Space Search (v1.)), page 3
“Tonatiuh?” Venu said questioningly, bringing up another tank in an attempt to flank his opponent.
“Yes. Evidently one of the few books that had survived was on the mythology of Ancient Mexico. Tonatiuh required blood sacrifices, in which the heart was torn from the chest of the victim after the chest had been sliced open with a ceremonial knife.” The first officer finished grimly. “It was quite a religion. Can you identify Tonatiuh with your one god in his many manifestations?”
Venu was upset. All Harappans were either Hindu or Sikh, a related religion. He had never argued religion with someone of another faith. He had known that there were other faiths, but he had never discussed them, or even read about them, save in books written by Harappans, who were, obviously, somewhat prejudiced in favor of their own religion.
“By the sacred fire, Agni,” Venu said. “Tonatiuh would seem to be a manifestation of the god Siva. He is a terrible god of destruction. He controls war, pestilence, famine, death, and related calamities like floods and droughts. Therefore, in the past, he had to be propitiated with praise and sacrifice. Siva, though he is most feared by human beings whose fortunes he can control, is condemned to be a wanderer throughout time.
“Or perhaps this Tonatiuh is Siva’s consort, Parvati, the most powerful goddess in the entire Hindu pantheon. When in a benevolent form she can be seen as a beautiful woman or loving wife, but she can also be Durga, goddess of battle, holding weapons of retribution in her ten hands. When she becomes Kali, the terrible black goddess who has conquered time, she wears a garland of skulls, her red tongue hangs out thirstily, and she must be propitiated by sacrifices.”
The first officer was staring at him. “You believe all that, Venu?”
“But, of course,” Venu said blankly. “I am a Hindu.”
“And you believe in sacrificing to this Kali, or whatever her name was?”
Venu smiled ruefully, and looked down to cover his embarrassment. “You see, we no longer fear Siva or his consort on Harappa. Long past we have solved the evils of life. Even the Harijans live in plenty, and …”
“What is a Harijan?”
“An Outcaste, a person who has no caste. There are four castes—the Brahmans, who are priests and scholars, the Kshatriyas, who were warriors and rulers originally, the Vaishyas, my own caste, who are merchants and bankers, and the Sudras, originally peasants and artisans.”
“And these Untouchables?”
“The Harijans are the Children of God, as the great guru Mahatma Gandhi called them when he freed them from their position of bondage, long years hence back in Mother India. In the past they were consigned only to the menial positions.”
“Well, let’s go back to this Siva who demands sacrifices. I had no idea that any such institutions still existed on Harappa.”
Venus smile was rueful again, even as he p advanced his second tank through the ranks of the foot soldiers.
He said, “We have no wars, these days. Nor famines, nor pestilence, nor the other evils once presided over by Siva and Parvati. But even in the old days, before we colonized Harappa, the Hindus in Mother India no longer resorted to the blood sacrifices that prevailed in primitive times. The sacrifices consisted of flowers.”
Kris saw that Venus advance was threatening his field marshal piece and could lead to a checkmate. He hurriedly moved, even as he shook his head at the Harappan.
“Man is at his damnedest when he confronts his gods.”
Venu looked at him. “Who said that?” he asked, pressing his attack by advancing a machinegun nest.
“I did,” the first officer said, studying his position anxiously. “What was this about no more war? Don’t you have any armies on your planet?”
“No, nor have we ever had. We follow the ahimsa doctrine of the Jain-Buddhist, that of non-violence. We have world government.” Venu’s eyes had also narrowed over the now close-fought game.
“Buddhist?” Kris Tryggvason said. “I’m not particularly up on comparative religion, but I thought Hinduism and Buddhism were two different religions.” He brought one of his machinegun nests up to cover his field marshal.
Venu advanced his flanking tank still further, and said, “The Buddha was one of the reincarnations of Vishnu, the Preserver. But could we return, friend Kris, to the planet Medea and why you find it dull?”
The first officer was scowling at his position. If he didn’t look out, it was going to be the third time in a row he had lost to this boy half his age.
He said, “It was settled by a contingent of Technocrats who were disgusted at the socioeconomic system that prevailed on Earth at that time.”
“Technocrats?”
“An early organization first founded in what was then the United States in the 20th Century, I think. They were against the prevailing socioeconomic system, which was then called, sometimes laughingly, free enterprise. All of the means of production, communication, transportation, and distribution were privately owned.”
“They were?” Venu said in surprise.
“Ummm.” Kris brought up another of his foot soldiers.
“The Technocrats were of the opinion that the means of production should be managed by technicians, not by private individuals. They didn’t get very far and, after hyperspace had been found and interstar . flights became practical, they banded together in disgust and decided to seek out a world of their own where they could go to hell in their own way.”
“Hell?” Venu said. He moved the tank again and added, “Check.”
“Hell,” the first officer said. “The place where sinners go when they die.” He retired his field marshal behind one of his fortresses. He was on the run.
Venu stared at him. “But surely, if one errs in his present incarnation, in his next he but becomes a lower form of life, such as an insect, and has thus postponed his achievement of Nirvana until he can again acquire merit.” He moved his first tank up another space and said again, “Check, ah, let me see. Yes, checkmate.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” The other stared at the board. “You mean, you Hindus don’t have a heaven and hell?”
