Exploits

by Mike Resnick

  “We have everything we need,” she replied. “We have no desire to be overrun by outsiders.”

  “You could at least send a team to the Senior Olympics and clean up making side bets on ’em.”

  She shook her head sadly. “Once a citizen of Shali-Mar leaves, the aging process accelerates. Before he passes beyond the mountains that surround us, he is a gnarled and withered travesty of a human being.”

  “Yeah, I can see where that might present a problem or two,” I said. “Especially in the sprints and high hurdles.”

  “But we have no wish to leave,” she continued. “Our life here has been idyllic, and now that we once again have a High Lama, it will be perfect.”

  “Well, now that you brought the subject up,” I said, “just what does the High Lama do?”

  “You are our spiritual leader,” she explained. “It is your job to probe the eternal verities.”

  “I can think of a lot of ’em that need probing,” I agreed, getting into the spirit of it. “Like why do elevators all arrive at the same time? Or why does it always rain right after you wax your car? Why does traffic always move faster in the other lane?”

  “Those are not precisely the ones I had in mind,” she said.

  “Why don't you come up to my room tonight?” I said, “We can discuss what you got in mind, plus a couple of things I got in mind.”

  “Oh, I couldn't do that, Doctor Jones,” she said.

  “Well, if it's a problem, I could come to your room,” I said agreeably.

  She shook her head. “The High Lama must avoid even the appearance of impropriety.”

  “What's the point of being the High Lama in the first place if I can't pay a social call on a lovely young lady when I'm of a mind to?” I asked.

  “It simply isn't done,” she said. “You are our spiritual leader.”

  “No reason why I can't do both,” I said. “I always set aside Sunday mornings for saving souls.”

  “You do not understand, Doctor Jones,” she said. “The High Priestess must forsake all earthly pleasures.”

  “That's kind of a rigid job qualification, ain't it?” I said.

  “No one ever said that being the High Priestess was easy,” she answered.

  I made up my mind then and there to issue an executive order, or whatever it was High Lamas did, to the effect that it was okay for the High Priestess to indulge in a little hanky-panky from time to time, and was about to mention it to her when a couple of Lesser Priestesses arrived with lunch, and since I hadn't seen no cooked food for almost a month I sat right down and started eating away.

  Tard came in just when I was finishing up dessert, and told Lisara that he had to prepare me for the inauguration or coronation or whatever gets done to them what is elected High Lama, and that she could continue talking to me at dinnertime. She bowed and left the room, and Tard sat himself down next to me.

  “You will officially become our High Lama in a ceremony this afternoon,” he said. “I think it would be best if you shaved and bathed before it begins. I'll have a couple of servants prepare your bath.”

  Well, you can imagine my disappointment when I found out that the servants were of the masculine persuasion, so I scrubbed right quick, shaved off three weeks’ growth, and got into this white robe they'd laid out for me. I'd barely had time to light up a cigar when Tard came by and ushered me down to a huge open courtyard in the middle of the temple. It seemed like the whole town was there to greet me, all of ’em young and beautiful except for them what was young and handsome, and pretty soon Lisara showed up, looking better than ever, and started talking at me in some unfamiliar language, and then she and everyone else seemed to be waiting for an answer, so finally I said “I sure do!” and she put this gold amulet around my neck and then everyone knelt down again and suddenly I was the High Lama. I figured at least we'd have a few drinks to celebrate, and maybe do a little serious dancing, and I was already preparing a speech about how I was gonna clean up all the mistakes of the previous administration and lower taxes and put a chicken in every pot, when they all kind of wandered off back to their houses, and I was left alone with Tard and Lisara.

  “That's it?” I said.

  “It is accomplished,” said Tard.

  “Ain't there even no Inauguration Ball?” I asked.

  “It would be anticlimactic after your investiture,” said Tard.

  “Are you trying to tell me that there little ceremony was the high point of the day?”

  “For most of our people, it was the high point of their lives,” said Lisara.

  “Well, I can see we're gonna have to make some changes around here,” I said.

  “That might not be a wise idea,” said Tard.

  “I'm the High Lama, ain't I?” I said.

  “Yes.”

  “As I understand it, that means that any idea I got is a quality idea.”

  “But you are supposed to spend your life in serene contemplation,” said Tard.

  “I been contemplating non-stop since I got here,” I said. “I spent half the afternoon contemplating what that gold lion would be worth on the open market, and I spent the rest of it contemplating how much rent I could save the government by having Lisara move in with me.”

  “I don't think you understand your position, Doctor Jones,” he said. “You are the High Lama of Shali-Mar.”

  “Right,” I said. “And that means what I say goes.”

  “Within limitations,” said Tard.

  “Nobody ever mentioned no limitations for me when I applied for the job.”

  “Aren't you aware of the fact that you just took vows of poverty and celibacy in front of the entire community?” said Tard.

  “I did what?”

  “It's true, Doctor Jones,” said Lisara. “That's what you agreed to at the end of the ceremony.”

  “I thought I was agreeing to be the High Lama!” I said.

  “You were,” she said. “And the High Lama is penniless and celibate.”

