by Allen Steele
“Arrested?” Carlos raised an eyebrow. “Why? Who is he?”
“No name…or at least none that I’ve heard. But he calls himself the chaaz’maha, and claims that he’s a teacher of something called Sa’Tong. According to him, it’s the principal religion of…”
“The hjadd, yes. And also the Talus.” Carlos became more interested. “I’ve heard about it before. The Prime Emissary says that it’s not a religion, per se, but rather sort of a spiritual philosophy.” He regarded the tent with curiosity. “I wonder how he could’ve…?”
“From what I’ve heard, he claims to have been given some sort of holy book by one of the hjadd.” A crooked smile appeared on Vogel’s face. “Sounds far-fetched, but apparently he’s managed to attract quite a following in Carlos’s Pizza. And now he’s getting people here to listen to…”
“What does he look like?” Carlos looked at him sharply. “A young man, in his twenties?”
“I…I don’t know.” Vogel was obviously taken aback by the urgency of Carlos’s question. Lynn quietly moved closer to listen in. “I haven’t seen him myself, but I was told that a proctor recognized him as someone who’s apparently wanted by the law. In any case, a couple of officers came into the camp yesterday to take him away…”
“Where is he now?”
“The local jail, probably.” Vogel peered at him. “Why are you so…?”
“Take me to him. Now.” Without another word, Carlos turned to march back the way they’d come, toward the sedan that had brought his group in from the field where their airship had landed. Vogel glanced at the other officials. Everyone else was just as surprised as he was; no one had a clue as to why the former president wanted to see this person. Vogel hesitated, then hurried to catch up with Carlos, leaving the rest of their party behind…save for Lynn, who fell in with them.
She had a feeling that the New Brighton story had just taken an interesting twist.
RELIGIOUS LEADER ARRESTED IN NEW BRIGHTON
The leader of an as-yet-unnamed religious group has been arrested in New Brighton on charges that he is a convicted felon who violated the terms of his parole.
Hawk Thompson, who calls himself the “chaaz’maha,” was picked up by local authorities while distributing food to immigrants in the Albion refugee camp. Thompson, 26, was convicted nine years earlier (Earth-time) of the second-degree murder of his father, Lars Thompson. He was released on probation after serving eight years of his sentence in a rehabilitation farm in New Florida, and had been working as a customs inspector at the New Brighton spaceport before he abruptly vanished, thereby violating the terms of his parole.
According to sources, Thompson recently returned to New Brighton from the nearby colony of Carlos’s Pizza, where he had assumed the name “chaaz’maha” and presented himself to local residents as a spiritual teacher, advocating a quasi-religious practice he calls “Sa’Tong.” While in Carlos’s Pizza, Thompson organized a relief effort to transport and distribute surplus food from the fishing village to the refugee camp. It was while doing so that he was recognized by New Brighton proctors, who had been on the lookout for Thompson ever since his disappearance.
Thompson is the son of Marie Thompson, the owner of the Thompson Wood Company, one of Coyote’s largest private companies. His uncle is Garth Thompson, the president of the Coyote Federation, and he is also related to Carlos Montero, a former president of the Federation who has recently been involved in high-level negotiations with the provisional government of the Western Hemisphere Union.
Carlos’s Pizza residents who came to New Brighton to assist with the effort were shocked when they learned of Thompson’s true identity, which until then was unknown to them. However, they expressed support for Thompson, whom they continue to refer to as the “chaaz’maha.”
“It doesn’t matter who he was or what he did,” says Bess Cole, a volunteer who witnessed Thompson’s arrest. “So far as we’re concerned, that’s something that happened a long time ago. He’s a different person now, and he’s made a difference in our lives, too.”
Cole said that her group is petitioning for Thompson’s release from the New Brighton jail, where he is currently being held. They are also organizing a public rally to protest…
“I always knew I’d see you again,” Joe Bairns said. “I just didn’t think it’d be this way.”