“I have never heard of them, friend Kris. And it is quite definitely checkmate. Your field marshal has no place to go.”
“For somebody who claims his planet doesn’t know war, you certainly do fight a good battle of battle chess.” Kris Tryggvason grumbled.
6
Hour followed hour in their seemingly motionless progress through hyperspace. Venu fitted into the ship’s routine so much so that he was surprised when Captain Anderson informed him that they were about to emerge into space proper, in preparation to land on Medea.
He approached the first officer and said, hiding his embarrassment, “Do I understand that when the Hammerfest lands it becomes necessary for you to enter the city, near the spaceport, to present certain papers to the authorities?”
“Why, yes,” Kris said. “Either I or the captain, and he usually hands me that chore. We have to clear quarantine, customs, immigration, interplanetary pest control, that sort of red tape. Then we have to present our flight plan for our next destination.”
“I … would it be possible for you to allow me to go with you? That is, into the city?”
“Why not, if you wish? But there will be public transportation at the terminal. As I recall, Medea has the same type of antigravity vehicles as you have on Harappa.”
Venu said unhappily, “Unfortunately, I have no interplanetary credits with which to hire a vehicle.”
Kris Tryggvason scowled at him. “No interplanetary credits? But it’s not inexpensive to travel from Harappa to Medea. I thought you were rich.”
“No,” Venu said, attempting to keep bitterness from his voice. “I am no longer rich.”
“Where did you want to go, to some hotel? Frankly, Venu, Medea is a strictly cash-on-the-barrelhead planet. If you don’t have interplanetary credits …” He let the sentence dribble away.
“To the Harappan Embassy,” Venu said. “Perhaps I can finish my business and be ready to depart by the time a new spacecraft leaves to return to Harappa.”
“There isn’t as much traffic between Medea and Harappa as all that,” the first officer said. “You might have quite a wait. But I’ll take you to the embassy. I don’t know where it is, but it’s undoubtedly in the vicinity of the Interplanetary Trade Building where I’ll be headed. Most of the other planet embassies are.”
When they had sat down on the Medean spaceport tarmac, Venu made his goodbyes to Captain Anderson and the others. To his surprise, the chief steward gave him a large plastic wicker hamper.
“A little snack,” the steward said huskily. “In memory of the Hammerfest.”
Venu was embarrassed. Undoubtedly, Kris Tryggvason had informed the other of Venus lack of credits. But there was nothing he could do to salve his pride. He took the hamper, finding it quite heavy, and thanked the well-intentioned man formally. He could hardly inform the other that a Harrapan of good family did not accept gifts that could not be reciprocated. But perhaps someday the Hammerfest would return to Harappa and he would have the opportunity to present the chief steward with a seemly remembrance of Venus home planet, such as a star sapphire.
Kris Tryggvason summoned an anti-gravity car on his pocket transceiver and he and Venu got into the vehicle after depositing the Harappan’s luggage on the back seat. Their first stop was the administration building of the spaceport, where Kris saw them quickly through customs and immigration. As a bearer of an Allied Worlds Interplanetary Passport, Venu Jhabvola had no difficulties.
The immigration officer, who was dressed in the somewhat drab latest styles, from Earth that were most often utilized through Allied Worlds, took Venus Harappan attire in curiously but said only, “How long do you plan to be on Medea?”
“I … I don’t know. Only long enough to … to transact some business.”
“You seem rather young to be on a business trip. What is the nature of your business, please?”
“I seek my father, Sudhin Jhabvola.”
“I see. I have heard of the case, on the Tri-Di news broadcasts. It created quite a stir. We don’t have much of that sort of thing on Medea. Good luck, young man.”
Venu bowed formally, “Thank you, sir.”
The other stamped the passport and returned it.
Kris said, “Okay, let’s get going.”
The automated taxi sped them into the city after Kris had said into its screen, simply, “Harappan Embassy.”
Venu was shocked by the Medean countryside. Used to the colorful buildings of his own world, the beautiful temples, the pagodas, the palaces, the parks and gardens, it was unbelievable that another people would actually permit ugly industrial plants to exist above the surface. Why, even heavily laden industrial trucks were plodding along the * main highway, dominating the traffic. Had it never occurred to these technocrats to hide such unsightliness under the surface? The surface of a world, surely, was for man and the animals, birds and vegetation—not for the machine.
Kris looked at him from the side of his eyes and grinned. He said, “I told you it was a grim world. But you’d be surprised how much grimmer some of the others are.”
“But it is so ugly. Why, everybody seems even to dress all but the same. And so colorlessly!”
“Possibly the price of affluence,” Kris said. “They’re so busy getting rich that they don’t have time for art. And wait until you eat what they call food on this planet.”
But then he must have remembered what Venu had told him about not having the wherewithal to buy anything on Medea. He said, “Look, boy, possibly you’ll be able to get a job at the embassy to tide you over while you go about trying to find your father.”
Venu shook his head. “I inquired into that before I left Harappa. All hiring by Harappan missions is done on Harappa before the mission leaves.”
