreathed his grin in smoke.
Finally, Brahma chuckled. "I'm a bit quick-tempered, 'tis true," he
explained, "and perhaps too touchy about my past. Of course, I've often
jested so with other men. You are forgiven. I withdraw my beginning curse.
"And your decision, I take it, is to accept my offer?" he inquired.
"That is correct," said Sam.
"Good. I've always felt a brotherly affection for you. Go now and
summon my priest, that I may instruct him concerning your incarnation. I'll
see you soon."
"Sure thing. Lord Brahma." Sam nodded and raised his pipe. Then he
pushed back the row of shelves and sought the priest in the hall without.
Various thoughts passed through his mind, but this time he let them remain
unspoken.
That evening, the prince held council with those of his retainers who
had visited kinsmen and friends within Mahartha, and with those who had gone
about through the town obtaining news and gossip. From these he learned that
there were only ten Masters of Karma in Mahartha and that they kept their
lodgings in a palace on the southeastern slopes above the city. They made
scheduled visits to the clinics, or reading rooms, of the Temples, where the
citizens presented themselves for judgment when they applied for renewal.
The Hall of Karma itself was a massive black structure within the courtyard
of their palace, where a person applied shortly after judgment to have his
transfer made into his new body. Strake, along with two of his advisers,
departed while daylight yet remained to make sketches of the palace
fortifications. Two of the prince's courtiers were dispatched across town to
deliver an invitation to late dining and revelry to the Shan of Irabek, an
old man and distant neighbor of Siddhartha's with whom he had fought three
bloody border skirmishes and occasionally hunted tiger. The Shan was
visiting with relatives while waiting his appointment with the Masters of
Karma. Another man was sent to the Street of the Smiths, where he requested
of the metal workers that they double the prince's order and have it ready
by early morning. He took along additional money to ensure their
cooperation.
Later, the Shan of Irabek arrived at the Hostel of Hawkana, accompanied
by six of his relatives, who were of the merchant caste but came armed as if
they were warriors. Seeing that the hostel was a peaceable abode, however,
and that none of the other guests or visitors bore arms, they put aside
their weapons and seated themselves near the head of the table, beside the
prince.
The Shan was a tall man, but his posture was considerably hunched. He
wore maroon robes and a dark turban reaching down almost to his great,
caterpillar-like eyebrows, which were the color of milk. His beard was a
snowy bush, his teeth shown as dark stumps when he laughed and his lower
eyelids jutted redly, as though sore and weary after so many years of
holding back his bloodshot orbs in their obvious attempt to push themselves
forward out of their sockets. He laughed a phlegmy laugh and pounded the
table, repeating, "Elephants are too expensive these days, and no damn good
preoccupations, these being theology and anatomy.
After a time, he spoke with a foreign sea captain who had overseen the
unloading of sacks of grain, and now took his rest in the shade of the
crates.
"Good morning," he said. "May your passages be free of storm and
shipwreck, and the gods grant you safe harbor and a good market for your
cargoes."
The other nodded, seated himself upon a crate and proceeded to fill a
small clay pipe.
"Thank you, old one," he said. "Though I do pray to the gods of the
Temples of my own choosing, I accept the blessings of any and all. One can
always use blessings, especially a seaman."
"Had you a difficult voyage?"
"Less difficult than it might have been," said the sea captain. "That
smoldering sea mountain, the Cannon of Nirriti, discharges its bolts against
heaven once again."
"Ah, you sailed from the southwest!"
"Yes. Chatisthan, from Ispar-by-the-Sea. The winds are good in this
season of the year, but for this reason they also carried the ash of the
Cannon much farther than any would think. For six days this black snow fell
upon us, and the odors of the underworld pursued us, fouling food and water,
making the eyes to weep and the throat to burn. We offered much thanksgiving
when we finally outran it. See how the hull is smeared? You should have seen
the sails -- black as the hair of Ratri!"
The prince leaned forward to better regard the vessel. "But the waters
were not especially troubled?" he asked.
The sailor shook his head. "We hailed a cruiser near the Isle of Salt,
and we learned of it that we had missed by six days the worst dischargings
of the Cannon. At that time, it burnt the clouds and raised great waves,
sinking two ships the cruiser did know of, and possibly a third." The sailor
leaned back, stoking his pipe. "So, as I say, a seaman can always use
blessings."
"I seek a man of the sea," said the prince. "A captain. His name is Jan
Olvegg, or perhaps he is now known as Olvagga. Do you know him?"
"I knew him," said the other, "but it has been long since he sailed."
"Oh? What has become of him?"
The sailor turned his head to better study him. "Who are you to ask?"
he finally inquired.
"My name is Sam. Jan is a very old friend of mine."
"How old is 'very old'?"
"Many, many years ago, in another place, I knew him when he was captain
of a ship which did not sail these oceans."
The sea captain leaned forward suddenly and picked up a piece of wood,
which he hurled at the dog who had rounded a piling at the other side of the
pier. It yelped once and dashed off toward the shelter of a warehouse. It
was the same dog who had followed the prince from the hostel of Hawkana.
