Jesus On Mars

by Philip José Farmer

  Martian life seemed for him to be a series of stunning revelations. He was unable to say anything for at least a minute. Then he exploded.

  'Jesus Christ!'

  Gulthilo looked puzzled. He realised he'd spoken in English.

  'I mean,' he said in his slow Krsh, 'you went ahead and submitted my genetic chart or whatever they're called here without asking me?'

  'Why should I ask?'

  'Well, I'm the other partner. Shouldn't you have asked me? And what if the charts had shown a bad mismatch? Do you people go entirely by those? Aren't you allowed to make up your own minds to marry regardless of what the charts say?'

  'Oh, yes. We're allowed. A few do ignore the charts. After all, there's passion, you know. You should know. But over two thousand years, the charts have proved to be 98.1 per cent correct in predicting good marriages. I didn't say ecstatic marriages. There are no such things except perhaps in the first year. Good solid marriages with a steady abiding love. But then, from what you've told me, the majority of people on Earth don't have the character for such marriages.'

  'Maybe I exaggerated somewhat,' he said. 'Okay. What about the 1.9 per cent?'

  'They don't have children. Somehow, they're sterile.'

  'I thought your scientists could make anybody fertile?'

  'Theoretically, they can. But in these cases, they can't.'

  She hesitated, then pointed swiftly beyond him and dropped the hand.

  'It's never been said, not publicly. But it's generally acknowledged that he's responsible for the sterility.'

  Orme turned to look. 'Who? Oh, you mean him?'

  Gulthilo nodded.

  Orme looked incredulous. 'Come on now! Do you know what you're saying? He can prevent conception by just... what... ? Thinking? Telecontraconception?'

  'I don't know how he does it. But he does. At least, we think so. How else explain it?'

  'Quite possibly your scientists are responsible. Or I should say, your government.'

  'Oh, no!' she said. 'No, that would be against the law.'

  'And so he commits illegal acts?'

  'He is the higher law.'

  Orme sighed. She was naive if she thought that the chiefs of state wouldn't do anything underhanded. Or was she? After all, she knew her world better than he did. And would the government dare do anything criminal? All its members were deeply aware of the two eyes that looked down upon them from the sun and, theoretically anyway, saw everything.

  'We're getting away from my question,' she said.

  Orme was saved from answering. A Krsh came to him and told him that he should sit with the others in the privileged section. He was to keep silent until it was his turn to speak.

  Orme touched the blonde's foot and followed the Krsh to a corner of the chamber. He sat down by Bronski and Shirazi, who looked as if they'd like to talk but didn't dare.

  A few minutes later the orchestra began playing a soft slow music. Hfathon, bathed in bright light, stood in the middle of the huge room. A dozen cameramen stood at various places, looking through the eyepieces of the cases in their hands. Orme, glancing upward, saw that there were two cameramen on balconies high up on the wall. A director gave the signal; the music faded into a wail terminated by a clash of cymbals that made Orme jump.

  Hfathon, smiling, began talking in Greek.

  15

  About eleven minutes from now, Orme thought, the satellite relay stations above Earth would be receiving this. And in stations all over the planet there would be scholars, specialists in New Testament Greek, who'd be translating as quickly as they could into their native languages. There would be some words that would puzzle them, since the known vocabulary was limited. These would have to be figured out later.

  Hfathon and ten others had been learning English from their 'guests', but the lessons has been not more than an hour long and not every day. It would be a few months more before the students could speak fluently and they'd be restricted in vocabulary. Hfathon and three others, however, had a perfect standard Toronto pronunciation and would be understood by an English speaker anywhere.

  Orme had suggested that he do all the talking. This would eliminate the need for interpreters. But he'd been turned down without an explanation for the rejection.

  He believed that the Martians insisted upon using Koine because it helped to establish their authenticity. Terrestrials could not doubt that the Martians did know New Testament Greek and better than the Earthly scholars. This was one more item of evidence that their story was true. The Terrestrials might have rationalised that the language had been learned from Bronski. However, he was fluent only in reading it. Besides, it was too much even for the profoundly suspicious to believe that the Martians would go to the great trouble of learning Koine just to add one more layer to an already thick hoax.

