Jesus On Mars

by Philip José Farmer

  Orme found this account interesting, but he was more eager to get back to the story of Matthias. He felt awed. The apostle had actually been with these people. And, as Hfathon's holograms showed, he was buried in the rock here within a short drive. The camera had swooped over the cemetery, showing first the gravestones of the early inhabitants. They were inscribed with letters in Hebrew, Greek, Latin, Krsh, ideograms in Chinese, and several in what he supposed were Mayan hieroglyphs.

  As the camera moved towards the later graves, all the lettering became Hebrew. The stones were of the same size since the law required that. According to the Hebrews, all persons were equal in death, holy and sinful, rich and poor, young and old, men, women, and children.

  Bronski translated the inscription.

  'Mattathias bar-Hamath. The years in the Hebrew chronology correspond to 2 AD and 149 AD respectively.'

  Near the apostle's stone were ten others which Hfathon pointed out.

  'These were Matthias's companions, his disciples rather, who were stricken with a disease when we picked them up. They were Libyan Jews whom he had convinced that Jesus was indeed the Messiah. It was Matthias who, with his ten, converted all his pagan human companions. But we Krsh were not yet shown the light. Most of us were agnostics or atheists, though there were some who clung to the religions of their ancestors. We did not interfere when he brought all our humans under the law of Moses, even though, in our ignorance, we could see nothing but senseless brutality in some of their laws.'

  Orme could contain himself no longer. Rising to his feet, he shouted, 'And what made you change your hearts?'

  'The Messiah himself appeared to us. And he did that which convinced us forever.'

  9

  Philemon Zhbeshg Mosheh ben-Yonathan was a young man of thirty-five. He was a bit of a dandy with his violet-dyed sidelocks, his large silver cart-wheel earrings, and his rainbow-striped robe. His elderly relatives thought his apparel scandalous. His ornamented buskins and scarlet toenails caused them to reproach him openly. He listened meekly and silently, but when he had heard them out he went on dressed as before. Like so many young people, twenty-two to fifty, he dressed as he pleased, to be fashionable.

  Unlike his contemporaries, however, he was not given to excessive drinking, that is, drinking more than three glasses of wine in a day. Because he was an athlete, he permitted himself only one glass of wine during supper.

  Orme, who'd won three Olympic gold medals (100 and 200 metre sprints and the long jump) went down to the central gymnasium to work out. He was, of course, eager to see what kind of athletes 'the Martians were. He expected that 2000 years of life on a planet with a gravity much lighter than Earth's would result in weaker muscles. But he was wrong. The natives ran and jumped and wrestled as if they'd been born on Earth.

  Orme was attracted to Philemon by his friendly cheery manner and intrigued by the fact that he was the champion sprinter. He struck up a conversation, limited by his deficiencies in Krsh, and the sixth day after meeting him challenged him. To his surprise and chagrin, Orme was bested by several metres in each event.

  'Well, I'm not in top condition,' he said between gasping breaths. 'I need about five months of working out. Besides, I'm not accustomed to running here. Every stride I take is five metres long. Also, I'm past my prime, though I think you'd have beaten me anyway. Thirty-five is very old for a sprinter. For an Earthman, that is. And I'm not used to running with bare feet, either.'

  He paused to grin and said, 'Maybe I can think of some more excuses.'

  It was then that Philemon told him that he was the same age as he.

  'Yes, but I haven't got the age-delaying treatment. Physiologically, you're only about nineteen, I'd bet.'

  'Haven't you asked for the treatment?'

  Orme was taken aback. 'Why, I just took it for granted I'd be denied it. After all, I am an alien.'

  'Ask Hfathon for it. It wouldn't hurt.'

  Orme talked to his crewmates that evening, and they decided to petition Hfathon in the morning.

  Bronski asked Orme many questions about the gymnasium. Finally, Orme said, 'You seem very interested in sports now. I always thought you were indifferent to them.'