The first officer was unhappy. “Well, you won’t find employment anywhere else. I understand that by Medea law aliens can’t work on this planet. You’re lucky that immigration officer didn’t ask you about your resources. He never would have let you in. He must have automatically assumed, as I did, that the very fact that you are able to travel through space indicated you were in good funds. I don’t know what in the devil you’re going to do.”
“Neither do I,” Venu said miserably.
They were in the city now and, if anything, the efficient drabness increased, as did the traffic. Why, it must all be on the surface, Venu decided.
The Harappan embassy was a small one and housed in a building with a score of others. It was a colorless office with no charm whatsoever.
The hovercab pulled up at the curb. Its screen said, “The Harappan Embassy. Third floor.”
“Here you are,” Kris Tryggvason said uncomfortably. “Good luck, Venu.” He remained in his seat while Venu got his two bags and the hamper of food the chief steward had given him from the back.
Venu put the things down on the sidewalk and put out his hand to shake farewell. “A thousand thanks, and may Lord Krishna see to your well being.”
The first officer said, “Perhaps some day we’ll see each other again, back on Harappa,” as he shook.
“Who can say what paths Brahma, in his wisdom, will lead us down in this incarnation?” Venu returned formally.
He stood and watched after the cab for a moment when it had departed in the direction of the Interplanetary Trade Building.
He then took up his bags and hamper and mounted the steps of the building. The lobby was filled with hurrying men and women, the men dressed all but identically, the women almost so. Even when there was a touch of color in their costume, Venu noted, it was far from the bright textiles of his home world. Already the Harappan youth was becoming homesick for that with which he was familiar.
Elevators were little different than in New Bombay, he found, crowding into one whose arrow indicated it was heading upward. Some of his fellow passengers stared at his off-world attire, quite rudely he thought, but no one spoke. The door closed and they began to ascend. The compartment’s screen called each floor and he got out at three.
There were signs facing the elevator bank, indicating the various offices on that floor. The Harappan Embassy was to the right.
He entered the small reception room and put down his things. The sole occupant of the office sat behind a desk to the room’s far side. She was the first person of dark complexion Venu Jhabvola had seen since he had left his home world. Undoubtedly she was a Harappan, although she wore similar dress to that of the women of Medea. How she must long for a sari, Venu though irrelevantly.
He put the palms of his hands together, pointed upward, bowed and said, “Namastey.”
“Good afternoon,” she said briskly. She had no caste mark, of course, but undoubtedly in view of her position, she was a Vaishya like himself.
He said, “I am Venu Jhabvola, son of Rishi Sudhin Jhabvola, and I have come from Harappa to seek my father.”
She blinked at that.
He said, “Whom would it be proper for me to see?”
“Why, I suppose Rana Kumbha, Secretary of the Interplanetary Trade Commission. It was he who worked with Rishi Jhabvola when your father was here.”
“Then may I attend him, please?”
She did the things receptionists have done universally down through the ages, then looked up from her order box and said, “Rana Kumbha will see you immediately. The Interplanetary Trade Commission office is through that door and at the end of the hall.”
Venu followed her directions, after asking if he could leave his things in the comer of the room. He decided, as he progressed down the short hallway, that the Harappan embassy on Medea was indeed small. He doubted if it consisted of as many as six persons.
There was what resembled a small TV screen set into the door lettered Interplanetary Trade Commission. It picked him up and the door opened automatically at his approach. The device was new to him. Harappa avoided utilizing gadgets that could be dispensed with, particularly if they jarred with aesthetics. Harappans would rather walk than ride, would rather sleep with woolen blankets over them than in an electrically warmed bed, would rather eat organic fruits and vegetables than synthetic ones, and were contemptuous of such devices as electric knives or toothbrushes.
The door swung open and Venu entered the tiny office beyond. There was one desk, several metal files, a voco-typer and other office equipment, and three chairs.
The occupant was standing. He was a stocky man beginning to push his middle years, so dark as to be a Dravidian, Venu decided, and he wore a mustache in the style of the city of Kula, Harappa’s second largest. He, as the girl in the reception room, wore Medean clothing and looked uncomfortable in it. Small wonder, Venu thought.
Putting his hands together, the tips near his chin in correct manner, he said, “Namastey, son of the former Rishi Jhabvola.”
Venu returned the salute and said, “Namastey,” as well.
“Please be seated. I am Rana Kumbha.”
Venu seated himself and said, “I seek my father.”
“So the receptionist has told me.” The other shook his head regretfully, sadly, but definitely. “Then your cause is a lost one, Venu Jhabvola.”
“If so, then I seek vengeance.”
The other looked at him for a long moment, then sighed. He said, “I worked with your father, the rishni, on more than one occasion, on both this and other worlds. I respected him. However, he is no longer with us. May the gods will his reincarnation on a higher plane, in his path to Nirvana.”
“When comes the wind and whither goes it?” Venu quoted correctly to the other’s politeness. “But how can you be so sure that my father is dead? Perhaps he is a captive.”
“If so, not upon Medea, Venu Jhabvola.”
“How can you be positive of that?”
“Look at your passport, Venu Jhabvola.”