  I took off the amulet and handed it to Tard. “That being the case, I hereby resign from the High Lama business.”

  “You can't,” he said.

  “I just did.”

  “I urge you to consider the consequences of your actions,” said Tard. “If you are not the High Lama, then you are just an intruder from the Outside World, and it is our obligation to kill you.”

  “Why?” I demanded. “What have I ever done to you?”

  “We must keep our location secret, or we will be overrun with adventurers who will steal our women and loot our treasures.”

  “Let's calm down and be reasonable, Brother Tard,” I said. “I can see why you don't want no foreign devils messing with your women or your trinkets, but it seems to me that a naturalized devil who also happens to be the High Lama ought to have a little more leeway.”

  “That's out of the question,” he said, and then held out the amulet in one hand and drew his sword with the other. “You can be the High Lama, or you can be put to death. The choice is yours.”

  “Well,” I said, staring at his sword, “I can see now that I may have been a little hasty in my previous decision. I suppose there's worse things than being the High Lama.” First and foremost of which was the thought of getting cut up into fishbait.

  Tard reached over and placed the amulet around my neck again. “You are young and hot-blooded and impetuous, as I once was,” he said, putting his sword back in its sheath. “Fortunately, it's a phase that only lasts for two or three centuries.”

  “Well, that's a definite comfort, Brother Tard,” I said glumly. “I think I'll take a walk around the kingdom and mull over everything you've said.”

  “Certainly, Doctor Jones,” answered Tard. “Dinner will be served at sunset.”

  “Lisara, why don't you come with me to make sure I don't get lost?” I said.

  “I am yours to command,” she said. I must have looked right approving of that, because she quickly added, “Within limitatio
ns.”

  We started walking through the fields, and everywhere I went people kept kneeling down the second they saw me, and I tried to imagine a couple of centuries of seeing nothing but the tops of peoples’ heads.

  “Try not to be disappointed, Doctor Jones,” said Lisara. “You will soon adjust to the contemplative life.”

  Well, truth to tell, for the past five minutes the only contemplating I'd been doing was how to get out of Shali-Mar with maybe a few diamonds and rubies for my trouble, and perhaps a handful of Lesser Priestesses for warmth and companionship of a cold winter's night, but Lisara was going on so rhapsodically about the pleasures of the mind that I figured that this probably wasn't the most propitious time to share my thoughts with her.

  We got back to the temple just in time for dinner, and afterward Lisara went off to wherever it was that the Priestesses hung out, and Tard came up and asked me if there was anything he could do for me before I turned in.

  “Well, now that you come to mention it, Brother Tard,” I said, “I still got some questions about this whole set-up.”

  “Yes?”

  I nodded. “Like, for example, nobody ever grows old or gets sick here, right?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Then what did the last High Lama die of?”

  “He tried to cross the bridge and leave Shali-Mar, and so I was forced to kill him,” answered Tard.

  “Was he a visitor, like me?” I asked.

  He nodded. “So were the three before him.”

  “Let me guess: you killed them all for trying to leave?”

  “Curious, isn't it?” said Tard. “That so many High Lamas would want to leave our little paradise?”

  “Beats the hell out of me,” I said.

  “Was that all you wished to know, Doctor Jones?”

  “I got a few more questions, if you got the time to answer them.”

  “Certainly,” he said.

  “Just out of curiosity,” I said, “is there anything a High Lama can do that constitutes a firing offense, as opposed to a killing offense?”

  “Absolutely nothing,” he said. “As long as you obey your vows, you are virtually all-powerful in Shali-Mar.”

  Which was like telling me that as long as Exterminator didn't break no legs, he was a fair-to-middling racehorse.

  “Is there anything else you wish to know, Doctor Jones?” he asked.

  “No, I guess that's about it.”

  “If you need anything, just send for me,” he said, bowing. “I am your servant.”

  Which was just when the Lord suggested to me that there was more than one way to skin a cat.

  “Just a minute,” I said.

  “Yes, Doctor Jones?”

  “Who appointed you my servant?”

  “We are all your servants.”

  “Okay, then—who made you the chief administrator?”

  “I have been chief administrator for more than three hundred years.”

  “But if I was to make an official pronouncement that you'd be better fit to clean the royal stables, you'd show up for work there tomorrow morning with a broom and a shovel, right?”

  “Have I displeased you in some way, Doctor Jones?”

  “Not a bit, Brother Tard,” I said. “But I just did my first serious visualizing of the Cosmic All tonight, and for some reason I keep seeing you sweeping up behind horses.”

  “Why am I being demoted?” he asked.

  “Don't view it as a demotion at all,” I said. “If I was you, I'd consider it an opportunity to get back in touch with the common people—them what don't hold their noses and run the other way when you approach.”

  “Is this change in my status temporary or permanent?” he asked, kind of frowning.

  “Well, seeing that no one ever gets old here, I think you can view it as temporary,” I said. “I figure six or seven hundred years ought to do the trick.”

  He swallowed hard.

  “One more thing,” I said. “As your last official duty, pass the word that I'll be interviewing potential chief administrators tomorrow morning.”

  He stared at me and didn't say nothing, and since I'd said everything I had to say, I gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder and went up to my room.