  Hfathon suddenly ceased talking. The orchestra played a few bars of a piece that reminded him of the opening of the overture to Beethoven's Seventh Symphony. Yeshua' ha-Meshiakh, Jesus the Christ - or a reasonable facsimile thereof, Orme thought - walked slowly to the centre of the room. Hfathon, facing him, walked backward into the shadows.

  Jesus held up his hand; the music stopped. He began speaking in Greek in the deep voice that sent thrills up Orme's spine and chilled his scalp.

  Orme looked around, saw no one was watching him - though hidden cameras might be focused on him - and whispered in Bronski's ear.

  'What's he saying?'

  Bronski turned his head and put his mouth close to Orme's ear. At the same time, he tried to watch the speaker with one eye.

  'He's saying that he doesn't like to do it, but he believes that it's necessary to demonstrate his powers. He realises that such things can be faked, but he's done the same things under rigorous laboratory conditions. The films of these will be transmitted later. Of course, it's entirely possible that his people could be lying about the results. 'So, at some time later, we four will observe another demonstration and so satisfy ourselves, and Earth, that his powers are indeed what they seem to be.'

  'Yes, but they'll say we were coerced to affirm them.'

  'That's just what he's saying now. Oh, oh!'

  'What? What?'

  'He said that if this isn't enough, he will convince everybody when he comes to Earth!'

  The audience said, 'Ya Yeshua!' in a low deep voice.

  Orme started to say something, but a hard object poked him in the back. He turned around and saw a giant Krsh standing behind the seats. In his hand was a long wooden pole, the end of which he had thrust against Orme. The Krsh shook his head and held a finger against his lips. Orme turned away feeling as if he'd been reprimanded by an usher in church.

  The figure in the blue robe in the centre of the room lifted his arms above his head. Then he levitated to about ten feet above the floor, turned slowly, his arms held out from his sides now, until he completed three circles. The orchestra began playing a wild music in a minor key.

  'Just like a magic show,' Orme muttered. But this, he was convinced, was no trick.

  What was the effect of Jesus's announcement that he would be coming to Earth? Consternation, of course. Especially among the statesmen and the religious. This was the most upsetting news that had ever come to Earth, and its implications were more than religious. They would reverberate throughout every field: political, religious, scientific, economic, psychological, you name it.

  How many countries would allow their citizens to see this? Surely not the communist nations. The communist upper-echelon government officials would be viewing this. But they would not relay this to the populace. But word of this couldn't be kept from the masses forever and there would soon be smuggled cassettes circulating despite the most intense efforts to suppress them.

  For that matter, what would the governments of the socialist democracies do? Were they transmitting this to the people? Or were they agonising now about what to do? Many groups would be possessed with utter fury if this was broadcast. The fundamentalist Chri
stians, the Roman and Eastern Orthodox Catholics, possibly the orthodox and reformed Jews, the Moslems, though the latter were not a potent political force in North America, and who knew how many other off-beat cults? The reaction of the more liberal churches wasn't predictable. But everybody, including the liberals, would share one speculation. What if this was Jesus, and they had been wrong?

  As for the Hindus, they would attempt to assimilate this Martian Jesus in their religion, as they had taken in just about every new god. No, they couldn't, because this Jesus denied that he was a god. Besides, he would reject the totality of the Hindu religion.

  As for the agnostics and atheists, they'd be just as upset, and they'd be equally denunciatory.

  This was a political fission-bomb placed in the laps of Earth world leaders. What were they going to do with it? They couldn't ignore it. The politicos would be sweating, their stomachs would be souring, and the lines to the executive toilets would be increasing by the minute.

  Orme abandoned these speculations as Jesus gently landed on the floor. He said something, smiled, and then turned towards the seats and pointed directly at Orme. At least, he seemed to be doing so.

  'He's going to...' Bronski said in a low but excited voice.

  Richard Orme didn't hear the rest. Suddenly, he was floating up and off the seat and moving out over the floor towards the man whose finger had been pointed at him.