"Beware the hounds of hell," said the captain. "There are dogs and
there are dogs-- and there are dogs. Three different kinds, and in this port
drive them all from your presence." Then he appraised the other once again.
"Your hands," he said, gesturing with his pipe, "have recently worn many
rings. Their impressions yet remain."
Sam glanced at his hands and smiled. "Your eyes miss nothing, sailor,"
he replied. "So I admit to the obvious. I have recently worn rings."
"So, like the dogs, you are not what you appear to be-- and you come
asking after Olvagga, by his most ancient name. Your name, you say, is Sam.
Are you, perchance, one of the First?"
Sam did not reply immediately, but studied the other as though waiting
for him to say more.
Perhaps realizing this, the captain continued: "Olvagga, I know, was
numbered among the First, though he never spoke of it. Whether you are
yourself among the First, or are one of the Masters, you are aware of this.
So I do not betray him by so speaking. I do wish to know whether I speak to
a friend or an enemy, however."
Sam frowned. "Jan was never known for the making of enemies," he said.
"You speak as if he has them now, among those whom you call the Masters."
The seaman continued to stare at him. "You are not a Master," he
finally said, "and you come from afar."
"You are correct," said Sam, "but tell me how you know these things."
"First," said the other, "you are an old man. A Master, too, could have
upon him an old body, but he would not-- any more than he would remain a dog
for very long. His fear of dying the real death, suddenly, in the manner of
the old, would be too great. So he would not remain so long as to leave the
marks of rings deeply imprinted upon the fingers. The wealthy are never
despoiled of their bodies. If they are refused rebirth, they live out the
full span of their days. The Masters would fear a rising up in arms among
the followers of such a one, were he to meet with other than a natural
passing. So a body such as yours could not be obtained in this manner. A
body from the life tanks would not have marked fingers either.
"Therefore," he concluded, "I take you to be a man of importance other
than a Master. If you knew Olvagga of old, then you are also one of the
Firstlings, such as he. Because of the sort of information which you seek, I
take you to be one from afar. Were you a man of Mahartha you would know of
the Masters, and knowing of the Masters you would know why Olvagga cannot
sail."
"Your knowledge of matters in Mahartha seems greater than my own -- oh,
newly arrived sailor."
"I, too, come from a distant place," acknowledged the captain, smiling
faintly, "but in the space of a dozen months I may visit twice as many
ports. I hear news-- news and gossip and tales from all over-- from more
than a double dozen ports. I hear of the intrigues of the palace and the
affairs of the Temple. I hear the secrets whispered at night to the golden
girls beneath the sugar-cane bow of Kama. I hear of the campaigns of the
Khshatriya and the dealings of the great merchants in the futures of grains
and spices, jewels and silk. I drink with the bards and the astrologers,
with the actors and the servants, the coachmen and the tailors. Sometimes,
perhaps, I may strike the port where freebooters have haven and learn there
the faring of those they hold to ransom. So do not think it strange that I,
who come from afar, may know more of Mahartha than you, who may dwell
perhaps a week's faring hence. Occasionally, I may even hear of the doings
of the gods."
"Then you can tell me of the Masters, and why they are to be numbered
as enemies?" asked Sam.
"I can tell you something of them," replied the captain, "since you
should not go unwarned. The body merchants are now the Masters of Karma.
Their individual names are now kept secret, after the manner of the gods, so
that they seem as impersonal as the Great Wheel, which they claim to
represent. They are no longer merely body merchants, but are allied with the
Temples. These, too, are changed, for your kinsmen of the First who are now
gods do commune with them from Heaven. If you are indeed of the First, Sam,
your way must lead you either to deification or extinction, when you face
these new Masters of Karma."
"How?" asked Sam.
"Details you must seek elsewhere," said the other. "I do not know the
processes whereby these things are achieved. Ask after Jannaveg the
sailmaker on the Street of the Weavers."
"This is how Jan is now known?"
The other nodded. "And beware the dogs," he said, "or, for that matter,
anything else which is alive and may harbor intelligence."
"What is your name, captain?" asked Sam.
"In this port, I have no name at all or a false one, and I see no
reason for lying to you. Good day, Sam."
"Good day, captain. Thank you for your words."
Sam rose and departed the harbor, heading back toward the business
district and the streets of the trades.
The sun was a red discus in the heavens, rising to meet the Bridge of
the Gods. The prince walked through the awakened city, threading his way
among the stalls displaying the skills of the workmen in the small crafts.
Hawkers of unguents and powders, perfumes and oils, moved about him.
Florists waved their garlands and corsages at the passer-by; and the
vintners said nothing, sitting with their wineskins on rows of shaded
benches, waiting for their customers to come to them as they always did. The
morning smelled of cooking food, musk, flesh, excrement, oils and incense
all churned up together and turned loose to wander like an invisible cloud.
Dressed as a beggar himself, it did not seem out of place for him to
stop and speak to the hunchback with the begging bowl.
"Greetings, brother," he stated. "I am far from my quarter on an
errand. Can you direct me to the Street of the Weavers?"
The hunchback nodded and shook his bowl suggestively.