The parole officer stood outside the jail cell, gazing at the chaaz’maha through the bars. The chaaz’maha noted that Joe had aged a bit since the last time they’d seen each other; his grey hair had become thinner, and he appeared to have lost some weight. Yet there was nothing smug in his attitude, and when the chaaz’maha searched his old friend, he found only bitter disappointment.
“In jail, you mean?” The chaaz’maha sat cross-legged on the cell bunk, hands folded together in his lap. The proctors had taken away his robe and boots, leaving him with only the homespun tunic and trousers he wore underneath. “If you were expecting to see me again, where else would I be?”
“No. I mean…” Bairns gestured toward his forehead. “What the hell is that, anyway? And what have you done with your hair? If you thought doing that would’ve kept anyone from recognizing you…”
“Not at all.” The chaaz’maha smiled. “In fact, I’m surprised it took so long. My people and I were in the camp two weeks before a proctor spotted me…and even then, he had to come by our tent twice before he was sure,” He shook his head. “So, no, I wasn’t trying to hide from anyone. As you said, this was inevitable.”
“Hawk…”
“Chaaz’maha, please.” He pointed to the tattoo on his brow. “That’s what this means. It’s the hjadd symbol for a teacher of Sa’Tong, which is what I’ve become. Hawk Thompson is no more or less who I am now than is the shadow on the wall behind me.”
Resting a shoulder against the bars, Joe closed his eyes. “Oh, man…you’ve really lost it, haven’t you?”
“Joe…” The chaaz’maha sighed. “Joe, I haven’t lost anything. When you knew me…when you knew Hawk Thompson, that is…he had nothing left to lose. He…”
“Knock it off. We both know who you are.”
“As you wish…I was simply putting in time, waiting until the day I died. That’s how hopeless I’d become.” He uncrossed his legs, stood up from the bunk. “Since I left this place, I’ve found something new. A purpose to life, a direction that gives meaning to my existence. I couldn’t have done that here, which is why I had to go. I apologize for disappointing you, and for the worry that I’ve caused, but please believe me when I say that I’m much happier now.”
“I bet you are. Once you’ve got your own cult…”
“Sa’Tong is not a cult. It’s…”
“Look, I really don’t care. All I know is that I trusted you…hell, I even kept you out of jail, when I could have easily put you away…and this is how you’ve repaid me. I…”
They were interrupted by the creak of a door opening at the end of the cell block. Hearing this, other prisoners began to yell for attention, demanding food, attorneys, or extra blankets, yet the person who’d come in ignored them as he walked down the row to where Joe was standing. And the moment he appeared, the chaaz’maha recognized him.
“Mr. Bairns?” David Laird was properly deferential to the parole officer. “There’s someone here to see the prisoner.” He paused, then added, “I think it’s President Montero.”
Joe’s eyes widened, and he glanced at the chaaz’maha. “Were you expecting him?”
“Not at all,” he replied, as calmly as before. “I’m just as surprised as you are. But, yes, I’d like to see my uncle, if that’s all right with you.”
Joe seemed to think it over. “I want to talk to him first,” he said at last. “Have you eaten yet today? I don’t want you to say that we’ve been starving you.”
“I haven’t, no. Otherwise, the proctors have been quite hospitable.”
“Get him some lunch,” Joe said to Laird, then he looked back at t
he chaaz’maha again. “I’ll bring him in, but not until he and I have had some words.” Then he walked away, leaving Laird behind.
Laird watched him go, but it wasn’t until the door shut behind Joe that he spoke to the chaaz’maha. “Hello, there,” he said, his voice low. “Remember me?”
“Of course. I assisted in your arrest last year.” The chaaz’maha noticed the control bracelet on Laird’s left wrist. “Appears that you’ve done well with yourself since then…or at least as well as you could, under the circumstances. I take it you’re wearing an inhibitor patch as well.”