  Orme didn't struggle. After all, he was used to freefall. He felt numb, but not so much that he hoped that he didn't look scared or ridiculous. The least that Jesus might have done was to warn him.

  'Do not be frightened!' Jesus shouted in Krsh. 'You will not be harmed!'

  He said something in Greek, probably, Orme thought, a translation of what he'd just said. Orme didn't have time to consider this trivial item. He shot upward then, until his head was almost touching the ceiling. To one side and below, the cameramen in the balcony had their cases centred on him. He tried to smile, but he went into a somersault then, and, still spinning, though not so swiftly he got dizzy, he descended.

  Seven feet from the floor, the whirling stopped, and he hovered.

  'My apologies to you, Richard Orme,' Jesus said. 'But it is necessary that I do this, since you are the captain of the Earthmen, and your word should have great authority.'

  He crooked his finger, and Orme landed gently upon his two feet. Suddenly, weight was restored. He stood there, blinking and smiling now. It was a foolish smile, though.

  'Now,' the man in the blue robe said, 'I would be pleased if you would tell your people, in English, of course, that there was no trickery involved.'

  The large deerlike eyes seemed to twinkle. But Orme felt that the light was reflected from steel. And, though stars twinkled, their light came from a fire that could destroy a man in a microsecond.

  Orme started to speak, realised he was panting, waited until he'd got his breath, and spoke.

  'What Jesus says is true. There were no wires attached to - me, no propulsive devices... nothing. And this was a complete surprise to me. I don't know how he did it, but...'

  He should not have used the name of Jesus. That would indicate that he believed this man to be what he claimed.

  Well, didn't he?

  'Thank you,' Jesus said.

  Orme turned and started to walk towards the seats. He stopped. He was trembling too much to continue; his legs felt as if they would give way. And then he was lifted up and propelled towards the chair, was halted just above it, turned, and lowered gently onto it.

  The crowd boomed, 'Ya Yeshua' ha-Meshiakh!'

  Jesus held up his hand. There was silence. Presently a Krsh and a man came into the lights. They pulled on ropes to which a wheeled cage was attached. Inside it was a huge ram. Behind the cage was a Krsh carrying in one hand a short slender spear with a bulb on its butt and in the other a large axe.

  The ram bleated and thrust its horns against the bars in front of the cage. Whatever fate awaited it, it was not afraid. It was ready to fight.

  The men halted near Jesus, bowed to him, and one opened the door of the cage. For a minute the ram stood motionless but not silent, then it charged out of its prison, making straight for the man in the blue robe. The crowd gasped, and some called out. Jesus paid them no attention. He fixed his gaze and the point of a finger upon the ram, and it stopped, quivering.

  The Krsh, a male much more massively muscled than most of his fellows, stepped forward. Standing to one side of the animal, he lifted the axe. Light reflected from the steel of the head.

  Jesus said something, and the Krsh brought the axe down. Its edge sheered through the woolly skin, the heavy muscles of the neck, the bones, and the skin. The head fell off; blood spurted out, soaking the lower part of the blue robe and the bare feet beneath.

  Orme felt as if he would vomit. Bronski and Danton said something strangled. Shirazi exclaimed in Persian. The crowd, however, remained silent.

  Bronski whispered, 'That's not the proper, kosher method of killing an animal. But I suppose it's not going to be eaten, so it makes no difference.'

  Jesus walked through the blood, stopped, picked up the ram's head and held it high. The blood ran down his hands and arms. Then he got down on his knees, affixed the head to the ram's body, and stood up. He raised his eyes upward; his mouth moved silently. He knelt down again, ran his fingers over the severed portion, and stood up. He backed away.

  The ram rose groggily to its feet. Its head did not fall off.

  Jesus pointed a finger, and the beast trotted off into the cage. The door was closed, and the cage and the two haulers and the axeman went into the shadows.

  'Ya Yeshua' ha-Meshiakh!'

  The shout was a mixture of awe and triumph.

  Bronski clutched Orme's arm. 'For God's sake, the blood is evaporating!'

  It was true. The red liquid was boiling away. Within twenty seconds, the floor, the robe, and the man were as clean as before the butchery.