He withdrew a small coin from the pouch concealed beneath his tattered
garments. He dropped it into the hunchback's bowl and it quickly vanished.
"That way." The man gestured with his head. "The third street you come
upon, turn there to the left. Then follow it past two streets more, and you
will be at the Circle of the Fountain before the Temple of Varuna. Coming
into that Circle, the Street of the Weavers is marked by the Sign of the
Awl."
He nodded to the hunchback, patted his hump and continued on his way.
When he reached the Circle of the Fountain, the prince halted. Several
dozen people stood in a shifting line before the Temple of Varuna, most
stern and august of all the deities. These people were not preparing to
enter the Temple, but rather were engaged in some occupation that required
waiting and taking turns. He heard the rattling of coins and he wandered
nearer.
It was a machine, gleaming and metallic, before which they moved.
A man inserted a coin into the mouth of a steel tiger. The machine
began to purr. He pressed buttons cast in the likenesses of animals and
demons. There came then a flashing of lights along the lengths of the Nagas,
the two holy serpents who twisted about the transparent face of the machine.
He edged closer.
The man drew down upon the lever that grew from the side of the machine
cast in the likeness of the tail of a fish.
A holy blue light filled the interior of the machine; the serpents
pulsed redly; and there, in the midst of the light and a soft music that had
begun to play, a prayer wheel swung into view and began spinning at a
furious pace.
The man wore a beatific expression. After several minutes, the machine
shut itself off. He inserted another coin and pulled the lever once more,
causing several of those nearer to the end of the line to grumble audibly,
remarking to the effect that that was his seventh coin, it was a warm day,
there were other people waiting to get some praying done and why did he not
go inside and render such a large donation directly to the priests? Someone
replied that the little man obviously had much atoning to do. There then
began some speculation as to the possible nature of his sins. This was
accompanied by considerable laughter.
Seeing that there were several beggars waiting their turn in line, the
prince moved to its end and stood there.
As the line advanced, he noted that, while some of those who passed
before the machine pushed its buttons, others merely inserted a flat metal
disc into the mouth of the second tiger on the opposite side of the chassis.
After the machine had ceased to function, the disc fell into a cup and was
retrieved by its owner. The prince decided to venture an inquiry.
He addressed the man who stood before him in line:
"Why is it," he asked, "that some men do have discs of their own?"
"It is because they have registered," said the other, without turning
his head.
"In the Temple?"
"Yes."
"Oh."
He waited half a minute, then inquired, "Those who are unregistered,
and wish to use it-- they push the buttons?"
"Yes," said the other, "spelling out their name, occupation, and
address."
"Supposing one be a visitor here, such as myself?"
"You should add the name of your city."
"Supposing one is unlettered, such as myself-- what then?"
The other turned to him. "Perhaps ''twere better," he said, "that you
make prayer in the old way, and give the donation directly into the hands of
the priests. Or else register and obtain a disc of your own."
"I see," said the prince. "Yes, you are right. I must think of this
more. Thank you."
He left the line and circled the fountain to where the Sign of the Awl
hung upon a pillar. He moved up the Street of the Weavers.
Three times did he ask after Janagga the sailmaker, the third time of a
short woman with powerful arms and a small mustache, who sat cross-legged,
plaiting a rug, in her stall beneath the low eave of what once might have
been a stable and still smelled as if it were.
She growled him directions, after raking him upward and down again with
oddly lovely brown-velvet eyes. He followed her directions, taking his way
up a zigzagging alley and down an outer stair, which ran along the wall of a
five-story building, ending at a door that opened upon a basement hallway.
It was damp and dark within.
He knocked upon the third door to his left, and after a time it opened.
The man stared at him. "Yes?"
"May I come in? It is a matter of some urgency . . ."
The man hesitated a moment, then nodded abruptly and stepped aside.
The prince moved past him and into his chamber. A great sheet of canvas
was spread out over the floor, before the stool upon which the man reseated
himself. He motioned the prince into the only other chair in the room.
He was short and big in the shoulders; his hair was pure white, and the
pupils of his eyes bore the smoky beginnings of cataract invasion. His hands
were brown and hard, the joints of his fingers knotted.
"Yes?" he repeated.
"Jan Olvegg," said the other.
"The old man's eyes widened, then narrowed to slits.
He weighed a pair of scissors in his hand.
"'It's a long way to Tipperary,' " said the prince.
The man stared, then smiled suddenly. "'If your heart's not here,'" he
said, placing the scissors on his workstand. "How long has it been, Sam?" he
asked.
"I've lost count of the years."
"Me too. But it must be forty -- forty-five?-- since I've seen you.
Much beer over the damn dam since then, I daresay?"
Sam nodded.
"I don't really know where to begin . . ." said the man.
"For a start, tell me-- why 'Janagga'?"
"Why not?" asked the other. "It has a certain earnest, working-class
sound about it. How about yourself? Still in the prince business?"
"I'm still me," said Sam, "and they still call me Siddhartha when they
come to call."
The other chuckled. "And 'Binder of the Demons,'" he recited. "Very
good. I take it, then, since your fortunes do not match your garb, that you
are casing the scene, as is your wont."