  'I'm curious because the ancient Jews hated the gymnasium and they weren't wild about sports. They associated games with the pagan Greeks and Romans. But time changes attitudes. After all, the modern Israelis are very athletic-minded. The orthodox Jews in Israel are in the minority.'

  In the morning, the moment their teachers arrived and greetings were exchanged, Orme made his request.

  Hfathon was silent for a minute, his hands making a church steeple.

  Finally, he said, 'Yes, I knew you'd ask for that. We had a conference last night about it. Not that it lasted long. We decided that we cannot, at this time, give it to you.'

  Hfathon looked as if that was the end of the matter. But Orme said, 'Why not?'

  'Why should we?'

  'It would be the humane thing to do.'

  'Ah, would it? We still don't know much about your people. How do we know that its overall effect would not be evil?'

  Madeleine said, 'Evil'?' You mean that it could result in physical trauma because our metabolism might be different from yours? Or do you mean that it might have a destructive effect on our society?'

  'In any event,' Nadir said, 'how could giving it to just us be evil for the citizens of Earth?'

  'To answer your second question first, Madeleine. It could disrupt society on Earth in a social sense. It would be evil. I notice that you have avoided or disparaged such terms as evil and sin. Don't you believe these exist?'

  Hfathon was skilled at switching from a subject he didn't want to talk about.

  'I prefer to use scientific terms,' Madeleine said.

  'There is more than one kind of science. And there is a knowledge outside of science. But we won't argue about this now. To answer your question, Nadir. If you were given the treatment and then went to Earth, your scientists could analyse its chemical components from your blood. Although, from what I know of the state of your science, I'd say that treatment already could be known. Of course, it would not be as efficient as ours. But for some reason it has not been revealed to the public, perhaps for reasons similar to those which make us deny it to you. At this time, anyway.'

  Orme knew by now that it was no use arguing or pleading with the Martians. He said, 'Very well. But you can understand why we want it, can't you?'

  Hfathon smiled. 'Yes. By the way, the quick-learning pills will be discontinued. The blood samples we took yesterday show that you are near the danger point from the side effects.'

  'What side effects?' Madeleine said. 'I haven't noticed anything.'

  'Nor would you until they occurred. Which would be about three days from now. You may suffer some slight withdrawal effects, a feeling that people are in the next room when they aren't, and other paranoiac symptoms. You see, from what you've told me of your people, many would not take the pills as prescribed. Foolish people and criminals would abuse them.'

  She said, angrily, 'I suppose no one here would abuse them?'

  'No.'

  She did not reply, but it was evident that she was fuming. Orme also felt resentful, as if he'd been unjustly reprimanded for something. But he had to admit that the Krsh was right.

  At the gymnasium that afternoon, he tried subtly to get information from Philemon about the tunnels leading to the surface. Philemon, however, did not fall into any of Orme's verbal traps. He didn't seem to be aware of what Orme was doing; it was just that he tended to veer away from where Orme was steering him. He wanted to discuss athletics on Earth. The Canadian wondered if he was not as innocent as he seemed. How, for instance, had Hfathon known that Orme was going to bring up the longevity treatment? Was Philemon being pumped in the evening about what Orme said to him in the afternoon?

  Or was the Martian wired for sound transmission? The Krsh had once told the Earthmen that they would not be unaccompanied
when they went free. Orme had expected that a guide would be assigned to him. But this had not been done. After the first week, he was able to go wherever he wished without a companion. And the other three had reported that they were also free.

  Somehow, they were being monitored from afar. Or had the Martians decided to get their information from those to whom they talked? As for visual checking, that could be done by hidden cameras in the ceiling of the cave. When they went into a house, the TV there, though it seemed blank, could be operating as a camera. Or the Martians could have implanted a tracker-audiomonitor in the flesh of their captives.

  Orme sometimes wondered if he wasn't suffering from the side effects of the wogglebug pills. Was he becoming paranoid?