  Jesus lifted his hands and uttered something in Hebrew, probably a benediction. Then he walked away, and Orme saw no more of him that day.

  Though Bronski was as shaken as his companion, he still retained his rabbinical curiosity.

  'I wonder,' he murmured, 'if he has to be ritually cleaned now that he's been drenched with blood? Or if, being the Messiah, anything he does is kosher? Or, perhaps, since the blood was evaporated and he's physically clean, there was no uncleanliness? Or what?'

  16

  At 'sunset' in the cavern, an observer on the central administration tower would have seen no light except for the two Gentile houses and the pale globe hanging below the roof of the hollow.

  And then, suddenly, tiny lights would appear in the front windows of every house as if God had said, 'Let there be light.' These were the lamps which the men of the house lit, lamps of burning oil made from the fat of 'clean' animals. By their flames the evening prayers were said, the families standing by the window while the father recited the litany to the Creator.

  Afterwards, the lamps were extinguished and the electric lights were turned on, and the families sat down to a good and generous meal and cheer flowed like the wine.

  The supper that evening in the Shirazis' house, where all four Terrans were eating, was lively though not cheery.

  'The sheep could have been a robot,' Madeleine Danton was saying. She put down her fork by the plate, on which her food grew cold. 'In fact, it must have been. That's the only reasonable explanation, and I'm not going to listen to anything unreasonable.'

  'You're unreasonable,' her husband said. 'Could we make such a lifelike robot?'

  'Not quite. But then these people are far ahead of us in technology.'

  'Perhaps you think that Jesus is a robot. Or that all the Martians are.'

  'You needn't be so sarcastic, Nadir. Nor do I care for your implication that

  I'm paranoiac.'

  'I don't think that,' Shirazi said. 'What I do think is that you are not taking a scientific attitude. Yo
u're too stubborn. Not only about this but about other things, too.'

  He was still angry because Madeleine refused to cook their j meals. She claimed that that was no more her responsibility than his. Anyway, she didn't know how to cook.

  'And you a biochemist,' Nadir had said disgustedly. That remark hadn't lessened the tension between them.

  'Well, I'm not a robot,' Orme said. 'And I know that no mechanical or electrical devices were used to levitate me. If these people have antigravity, they didn't attach any anti-gravity machines to me.'

  Danton picked up her fork again, looked at the roast beef, boiled potatoes, and asparagus, and put the fork down.

  'Perhaps they have some sort of tractor beam.'

  Orme laughed and said, 'Surely I'd have felt it.'

  Bronski said, 'How about the evaporating blood?'

  'A chemical compound or mixture of some sort,' she said.

  'But,' Orme said, 'surely you could feel the aliveness of that animal?'

  'I felt nothing.'

  'You don't feel anything,' Nadir said. 'I've noticed that lately.'

  'Let's keep this conversation on an impersonal level,' she said, coldly.

  Nadir rose abruptly, and, scowling, strode out of the house. Undoubtedly, he would have liked to bang the door behind him, but a hydraulic device prevented him.

  Danton said, 'I don't know what to do with him. We could get along fine if only it wasn't for this... Jesus thing.'

  Orme and Bronski were silent. What was troubling the Iranian was also troubling them. But Nadir's resistance was even greater because he was a Moslem. Bronski, after all, had been raised as an orthodox Jew. To rejoin the faith was easier for him. Orme was a Christian, and, though he would become a Jew, he would also, in a sense, still be a Christian, though not what most Terrestrials would define as such. Not as yet, anyway, he thought sombrely.

  Nadir Shirazi, like his two male colleagues, was overwhelmed by the evidence that the man known as Jesus Christ was more than just a man. In his religion, Jesus was a great prophet, the greatest until Mohammed had appeared. No devout Moslem spoke disparagingly of Jesus. It was the idolatrous attitude of Christians towards Jesus that the Moslem objected to. He was not the son of God by divine intercourse and also God, and there was no Holy Trinity. But here was a man who seemed to tie Jesus, and he disclaimed godhead and the virgin birth. But he was the son of God, if only His adopted son. He had been resurrected, but the Moslem holy book, the Koran, denied that he had even died on the cross.