Sam nodded. "And I have come upon much which I do not understand."
"Aye," sighed Jan. "Aye. How shall I begin? How? I shall tell you of
myself, that's how. . . . I have accumulated too much bad karma to warrant a
current transfer."
"What?"
"Bad karma, that's what I said. The old religion is not only the
religion-- it is the revealed, enforced and frighteningly demonstrable
religion. But don't think that last part too loudly. About a dozen years ago
the Council authorized the use of psych-probes on those who were up for
renewal. This was right after the Accelerationist-Deicrat split, when the
Holy Coalition squeezed out the tech boys and kept right on squeezing. The
simplest solution was to outlive the problem. The Temple crowd then made a
deal with the body sellers, customers were brain-probed and Accelerationists
were refused renewal, or . . . well . . . simple as that. There aren't too
many Accelerationists now. But that was only the beginning. The god party
was quick to realize that therein lay the way of power. Having your brains
scanned has become a standard procedure, just prior to a transfer. The body
merchants are become the Masters of Karma, and a part of the Temple
structure. They read over your past life, weigh the karma, and determine
your life that is yet to come. It's a perfect way of maintaining the caste
system and ensuring Deicratic control. By the way, most of our old
acquaintances are in it up to their halos."
"God!" said Sam.
"Plural," Jan corrected. "They've always been considered gods, with
their Aspects and Attributes, but they've made it awfully official now. And
anyone who happens to be among the First had bloody well better be sure
whether he wants quick deification or the pyre when he walks into the Hall
of Karma these days.
"When's your appointment?" he finished.
"Tomorrow," said Sam, "in the afternoon. . . . Why are you still
walking around, if you don't have a halo or a handful of thunderbolts?"
"Because I do have a couple friends, both of whom suggested I continue
living-- quietly-- rather than face the probe. I took their sage advice to
heart and consequently am still around to mend sails and raise occasional
hell in the local bistros. Else"-- he raised a callused hand, snapped his
fingers-- "else, if not the real death, then perhaps a body shot full with
cancer, or the interesting life of a gelded water buffalo, or . . ."
"A dog?" asked Sam.
"Just so," Jan replied.
Jan filled the silence and two glasses with a splashing of alcohol.
"Thanks."
"Happy hellfire." He replaced the bottle on his workstand.
"On an empty stomach yet. . . . You make that yourself?"
"Yep. Got a still in the next room."
"Congratulations, I guess. If I had any bad karma, it should all be
dissolved by now."
"The definition of bad karma is anything our friends the gods don't
like."
"What made you think you had some?"
"I wanted to start passing out machines among our descendants here. Got
batted down at Council for it. Recanted, and hoped they'd forget. But
Accelerationism is so far out now that it'll never make it back in during my
lifetime. Pity, too. I'd like to lift sail again, head off toward another
horizon. Or lift ship. . ."
"The probe is actually sensitive enough to spot something as intangible
as an Accelerationist attitude?"
"The probe," said Jan, "is sensitive enough to tell what you had for
breakfast eleven years ago yesterday and where you cut yourself shaving that
morning, while humming the Andorran national anthem."
"They were experimental things when we left home," said Sam. "The two
we brought along were very basic brain-wave translators. When did the
breakthrough occur?"
"Hear me, country cousin," said Jan. "Do you remember a snot-nosed brat
of dubious parentage, third generation, named Yama? The kid who was always
souping up generators, until one day one blew and he was so badly burned
that he got his second body-- one over fifty years old-- when he was only
sixteen? The kid who loved weapons? The fellow who anesthetized one of
everything that moves out there and dissected it, taking such pleasure in
his studies that we called him deathgod?"
"Yes, I recall him. Is he still alive?"
"If you want to call it that. He now is deathgod-- not by nickname, but
by title. He perfected the probe about forty years ago, but the Deicrats
kept it under wraps until fairly recently. I hear he's dreamed up some other
little jewels, too, to serve the will of the gods . . . like a mechanical
cobra capable of registering encephalogram readings from a mile away, when
it rears and spreads its fan. It can pick one man out of a crowd, regardless
of the body he wears. There is no known antidote for its venom. Four
seconds, no more. . . . Or the fire wand, which is said to have scored the
surfaces of all three moons while Lord Agni stood upon the seashore and
waved it. And I understand that he is designing some sort of jet-propelled
juggernaut for Lord Shiva at this moment. . . things like that."
"Oh," said Sam.
"Will you pass the probe?" Jan asked.
"I'm afraid not," he replied. "Tell me, I saw a machine this morning
which I think may best be described as a pray-o-mat-- are they very common?"
"Yes," said Jan. "They appeared about two years ago-- dreamed up by
young Leonardo over a short glass of soma one night. Now that the karma idea
has caught on, the things are better than tax collectors. When mister
citizen presents himself at the clinic of the god of the church of his
choice on the eve of his sixtieth year, his prayer account is said to be
considered along with his sin account, in deciding the caste he will enter--
as well as the age, sex and health of the body he will receive. Nice. Neat."