  One day, at about 13:00 hours, Orme got tired of trying to read a textbook on differential photonic-drive mechanisms. He set the book on the floor so it could make its way back to the proper niche in the library file. He strolled over to the language department and looked through the catalogue of popular literature, which listed many books of poetry, one-half of which were religious. He decided that even if he were more fluent, he would have trouble understanding the poetry because of its compression of ideas, obscurity of reference, and tendency to puns. Krsh poetry used quantity in its metre instead of accent, much like ancient Greek and Latin poetry, and it depended heavily on alliteration and parallelism. The latter, a professor had explained, had been borrowed from Hebrew poetry.

  He decided that he would return home and there continue his reading of The Testament of Matthias. But while walking home, he changed his mind. Why not borrow a car and drive around? If the authorities objected to this, they'd let him know soon enough.

  There were no attendants at the municipal parking lot. A dozen of the topless vehicles were arranged in two neat rows on the stone. He got into one, pressed a button to start it, and the electrical motor was ready. There were no keys since individuals did not own cars. All were either the property of a community or of the central government. When a person wanted one he just got into it and drove off. There were very few trucks since the farmers used horse- drawn wagons, and supplies were shipped in pneumatic-driven capsule's in underground tunnels.

  The streets and highways were a thick rubbery material that gave a nice ride and was easy on the pedestrians' feet. The car rolled out on the street in manual drive. He could have given his destination verbally to the vehicle's computer and sat back while it got there by itself by the quickest route. Very few people used this automatic system, though, since they enjoyed driving.

  Proceeding at twenty miles an hour - the car's limit was thirty-five - Orme steered down the street and on to a main highway. This took him in great curve around the main part of the city and out into the country. There were no stop signs, lights, or road signs. There weren't even street signs. It was assumed that a citizen would know his own community. If he was a stranger, he could find out where somebody lived by asking another citizen or consulting a computer. There was also no postal system. People used their TV sets to communicate or to transmit printed papers.

  Orme had found out that the cavern in which he lived was the first one to be made. By consulting a government informational facility through his TV, he had been shown a map of the tunnels and caverns. No doubt his call had been monitored, but nobody had said anything about it nor had any information been refused. He had not asked for the location of the entrance to the tunnels that led to the surface. He'd try to figure that out himself.

  After fifteen minutes of pleasant travel, no dust, very few other cars to worry about, no blasting of horns, he turned off to a road that would lead him to the highway that ran along the perimeter of the cavern. Here he had to slow down to ten mph because the road went through a small town. The largest building here was a dome about twenty feet high with a diameter of three hundred feet. This was the top of an underground station which received grain brought in by farmers.

  Orme slowed even more to drive around some small children playing a game like lacrosse. They stopped to stare at the black man. He grinned back at them, evoking smiles from a few. Then a woman carrying a large leather bag ran up to him and asked him to stop. He did so, wondering what she wanted.

  'Are you going to Yishub?' she said.

  'I don't know. Where's that?'

  'About six miles straight down this road. I have business there, and all the cars are taken. I'd walk, but that'd make me late.'

  'I'm going that way. Get in.'

  She threw the bag into the back seat and got in beside him.

  'I'm Gulthilo Ribhqah bat-Yishaq. I know who you are, of course. Richard Orme, the Earthman.'

  She was good-looking, several inches taller than he, busty, slim-ankled, with curly yellow hair and dark blue eyes. He wasn't surprised at her Gothic name, meaning Little Golden One, since some of the Terrestrials brought here had been picked up in Northern Europe. That accounted for such names as Fauho, Rautha, Swiglja, and Haurnja.

  Nor was he surprised to encounter a blonde. Though most of the human Martians were dark-skinned Mediterranean types, there were some with blue and green eyes and red or yellow hair. They did not get these naturally, however. Some of their ancestors may have been blondes, but the genes for light pigmentation had been wiped out during the twenty generations of inbreeding. However, occasionally parents wanted a lighter colouring for their children for the sake of variety, so the bio-engineers accommodated them with genetic tampering. Thus, Gulthilo resembled her remote namesake ancestress.

  He started driving again, and said, 'What do you do?'

