When the space was full, Salazar, in his Khushvant Sen makeup, mounted the big tree trunk and called out in the deep, oratorical voice he had used in his swami act on the Ijumo:
"Peace to all sentient beings! Peace! Peace! Peace!
"My children, the ruling spirit of the planet Kukulcan, Metasu, has sent me amongst you with the most important message that you shall ever receive. Hear and be warned!
"For many years Metasu has observed the deeds of the beings that inhabit her surface. With interest she has seen one species of her planet develop intelligence and go on to acquire speech and writing and to learn to manipulate the material world for its own benefit—in other words, to attain civilization. More recently she has witnessed the coming of another sapient species across the vast, nighted gulfs of interstellar space from a distant world."
He went on and on, mixing history, philosophy, and sheer gibberish: "And now, my dear children, we must resume the triad in unity. We must rectify the noncohesion. We must activate the benisons of our world."
He was careful not to put in too many hard facts, since in studying the art of swaying a Terran assembly he had learned that too much fact killed the audience's emotional reaction. The listeners would become bored and withdraw their attention.
"This means that we must bring the exploitation of the natural world under spiritual control. Some forms of exploitation Metasu views with approval, some with indifference, and some with alarm, such as the project to destroy the nanshin forest. She is horrified by the aliens' plan to rape Mount Sungara of its protective forest cover, warning of irreversible damage to the environment if this continues. If all else fails, she will if need be blow up Mount Sungara, destroying all life on Sunga.
"She has given me a dire warning to pass on. To her we are as insectoids are to us, and she can stamp us out as easily as we can creeping things. Have you ever watched as a weathered log is placed in a roaring fire and the insectoids scramble out of their burrow in the wood, seeking in vain to escape? And watched them writhe and kick as they died? Such is our situation."
Groans arose from the audience.
"And so I, unworthy as I am, come amongst you. To carry the word of Metasu's will, I shall require followers. Among these I shall designate those who can most effectively spread Metasu's word."
Salazar finally ran out of his mixture of conservation-ism and rhetorical flapdoodle. He ended with "Peace! Peace! Peace!" as he slowly lowered his outstretched arms.
Applause spattered. The burly Hafiz Abdallah approached, saying: "Sri Sen, don't you need someone to collect for you?"
"True, my child. For myself, I can live on wild fruits and drink the dew; but for an organization, more material means are needed. Will you kindly hold this bag open?"
The audience crowded around Abdallah, dropping into the bag United Settlements paper money and polygonal Kukulcanian coins. They called up to Salazar:
"What can we do? What do you want us to do, sir?"
Although he had aimed for this result, Salazar was amazed to find that a carefully rehearsed theatrical performance, delivered in a certain tone of voice with certain gestures, had so devastating an effect on his fellow Terrans. He had slipped in a strong message for saving the nanshins; but even if his speech had consisted entirely of orotund balderdash, it would have had an equal effect and been just as effective in collecting money. In the firelight he caught the sparkle of tears on some of the cheeks of the audience; even the tough-looking Abdallah shed a tear or two.
No wonder, he thought, that throughout human history people had been so easily seduced by grandiloquent rodomontade to follow one pied piper after another, often to their destruction! People whose private personalities were as unlikable as Alexis Ritter's had swayed multitudes, whipping their emotions to a frenzy and sending them off to conquer the world, or save the souls of the heathen, or exterminate some sect, tribe, or other group whom the leader considered evil.
Salazar was appalled to realize that he, too, had this power over his conspecifics. It was an insidious, treacherous, irrational power. He belonged to a species with a built-in and often fatal weakness, to believe anything said to it in a certain emphatic way, in a certain voice, and pushing certain emotional buttons. It worked as surely and as arbitrarily as the magical spells of children's fairy tales.
If he wished, Salazar could drop science, start a cult, make a million, and become a mover and shaker of Kukulcanian civilization, at least of the Terran part of it. He doubted that Kooks, with their robotic, coldly logical minds, would be so easily taken in. But he felt no temptation to follow such a course. Not only did he despise those who took advantage of this human weakness, but the kinds of activities it would entail—endless speeches, committee meetings, and secret intrigues—bored the spots off him.
"Mr. Abdallah!" he said. "Will you kindly take charge of this money? Metasu tells me to appoint you leader of her first group of Terran devotees. Gather them around you and set up an elementary organization, with officers and committees.
"Now I must withdraw to replenish my spiritual forces and to seek guidance from great Metasu for my next step. Good night, all!"
He hopped down from his log and walked to where his juten squatted munching leaves. Hiking up his robe, he commanded the animal to rise and then to head for his camp.
Choku had again been left in camp and was now presumably standing guard. Salazar had not worn his pistol because it would have made his costume bulge betrayingly, and with it under the robe he could probably not have gotten it out fast enough for an emergency.
Beneath the stars and two of Kukulkan's miniature moons, Salazar rode along the nearly treeless strip between the nanshin forest of the upper slope and the lower forest of mixed timber. He had covered half the distance to his camp when the rapid thud-thud-thud of a running juten caused him to pull up. As the pursuer drew closer, Salazar saw that the rider wore a hooded topcoat with the hood thrown back. Then he recognized Mahasingh by his head scarf and patriarchal beard.
"Sen!" roared Mahasingh. "Stop! I must talk to you!"
"Well?"
"What in Nâraka are you doing to my work? Half my lumberjacks swear they will cut no more nanshins because they have joined some new conservationist cult!"
Salazar assumed his holy prophet voice. "I merely convey to my children the truths vouchsafed me by the planetary spirit, great Metasu."
"Believe what you like," growled Mahasingh, "but I cannot let you interfere with my duties. Will you go away for good and call off this nonsense?"
"I fear that Metasu, whose voice I am on this material plane, will not permit me to withdraw from my mission of enlightenment."
"Shiv curse you!" bellowed Mahasingh. With one hand he drew his machete or brush knife from its sheath; with the other he grabbed the end of Salazar's prophetic beard, yelling in a voice thick with passion: "We shall see how much message you can utter from a mouth without lungs attached!"
Salazar saw Mahasingh's long arm fly up, swinging the knife for a decapitating blow. By reflex, Salazar jerked violently away. The beard came off with a rending sound, leaving Salazar feeling as if his lower face had been skinned.
"Ow!" he cried, putting a hand to his face. The adhesive with which he had pasted on the beard had been entirely too effective.
Mahasingh sat in his saddle, looking bewilderedly at the beard in his hand and then at the erstwhile Sri Khushvant Sen.
"Salazar!" he gasped. "By Shiv, I'll kill you for this!"
He swung the machete again. But with a yell of "Katai! Yukki!" Salazar put his animal into a rapid run. The blade swished through empty air.