"I will not pass the probe," said Sam, "even if I build up a mighty
prayer account. They'll snare me when it comes to sin."
"What sort of sin?"
"Sins I have yet to commit, but which are being written in my mind as I
consider them now."
"You plan to oppose the gods?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"I do not yet know. I shall begin, however, by contacting them. Who is
their chief?"
"I can name you no one. Trimurti rules-- that is, Brahma, Vishnu and
Shiva. Which of these three be chiefest at any one time, I cannot say. Some
say Brahma-- "
"Who are they-- really?" asked Sam.
Jan shook his head. "I do not know. They all wear different bodies than
they did a generation ago. They all use god names."
Sam stood. "I will return later, or send for you."
"I hope so. . . . Another drink?"
Sam shook his head. "I go to become Siddhartha once more, to break my
fast at the hostel of Hawkana and announce there my intent to visit the
Temples. If our friends are now gods then they must commune with their
priests. Siddhartha goes to pray."
"Then put in no words for me," said Jan, as he poured out another
drink. "I do not know whether I would live through a divine visitation."
Sam smiled. "They are not omnipotent."
"I sincerely hope not," replied the other, "but I fear that day is not
far off."
"Good sailing, Jan."
"Skaal."
Prince Siddhartha stopped on the Street of the Smiths, on his way to
the Temple of Brahma. Half an hour later he emerged from a shop, accompanied
by Strake and three of his retainers. Smiling, as though he had received a
vision of what was to come, he passed through the center of Mahartha, coming
at last to the high, wide Temple of the Creator.
Ignoring the stares of those who stood before the pray-o-mat, he
mounted the long, shallow stairway, meeting at the Temple entrance with the
high priest, whom he had advised earlier of his coming.
Siddhartha and his men entered the Temple, disarming themselves and
paying preliminary obeisances toward its central chamber before addressing
the priest.
Strake and the others drew back a respectful distance as the prince
placed a heavy purse in the priest's hands and said, in a low voice:
"I'd like to speak with God."
The priest studied his face as he replied, "The Temple is open to all.
Lord Siddhartha, where one may commune with Heaven for so long as one
wishes."
"That is not exactly what I had in mind," said Siddhartha. "I was
thinking of something more personal than a sacrifice and a long litany."
"I do not quite follow you . . ."
"But you understand the weight of that purse, do you not? It contains
silver. Another which I bear is filled with gold-- payable upon delivery. I
want to use your telephone."
"Tele . . . ?"
"Communication system. If you were of the First, such as I, you would
understand my reference."
"I do not . . ."
"I assure you my call will not reflect adversely upon your wardenship
here. I am aware of these matters and my discretion has always been a byword
among the First. Call First Base yourself and inquire, if it will put you at
ease. I'll wait here in the outer chamber. Tell them Sam would have words
with Trimurti. They will take the call."
"I do not know. . ."
Sam withdrew the second purse and weighed it in the palm of his hand.
The priest's eyes fell upon it and he licked his lips.
"Wait here," he ordered, and he turned on his heel and left the
chamber.
Ili, the fifth note of the harp, buzzed within the Garden of the Purple
Lotus.
Brahma loafed upon the edge of the heated pool, where he bathed with
his harem. His eyes appeared closed, as he leaned there upon his elbows, his
feet dangling in the water.
But he stared out from beneath his long lashes, watching the dozen
girls at sport in the pool, hoping to see one or more cast an appreciative
glance upon the dark, heavily muscled length of his body. Black upon brown,
his mustaches glistened in moist disarray and his hair was a black wing upon
his back. He smiled a bright smile in the filtered sunlight.
But none of them appeared to notice, so he refolded his smile and put
it away. All their attention lay with the game of water polo in which they
were engaged.
Ili, the bell of communication, buzzed once more, as an artificial
breeze waited the odor of garden jasmine to his nostrils. He sighed. He
wanted so for them to worship him-- his powerful physique, his carefully
molded features. To worship him as a man, not as a god.
But though his special and improved body permitted feats no mortal man
could duplicate, still he felt uneasy in the presence of an old war horse
like Lord Shiva-- who, despite his adherence to the normal body matrix,
seemed to hold far more attraction for women. It was almost as if sex were a
thing that transcended biology; and no matter how hard he tried to suppress
the memory and destroy that segment of spirit, Brahma had been born a woman
and somehow was woman still. Hating this thing, he had elected to incarnate
time after time as an eminently masculine man, did so, and still felt
somehow inadequate, as though the mark of his true sex were branded upon his
brow. It made him want to stamp his foot and grimace.
He rose and stalked off toward his pavilion, past stunted trees that
twisted with a certain grotesque beauty, past trellises woven with morning
glory, pools of blue water lilies, strings of pearls swinging from rings all
wrought of white gold, past lamps shaped like girls, tripods wherein pungent
incenses burnt and an eight-armed statue of a blue goddess who played upon
the veena when properly addressed.
Brahma entered the pavilion and crossed to the screen of crystal, about
which a bronze Naga twisted, tail in teeth. He activated the answering
mechanism.
