Judy had collected eight Goompah dramas from the scrolls, and two more that Digger had recorded. Two were tragedies in the classic sense; the others were like something out of the Baines Brothers, with lots of slapstick, characters running into walls, getting caught en flagrante, and constantly falling down.
The shows frequently involved the audience. In one, a staged brawl spilled over into the front rows, where the patrons got caught up in the battle. Characters chased each other through the aisles. One comedy was apparently interrupted midway when bandits, fleeing from authorities, raced down a center aisle with bags of coins. One of the bandits tossed his loot to a patron, who was then set on and dragged off by the authorities. The audience loved it, and the human observers needed time to recognize that it was all rehearsed.
Another show stationed a medical unit at the rear of the theater. Periodically, when someone fell down onstage, or walked into a chair, the actors called out “Gwalla timbo,” which translated roughly to medical team. The gwalla timbo would then gallop forward, bearing stretchers and splints, collect the injured party, plunk him unceremoniously onto the stretcher, and charge back out, usually dropping the patient en route. It was hilarious.
He would have liked to spend an evening in a Goompah theater with Mary.
THEY ALSO WATCHED three funerals. The dead were wrapped in sheets and interred in the ground in the presence of family and friends. The mourners did not give in to weeping or other signs of hysteria, although several had to be helped away, and two collapsed altogether.
Collingdale and the linguists listened closely to the ceremonies. The blessings of the gods were invoked in two, and religious references did not show up at all in the third. There was no talk at any of them of a hereafter or suggestions that the deceased had gone to a better world, leading the humans to suspect that the Goompahs did not believe in an afterlife. He suggested to Judy that she advise her people not to mention the fact in personal messages home. “No point stirring up the missionary society,” he said.
They also were able to interpret the signs that Jack and Digger had seen on the schoolroom wall on their first visit. It had been somewhat difficult because the characters were stylized. But they read THINK FOR YOURSELF and SHOW ME THE EVIDENCE.
They had a record of one class in which the students were learning basic arithmetic. They were operating off a base twelve. Which meant that 14 + 15 = 29, but there are actually 33 items in the result. Ed explained it to him, but it gave Collingdale a headache, and he simply nodded yes when asked if he understood. It didn’t really matter anyhow.
He was impressed by the fact that widespread literacy seemed to exist. That was no small accomplishment when one considered the paucity of reading materials.
There was a priest class, whose actions Digger had recorded on several occasions.
Think for yourself.
There was no visual record of the sacrifice made at Saniusar. Digger had said there were several hundred locals in attendance. Pretty sparse crowd when you think of it, in a town with a population they’d estimated at around thirty thousand.
That was 1 percent for a service intended to invoke salvation for the city. “It tells me,” Frank Bergen said, “that these critters don’t take their religious obligations very seriously.”
THE ONE ASPECT of life on Lookout that Collingdale found unsettling was the open sexuality. That struck him as stranger even than the cleric who had gone into the ocean. Scheduled orgies could be found most nights in most cities. With signs inviting participants to pop by. The Goompahs no longer looked like the happy innocents of the early days.
Hutch had also been surprised and had told him she would have liked to bury it for the time being, but the news had already gotten out. A number of politicians and religious leaders had expressed their shock. If you could do orgies at city hall, what kind of society were you running? No wonder they didn’t have time to conduct wars.
The general public, Hutch thought, seemed to be taking it in stride.
He was still in the workroom looking at the Goompah aphorisms when Bill broke in. “Incoming for you, David,” he said. “From the Hawksbill.”
Julie Carson was about an hour and a half away via hyperlight transmission.
One of the screens lit up with the Hawksbill seal, then Julie appeared. “Dave,” she said, “I wanted to say thanks for the material on the Goompahs. We’re getting an education. Whit, by the way, is trying to learn the language, but I don’t think he’s having much luck.”
Collingdale felt a sudden bump and heard the steady thrum of power in the bulkhead change tones. It grew louder. And became erratic.
“He thinks they’re more advanced than we are.” Julie smiled. At least he thought she had. Her image disintegrated, came back, and began to roll over. “He says they’re less violent and less hung up about sex. I’ve watched them pop one another in the street, and they don’t seem less violent to me. They just look funnier when they fall down.”
The screen went blank. The captain’s voice broke in: “ Everybody please get to a harness. We’ll be making a jump in less than one minute. I say again. ”
Collingdale’s heart sank. They were still ten weeks from Lookout.
ARCHIVE
We now know that the creatures the media have been so blithely referring to as Goompahs, with all the innocence and unsophistication that term implies, in fact worship pagan gods, practice an equivalent of human sacrifice, and engage in unrestrained sex. Margaret, this is shocking behavior, utterly beyond belief. It demonstrates the absolute depravity of the Nonintervention Protocol. Do these unfortunate creatures possess souls? Of course they do, or they wouldn’t be seeking their Creator. But they’re being misled, and they need to be shown the truth. I urge everyone who’s out there watching today to get in touch with their congressman, to write to the Council, to demand that the Protocol be declared null and void.
When you think about it, Margaret, it’s already too late for a lot of them. A disaster of major proportions is about to overtake them, and large numbers of them are going to their judgment utterly unprepared. We have an obligation to act, and it seems to me if we fail to do so, we will share their guilt.
— Rev. George Christopher
The Tabernacle Hour
chapter 28
On board the al-Jahani.
Wednesday, September 17.
THEY WERE OUT under the stars again.
“No chance?” he asked Alexandra, pleading with her, demanding that she come up with something.
“I’m sorry, David,” she said. “It’s kaput.”
They were moving at 20,000 kph. Crawling. “How about if we just try it? Just make the jump back? See what happens.”
Alexandra was about average size, came up maybe to Collingdale’s shoulder. She lacked the presence of some of the other female captains he’d known, did not have the knack of putting iron into her voice when she needed to, did not have Priscilla Hutchins’s blue gaze that warned you to back off. Nevertheless she said no, and he understood that she would not risk the ship.
She was blond, with good features, not beautiful, but the kind of woman you knew you could trust if you were in trouble. Under normal circumstances she was congenial, easygoing, flexible. “Overriding,” she said, “would pose a severe risk to the ship and the passengers, and we will not do it.”
There wasn’t much jiggle room that he could see. He argued for a couple of minutes before reluctantly conceding. “I’d better let Julie know.”
“I’ve already sent a message to the Hawksbill. They should be getting it in about”—she checked the time—“an hour.”