  'I teach flute-playing at farms and some of the towns. Usually, if I can't get a car, I ride my bicycle. But mine broke down this morning, and everybody was using theirs, so I couldn't borrow one. Fortunately, you came along. I'm very pleased, since this may be the only chance I'll get to talk to one of you.'

  Her story sounded reasonable, except that it seemed odd that no bicycles were available. Perhaps some unusual activity had required them. However, she could have been planted here. Maybe the authorities hoped he would let his guard down if he thought his meeting her was accidental.

  I'm not really paranoid, he told himself. My suspicions are based on reality.

  Perhaps, though, I'm doing her an injustice.

  'Where are you going?’ she said with that open curiosity that distinguished these people. Like children, they did not fear strangers, not even those from another planet.

  'I'm just riding around to enjoy the scenery and see something different. I got tired of the university. I wanted to relax.'

  'Are you married?'

  Though he was getting used to the Martian frankness, he was startled by this. He said, 'I was, but my wife divorced me.'

  'There was a programme on you Earth people the other day. Did you get to see it? No. Well, the commentator said that there are many divorces there. You can get one for any reason or no reason at all. That seems strange. Here only unbelief, adultery, cruelty, or a high incompatibility are grounds for divorce. Infertility used to be grounds, but no one is sterile now. And everyone believes in the Messiah of course. Though that doesn't stop some few evil people from secretly opposing him.'

  So even here there were dissenters.

  'When my wife married me she knew that I only wanted to be an astronaut... a space-voyager. But after I had a near-accident, she wouldn't give up trying to make me quit and get a safe job. So we parted.'

  'Are you engaged?'

  He smiled. Then he said, 'Are you married or spoken for?'

  'No, my husband was two hundred and forty years old when I married him. He died shortly after our youngest child entered the university two years ago. I have a dozen suitors, but I haven't made up my mind yet. Besides, I am rather enjoying my freedom from marital responsibilities. You might say I'm on a vacation.'

  Orme wondered how it felt to know your father was two hundred years old when you were born. If you were a Martian, you probably wouldn't think anything at all a
bout it.

  Orme was excited by this woman. Though the robe was pinned to the neck and it was ankle-length, its thinness showed her lush figure and long legs. Her face was sensuous: full lips, a slightly curving but delicate nose, dark thick eyebrows, soft skin. And a bright light in her blue eyes. He sighed. She could never be his, even temporarily.

  Finally, as they passed a farmhouse, he said, 'Two years is a long time without a man. Or don't you think so?'

  He looked at her when he said that, and she blushed.

  He thought, 'Oh, oh! I've gone too far.' But blushing! He didn't remember seeing a female blush since he was a child.

  She said, 'How long have you been without a woman? Six months? Isn't that a long time?'

  'It hardly seems forever,' he said and laughed.

  She was silent for a moment. Then she said, 'Pull over under that tree.'

  He looked at her but said nothing. When he'd stopped the car, he observed that the tree and the field of tall sheshunit, a sunflower-type plant, kept them from being seen by anyone except a passerby on the road. And there hadn't been one in the last five minutes.

  She moved over close to him. Her thigh was touching his.

  'Now,' she said smiling, 'don't get me wrong. But I do want this.’

  Her arms came around his neck, and her lips were pressed against his. Then her tongue slipped in and moved against his.

  This can't be happening, he thought. But it was.

  She allowed him to feel her breast, but when he tried to unpin the robe, she drew away. Both were panting.

  'I just wanted to find out how it feels to kiss an Earthman,' she said.

  She reached out a hand and ran it over his hair.

  'Also, I was curious about that. It feels so strange. But good.'

  'Maybe it'll give you luck,' he said. 'In the old days, white people would rub a black's wool. They did it for good luck.'

  'That's strange.'

  'Well, now you've kissed an Earthman, how did it feel?’

  'Very exciting. Almost too much so. But then I haven't kissed anyone but my relatives for two years. I'm getting very passionate. And I have been reprimanded for being too bold. But I'm not a bad woman. I just couldn't help myself.'