There was a static snowfall, and then he faced the high priest of his
Temple in Mahartha. The priest dropped to his knees and touched his caste
mark three times upon the floor.
"Of the four orders of gods and the eighteen hosts of Paradise,
mightiest is Brahma," said the priest. "Creator of all. Lord of high Heaven
and everything beneath it. A lotus springs forth from your navel, your hands
churn the oceans, in three strides your feet encompass all the worlds. The
drum of your glory strikes terror in the hearts of your enemies. Upon your
right hand is the wheel of the law. You tether catastrophes, using a snake
for rope. Hail! See fit to accept the prayer of your priest. Bless me and
hear me, Brahma!'
"Arise . . . priest," said Brahma, having forgotten his name. "What
thing of mighty importance moved you to call me thus?"
The priest arose, cast a quick glance upon Brahma's dripping person and
looked away again.
"Lord," said the priest, "I did not mean to call while you were at
bath, but there is one among your worshipers here now who would speak with
you, on a matter which I take to be of mighty importance."
"One of my worshipers! Tell him that all-hearing Brahma hears all, and
direct him to pray to me in the ordinary manner, in the Temple proper!"
Brahma's hand moved toward the shutoff switch, then paused. "How came
he to know of the Temple-to-Heaven line?" he inquired. "And of the direct
communion of saints and gods?"
"He says," replied the priest, "that he is of the First, and that I
should relay the message that Sam would have words with Trimurti."
"Sam?" said Brahma. "Sam? Surely it cannot be . . . that Sam?"
"He is the one known hereabouts as Siddhartha, Binder of the Demons."
"Await my pleasure," said Brahma, "singing the while various
appropriate verses from the Vedas."
"I hear, my Lord," said the priest, and he commenced singing.
Brahma moved to another part of the pavilion and stood awhile before
his wardrobe, deciding what to wear.
The prince, hearing his name called, turned from the contemplation of
the Temple's interior. The priest, whose name he had forgotten, beckoned him
along a corridor. He followed, and the passage led into a storage chamber.
The priest rumbled after a hidden catch, then drew upon a row of shelves
that opened outward, doorlike.
The prince passed through this doorway. He found himself within a
richly decorated shrine. A glowing view-screen hung above its
altar/control-panel, encircled by a bronze Naga, which held its tail in its
teeth.
The priest bowed three times.
"Hail, ruler of the universe, mightiest of the four orders of gods and
the eighteen hosts of paradise. From your navel springs forth the lotus,
your hands churn the oceans, in three strides -- "
"I acknowledge the truth of what you say," replied Brahma. "You are
blessed and heard. You may leave us now."
"That is correct. Sam is doubtless paying you for a private line, is he
not?"
"Lord . . . !"
"Enough! Depart!"
The priest bowed quickly and left, closing the shelves behind him.
Brahma studied Sam, who was wearing dark jodhpurs, a sky-blue khameez,
the blue-green turban of Urath and an empty scabbard upon a chain belt of
dark iron.
Sam, in turn, studied the other, who stood with blackness at his back,
wearing a feather cloak over a suit of light mail. It was caught at the
throat with a clasp of fire opal. Brahma wore a purple crown, studded with
pulsating amethysts, and he bore in his right hand a scepter mounted with
the nine auspicious gems. His eyes were two dark stains upon his dark face.
The gentle strumming of a veena occurred about him.
"Sam?" he said.
Sam nodded.
"I am trying to guess your true identity. Lord Brahma. I confess that I
cannot."
"This is as it should be," said Brahma, "if one is to be a god who was,
is and always shall be."
"Fine garments, those you wear," said Sam. "Quite fetching."
"Thank you. I find it hard to believe that you still exist. Checking, I
note that you have not sought a new body for half a century. That is taking
quite a chance."
Sam shrugged. "Life is full of chances, gambles, uncertainties. . ."
"True," said Brahma. "Pray, draw up a chair and sit down. Make yourself
comfortable."
Sam did this, and when he looked up again, Brahma was seated upon a
high throne carved of red marble, with a matching parasol flared above it.
"That looks a bit uncomfortable," he remarked.
"Foam-rubber cushion," replied the god, smiling. "You may smoke, if you
wish."
"Thanks." Sam drew his pipe from the pouch at his belt, filled it,
tamped it carefully and struck it to fire.
"What have you been doing all this time," asked the god, "since you
left the roost of Heaven?"
"Cultivating my own gardens," said Sam.
"We could have used you here," said Brahma, "in our hydroponics
section. For that matter, perhaps we still could. Tell me more of your stay
among men."
"Tiger hunts, border disputes with neighboring kingdoms, keeping up the
morale of the harem, a bit of botanical research-- things like that-- the
stuff of life," said Sam. "Now my powers slacken, and I seek once more my
youth. But to obtain it again, I understand that I must have my brains
strained. Is that true?"
"After a fashion," said Brahma.
"To what end, may I ask?"
"That wrong shall fail and right prevail," said the god, smiling.
"Supposing I'm wrong," asked Sam, "how shall I fail?"
"You shall be required to work off your karmic burden in a lesser
form."
