"You have my sympathy," said Salazar.
"And which facet of the jewel of divine truth do you seek to polish, sir?"
Salazar had been bracing himself for such a question. "I have evolved my own doctrine, to which I have not yet given a name. I have been influenced by Akbar's Din llahi.
Mahasingh frowned. "These eclectic cults never amount to much. I do not believe Emperor Akbar's syncresis outlasted its promulgator."
"Ah!" said Salazar. "Akbar launched it on Terra, where it had to compete with a host of firmly established ancient traditions. We are on Kukulcan, where a new approach is needed. Whether Trimurti of Allah or Guan Yin concern themselves with events on this world is beyond our limited mortal power to ascertain. In any case, I'm sure Metasu would not tolerate interference—"
"You are sure who would not tolerate?"
"Metasu, the planetary spirit, or what the Reverend Dumfries would call the local Demiurge. Neither she nor the local spirit of the island of Sunga, Shiiko, would stand for meddling by spirits from other worlds light-years away."
Mahasingh mused: "I have heard the Kooks speak of these spirits, but I have not concerned myself with the locals' barbarian theologies. On the mainland they have no real gods, merely ancestral spirits. Perhaps I ought to give the local beliefs some serious thought. I have always held that the divine truth encompasses all, even though a mortal individual can perceive but a fraction of it—a single facet of a many-faceted jewel. But the locals' facets may be quite as real as my own Shaivite creed."
Salazar unwrapped his sandwich. While he ate, Mahasingh sat with head bowed and eyes shut, apparently in deep thought. Then Mahasingh raised his head, opened large, brown eyes, and asked: "Mr. Sen, pray tell me, are you from Terra or were you, like me, born on Kukulcan?"
"The latter," mumbled Salazar past a mouthful of sandwich.
"A pity. I had hoped that you could give me a firsthand report on our mother planet."
"Oh?"
"Yes. All my life I have heard of the wonders of that world, its scientific and technological marvels, compared to which we Terrans here lead lives like those of centuries past. It were well worth seeing, although I know better than to take such gadgets and gimmicks very seriously."
"Oh?"
"Yes. Despite the Europeans' boasts of technological leadership, our ancestors in the land of Bharata mastered those material arts thousands of years ago—firearms, flying machines, atomic power, organ transplants, and so on. But they gave them all up in their quest for spiritual perfection."
"Indeed? I'm sure an ancient Hindu skimmer or zap-per would be well worth seeing. By the way, did the former supervisor survive his accident?"
"I don't know," said Mahasingh. "He left for Sungecho a few days ago and may have taken ship for the mainland. All I can say is that he brought it on himself by his flagrant scorn for the virtue of chastity." Mahasingh looked down his long, hooked nose at Salazar and spoke with the pride of a warrior who had routed an army single-handedly. "I have maintained my chastity since my wife left me. It was an arduous struggle, but I won!"
"The path of virtue is thorny," said Salazar, trying to match Mahasingh's sanctimony.
"It certainly is. Would you believe it, sir, that woman who rules the Kashanite sect, Alexis Ritter, came to me about some rash offer that Cantemir had made or that she said he made. It was a bribe to keep her cultists from interfering with our work. Naturally I refused, whereupon she offered to throw in my use of her body for carnal purposes! I refused that, too, albeit it was all I could do to keep my baser passions under control. My resistance to her charms so enraged her that she sent her cultists on an idiotic raid against the company's personnel and equipment."
"Very interesting," said Salazar. "Now I must beg you to excuse me; I have work to do."
Salazar was glad to get back to his sermon. On the one hand, he regretted not knowing enough history and other disciplines outside his chosen field to puncture some of Mahasingh's illusions. Life, even extended by modern medicine, was never long enough to learn everything one had to know to cope with conceivable contingencies.
On the other hand, perhaps it was just as well. Mahasingh was not one to be wantonly antagonized, and Salazar's father had lectured him on the common young man's folly of picking arguments for the sake of contention.
On time for once, the Unriu Express pulled into Amoen at dusk. Salazar hunted down Takao's juten stable and rented an animal. Behind the saddle he lashed his bundle of gear.
Salazar hiked up his robe, climbed into the saddle, and commanded, "Uai!" The animal lurched to its feet. When Salazar added "Tettai!" the juten obediently grasped its rider's ankles with its clawed forefeet as a substitute for Terran stirrups.
Holding the leading rope in one hand, Salazar guided the juten out of the yard by voice commands, along the main street, and up the trail to the top of Mount Sungara.
As the somber green of the forest closed over his head, Salazar speeded up the juten to a lively trot. He thought he was doing famously until the animal took a bend in the trail. A second too late, Salazar realized that the juten had let go of his ankles. Off he went into a bush, losing his turban and tearing his robe.
As if it had not noticed the loss of its rider, the juten trotted on up the trail until Salazar, scrambling out of the bush, yelled: "Tomai!"
The beast halted, and the command "Shtai!" persuaded it to squat. Battered, Salazar recovered his emerald turban, brushed twigs and leaves from his robe, limped to his beast, and mounted again.
They plodded on up the trail, though at a less ambitious pace. Salazar found that this juten, unless frequently reminded, now and then forgot to grip its rider's ankles, so that Salazar had to grab for the saddle.
"Who you?" said Choku in his rasping version of Terran speech. "Kto vi'?Ni shéi ma?" He stood before the tent with a lantern in one hand and Salazar's rifle in the other.
"Just your honorable boss," grunted Salazar. "Shtai!" The juten squatted, and Salazar climbed painfully off.
"My honorable boss has no such bristles on his face," said Choku in Sungao. "How can you prove that you are he?"
"When I told you that I was going to Sungecho, you wanted to come along and were disappointed when I said you would have to remain here on guard. Then you said you would pack me for two overnight stops, including my pistol. Now, if you will help me to settle in and get this damned beard off, you will see plainly enough who I am."
When Choku saw Salazar's naked face, stained deep brown on the nose and forehead but pale where the beard had covered it, the ripple of his neck bristles betokened mirth. Salazar grumbled:
"The damned thing itches. Some day I shall grow a real one, like my old man's; it would be less trouble." He attacked the paint with a towel.
"Your robe has been torn, sir," said Choku, holding up the orange-yellow garment. "Let me mend the rip."
"Thank you, but I will do that myself," said Salazar. He had seen examples of Kookish attempts at needlework. Not wearing clothes, the Kooks were hardly out of the Stone Age regarding textiles. They had looms that turned out a coarse, heavy canvaslike fabric for tents, but such skills as sewing, knitting, and embroidery were beyond them. "What have the lumbermen been up to?"
"Yesterday Mr. Mahasingh left the camp and took the train."