  Tard showed up maybe half an hour later. “Perhaps I was mistaken,” he said.

  “Yeah?”

  “The High Lama is incapable of making an unwise decision,” he said. “And since it is patently unwise to send such a qualified person as myself to work in the stables for the next five hundred years, you perforce cannot be the High Lama.”

  “I do believe you've hit the nail on the head, Brother Tard,” I said.

  “Therefore,” he continued, “the best thing to do is sneak you out of here under cover of night.”

  “I was wondering how long it would take you to come around to that conclusion,” I said.

  “How soon can you be ready to leave?” he asked.

  “I've been all packed for the past twenty minutes,” I told him.

  “Where is your luggage?”

  “Right there on the bed,” I said, pointing to my backpack.

  “Excuse me for a moment,” he said, and started rummaging through it. It was after he'd pulled out the fifteenth and last of the statues that he turned to me and said, “Did you plan to leave us anything?”

  “These are just little keepsakes to remind me of the pleasant hours I spent here as the High Lama,” I said. “I mean, it ain't as if you got any picture postcards I can take with me.”

  “The amulet,” he said, holding out his hand.

  Well, his other hand was perched on the handle of his sword, so I sighed and took it off from around my neck and tossed it onto the bed.

  Then I followed him down to the main level of the temple, out the door, across the fields, and over to the bridge. All the guards took one look at me and immediately knelt down and bowed their heads, and I was across the bridge before anyone looked up. They hooted and hollered a lot, but I knew none of ’em would cross the stream to come after me as long as doing so would qualify ’em for a quick trip to the old age home.

  As I headed toward India, I decided that the Land of Eternal Youth wasn't all it was cracked up to be, especially since it seemed to go hand-in-glove with eternal poverty, and I redirected all my more serious contemplating toward rounding up a grubstake and building the Tabernacle of St. Luke.

  7. Secret Sex

  There are worse things than walking down the streets of Delhi on a hot summer day.

  For one thing, you could be walking down the streets of Delhi on a hot summer day with a bunch of knife-wielding gamblers hot on your trail for trying to pay off your losses with a pandaskin coat.

  Or you could be walking down the streets of Delhi on a hot summer day with half the British Raj hunting for you because you figured that white men ought to stick together in foreign climes and you borrowed a few thousand rupees from the local church and left an IOU in its place so that you could pay off all them disgruntled gamblers.

  Or you could be walking down the streets of Delhi on a hot summer day with the Royal Governor's private guards searching for you after you figured you'd raise a little capital by selling tours to the executive mansion to a group of British clergymen, and when you got a mite confused and turned right instead of left, you came across the Royal Governor and a pair of chambermaids reenacting a solemn Biblical scene what probably took place on a regular basis between Solomon and a couple of his more athletic wives.

  Or you could be walking down the streets of Delhi looking out for the father and eight burly brothers of one of the city's fairest flowers, who in their enthusiasm to welcome a little fresh blood into the family seemed totally unable to differentiate between a declaration of eternal love and a bonafide proposal of marriage.

  All of which had happened to me through a series of innocent misunderstandings, but which nonetheless imbued me with a pretty strong desire to take my leave of Delhi until everyo
ne calmed down and was willing to listen to reason.

  It was when I saw a handful of the Royal Governor's men standing in the middle of the road, comparing notes with a couple of gamblers, that I decided it might be a good idea to duck into a nearby building and wait for nightfall before clearing out, so I walked through the nearest door and found myself in the lobby of the Victoria Hotel, which looked like it had been sadly in need of a spring cleaning for the better part of half a century or so.

  “May I help you, Sahib?” asked the desk clerk, who was a skinny little Indian with a dirty turban.

  “Yeah,” I said, looking out the window as the governor's men started looking into all the shops and stores. “I need a place to stay, kind of short term.”

  “We have a number of empty rooms,” he said.

  “I don't need nothing for the whole night,” I said. “Five or ten minutes should do the trick.”

  He frowned. “We have never rented a room for less than the night, Sahib,” he said.

  “I ain't got no time to haggle,” I said, flashing my last fifty rupees and walking around behind the desk next to him. “I'll just rent this here floor space for half an hour. Payable when I get up and leave.”

  I sat down about ten seconds before a couple of soldiers entered the lobby and walked over to the clerk.

  “We're looking for an American masquerading as a minister,” said one of them. “Have you seen him?”

  I shoved half the rupees into the clerk's hand.

  “No, Sahibs,” he answered. “No one has come in here all day.”

  “Well, if he should, let us know.”

  “Certainly, Sahibs,” he said.

  He waited until they walked out and closed the door behind them, then turned and looked down at me.

  “You can stand up now,” he said. “They're gone.”

  “It's kind of comfortable down here,” I said. “Besides, they were just the first wave of an unending ocean of misfortune.”

  “There are more people looking for you?” he asked.

  “No more'n eighty or ninety of ’em,” I answered.

  “What did you do?”

  “Hardly anything at all,” I said. “These English fellers just can't stand the fact that we whipped ’em at Bunker Hill. All I can figure is that they're still carrying a grudge.”