"Have you any figures readily available as to the percentage that
fails, vis-á-vis that which prevails?"
"Think not less of me in my omniscience," said Brahma, stifling a yawn
with his scepter, "if I admit to having, for the moment, forgotten these
figures."
Sam chuckled. "You say you have need of a gardener there in the
Celestial City?"
"Yes," said Brahma. "Would you like to apply for the job?"
"I don't know," said Sam. "Perhaps."
"And then again, perhaps not?" said the other.
"Perhaps not, also," he acknowledged. "In the old days there was none
of this shillyshallying with a man's mind. If one of the First sought
renewal, he paid the body price and was served."
"We no longer dwell in the old days, Sam. The new age is at hand."
"One would almost think that you sought the removal of all of the First
who are not marshaled at your back."
"A pantheon has room for many, Sam. There is a niche for you, if you
choose to claim it."
"If I do not?"
"Then inquire in the Hall of Karma after your body."
"And if I elect godhood?"
"Your brains will not be probed. The Masters will be advised to serve
you quickly and well. A flying machine will be dispatched to convey you to
Heaven."
"It bears a bit of thinking," said Sam. "I'm quite fond of this world,
though it wallows in an age of darkness. On the other hand, such fondness
will not serve me to enjoy the things I desire, if it is decreed that I die
the real death or take on the form of an ape and wander about the jungles.
But I am not overly fond of artificial perfection either, such as existed in
Heaven when last I visited there. Bide with me a moment while I meditate."
"I consider such indecision presumptuous," said Brahma, "when one has
just been made such an offer."
"I know, and perhaps I should also, were our positions reversed. But if
I were God and you were me, I do believe I would extend a moment's merciful
silence while a man makes a major decision regarding his life."
"Sam, you are an impossible haggler! Who else would keep me waiting
while his immortality hangs in the balance? Surely you do not seek to
bargain with me?"
"Well, I do come from a long line of slizzard traders-- and I do very
badly want something."
"And what may that be?"
"Answers to a few questions which have plagued me for a while now."
"These being . . . ?"
"As you are aware, I stopped attending the old Council meetings over a
century ago, for they had become lengthy sessions calculated to postpone
decision-making, and were primarily an excuse for a Festival of the First.
Now, I have nothing against festivals. In fact, for a century and a half I
went to them only to drink good Earth booze once more. But, I felt that we
should be doing something about the passengers, as well as the offspring of
our many bodies, rather than letting them wander a vicious world, reverting
to savagery. I felt that we of the crew should be assisting them, granting
them the benefits of the technology we had preserved, rather than building
ourselves an impregnable paradise and treating the world as a combination
game preserve and whorehouse. So, I have wondered long why this thing was
not done. It would seem a fair and equitable way to run a world."
"I take it from this that you are an Accelerationist?"
"No," said Sam, "simply an inquirer. I am curious, that's all, as to
the reasons."
"Then, to answer your questions," said Brahma, "it is because they are
not ready for it. Had we acted immediately-- yes, this thing could have been
done. But we were indifferent at first. Then, when the question arose, we
were divided. Too much time passed. They are not ready, and will not be for
many centuries. If they were to be exposed to an advanced technology at this
point, the wars which would ensue would result in the destruction of the
beginnings they have already made. They have come far. They have begun a
civilization after the manner of their fathers of old. But they are still
children, and like children would they play with our gifts and be burnt by
them. They are our children, by our long-dead First bodies, and second, and
third and many after-- and so, ours is the parents' responsibility toward
them. We must not permit them to be accelerated into an industrial
revolution and so destroy the first stable society on this planet. Our
parental functions can best be performed by guiding them as we do, through
the Temples. Gods and goddesses are basically parent figures, so what could
be truer and more just than that we assume these roles and play them
thoroughly?"
"Why then do you destroy their own infant technology? The printing
press has been rediscovered on three occasions that I can remember, and
suppressed each time."
"This was done for the same reason-- they were not yet ready for it.
And it was not truly discovered, but rather it was remembered. It was a
thing out of legend which someone set about duplicating. If a thing is to
come, it must come as a result of factors already present in the culture,
and not be pulled from out of the past like a rabbit from a hat."
"It seems you are drawing a mighty fine line at that point, Brahma. I
take it from this that your minions go to and fro in the world, destroying
all signs of progress they come upon?"
"This is not true," said the god. "You talk as if we desire perpetually
this burden of godhood, as if we seek to maintain a dark age that we may
know forever the wearisome condition of our enforced divinity!"
"In a word," said Sam, "yes. What of the pray-o-mat which squats before
this very Temple? Is it on par, culturally, with a chariot?"
"That is different," said Brahma. "As a divine manifestation, it is
held in awe by the citizens and is not questioned, for religious reasons. It
is hardly the same as if gunpowder were to be introduced."
"Supposing some local atheist hijacks one and picks it apart? And
supposing he happens to be a Thomas Edison? What then?"
"They have tricky combination locks on them. If anyone other than a
priest opens one, it will blow up and take him along with it."
"And I notice you were unable to suppress the rediscovery of the still,
though you tried. So you slapped on an alcohol tax, payable to the Temples."
"Mankind has always sought release through drink," said Brahma. "It has
generally figured in somewhere in his religious ceremonies. Less guilt
involved that way. True, we tried suppressing it at first, but we quickly
saw we could not. So, in return for our tax, they receive here a blessing
upon their booze. Less guilt, less of a hangover, fewer recriminations-- it
is psychosomatic, you know -- and the tax isn't that high."
"Funny, though, how many prefer the profane brew."
"You came to pray and you are staying to scoff, is that what you're
saying, Sam? I offered to answer your questions, not debate Deicrat policies
with you. Have you made up your mind yet regarding my offer?"
"Yes, Madeleine," said Sam, "and did anyone ever tell you how lovely
you are when you're angry?"
Brahma sprang forward off the throne. "How could you? How could you
tell?" screamed the god.
"I couldn't, really," said Sam. "Until now. It was just a guess, based
upon some of your mannerisms of speech and gesture which I remembered. So
you've finally achieved your lifelong ambition, eh? I'll bet you've got a
harem, too. What's it feel like, madam, to be a real stud after having been
a gal to start out with? Bet every Lizzie in the world would envy you if she
knew. Congratulations."
Brahma drew himself up to full height and glared. The throne was a
flame at his back. The veena thrummed on, dispassionately. He raised his
scepter then and spoke:
"Prepare yourself to receive the curse of Brahma . . ." he began.
"Whatever for?" asked Sam. "Because I guessed your secret? If I am to
be a god, what difference does it make? Others must know of it. Are you
angry because the only way I could learn your true identity was by baiting
you a little? I had assumed you would appreciate me the more if I
demonstrated my worth by displaying my wit in this manner. If I have
offended you, I do apologize."
"It is not because you guessed-- or even because of the manner in which
you guessed-- but because you mocked me, that I curse you."
"Mocked you?" said Sam. "I do not understand. I intended no disrespect.
I was always on good terms with you in the old days. If you will but think
back over them, you will recall that this is true. Why should I jeopardize
my position by mocking you now?"
"Because you said what you thought too quickly, without thinking a
second time."
"Nay, my Lord. I did but jest with you as any one man might with
another when discussing these matters. I am sorry if you took it amiss. I'll
warrant you've a harem I'd envy, and which I'll doubtless try to sneak into
some night. If you'd curse me for being surprised, then curse away." He drew
upon his pipe and wreathed his grin in smoke.
Finally, Brahma chuckled. "I'm a bit quick-tempered, 'tis true," he
explained, "and perhaps too touchy about my past. Of course, I've often
jested so with other men. You are forgiven. I withdraw my beginning curse.
"And your decision, I take it, is to accept my offer?" he inquired.
"That is correct," said Sam.
"Good. I've always felt a brotherly affection for you. Go now and
summon my priest, that I may instruct him concerning your incarnation. I'll
see you soon."
"Sure thing. Lord Brahma." Sam nodded and raised his pipe. Then he
pushed back the row of shelves and sought the priest in the hall without.
Various thoughts passed through his mind, but this time he let them remain
unspoken.
That evening, the prince held council with those of his retainers who
had visited kinsmen and friends within Mahartha, and with those who had gone
about through the town obtaining news and gossip. From these he learned that
there were only ten Masters of Karma in Mahartha and that they kept their
lodgings in a palace on the southeastern slopes above the city. They made
scheduled visits to the clinics, or reading rooms, of the Temples, where the
citizens presented themselves for judgment when they applied for renewal.
The Hall of Karma itself was a massive black structure within the courtyard
of their palace, where a person applied shortly after judgment to have his
transfer made into his new body. Strake, along with two of his advisers,
departed while daylight yet remained to make sketches of the palace
fortifications. Two of the prince's courtiers were dispatched across town to
deliver an invitation to late dining and revelry to the Shan of Irabek, an
old man and distant neighbor of Siddhartha's with whom he had fought three
bloody border skirmishes and occasionally hunted tiger. The Shan was
visiting with relatives while waiting his appointment with the Masters of
Karma. Another man was sent to the Street of the Smiths, where he requested
of the metal workers that they double the prince's order and have it ready
by early morning. He took along additional money to ensure their
cooperation.
Later, the Shan of Irabek arrived at the Hostel of Hawkana, accompanied
by six of his relatives, who were of the merchant caste but came armed as if
they were warriors. Seeing that the hostel was a peaceable abode, however,
and that none of the other guests or visitors bore arms, they put aside
their weapons and seated themselves near the head of the table, beside the
prince.
The Shan was a tall man, but his posture was considerably hunched. He
wore maroon robes and a dark turban reaching down almost to his great,
caterpillar-like eyebrows, which were the color of milk. His beard was a
snowy bush, his teeth shown as dark stumps when he laughed and his lower
eyelids jutted redly, as though sore and weary after so many years of
holding back his bloodshot orbs in their obvious attempt to push themselves
forward out of their sockets. He laughed a phlegmy laugh and pounded the
table, repeating, "Elephants are too expensive these days, and no damn good