Laird’s face reddened, but he forced a smile that was meant to be good-natured. The chaaz’maha knew otherwise. “Yeah, well…got lucky, I guess. The maggies don’t have much on me…just that weapons charge, plus attempted assault…and they were still trying to figure out how to get rid of me when the Union collapsed. I behaved myself while I was in here, so they decided to put me on probation.” He lifted his wrist. “Joe made me a trustee. I work the day shift, delivering meals and whatnot. That’s why I haven’t seen you till now. You didn’t get in until last night, I hear.”
“That is true. Seems you neglected to include me when you brought breakfast.”
“Did I now? How thoughtless.” Laird’s smile became a gloating smirk. “Kinda ironic, isn’t it. You…”
“Put you in here, and now I’m the one occupying a cell.” While Laird had been speaking, the chaaz’maha had searched him. “You’re particularly relishing the fact that I’m in the very same cell you occupied for over three months.” He shrugged. “It’s actually not all that uncomfortable. I even believe I could get used to it.”
Laird’s expression changed to one of bafflement. “Someone must have told you…”
“They didn’t. You’re just transparent, that’s all.” The chaaz’maha sighed as he resumed his seat on the bunk. “You think of yourself as a criminal genius, David, but that term is oxymoronic. Criminals are people who are too stupid to get what they want in an honest manner, which is why they resort to illegal acts. Truth is, you’re little more than a common thug…and not even a very threatening thug at that.”
Laird didn’t respond, but the chaaz’maha didn’t need to search him again to know the hateful thoughts coursing through his mind. Indeed, he had to rub his fingers together to keep the ugliness at bay. Finally, Laird regained control over his emotions.
“Remember what I said to you at the spaceport?” he asked, stepping closer to the bars. “That you’d made an enemy of Living Earth?”
“I do…and I have to admit it, it frightened me at the time.” The chaaz’maha lifted his feet from the floor to cross his legs together again. “I know better now. You’re the only Living Earth member on Coyote. In fact, the only reason why you came here in the first place is because you were desperate to get away from Earth before the law caught up with you. Your role in the bombing of the New Guinea space elevator…”
Laird’s mouth fell open. “How could you…?”
“Just a hunch.” He tried not to smile. “Actually, if there’s any irony to be found, it’s that, for someone allegedly opposed to space travel, you had no problem with it when you found yourself on the run. But then, that’s the same reason why there’s no organization here to support you. You’re on your own.”
Astonished that the chaaz’maha could possibly know such things, Laird stared at him. “Maybe…or maybe not,” he muttered, pulling himself together again. “But as long as you’re in here…”
“I’m at your mercy.” The chaaz’maha resumed his lotus position, his hands lightly resting upon his knees. “Yes, I’m sure you can make my stay here uncomfortable. You can withhold meals, or spit in my food, or deny me water, or take away my bedsheets and make me sleep on a bare mattress. And I have no doubt that you could come up with even more imaginative harassments…”
“You bet I can.”
“Perhaps…although I should warn you about that inhibitor patch. I wore one once myself, and its effects are rather unpleasant.” The chaaz’maha shrugged. “But your inability to do violence against me isn’t the only thing you’ve overlooked.”
“And what’s that?”
“For me, this cell is only a physical form of incarceration. Sooner or later, I’ll leave this place. But you’re still in your own private prison.” He paused, then sadly shook his head. “And I’m afraid nothing I could say would ever change that.”
Laird glared at him for another moment or two, until the chaaz’maha closed his eyes and concentrated upon the friction between his thumb and forefinger. After a while, Laird stormed away, his heavy footsteps echoing off the concrete floor until they ended in the slamming of the cell-block door.
The chaaz’maha let out his breath as he sought to calm himself. The encounter with David Laird had been as unpleasant as it had been unexpected; even the few seconds he’d spent in the other man’s mind had been enough to disturb his inner peace. He was about to recite the Poem of Acceptance to himself when a new sound reached his ears.
It came through the narrow window above his bunk, from some distant source beyond the jailhouse walls. Curious, the chaaz’maha listened more closely, and after a moment a smile crept across his face.
He’d heard his name, being chanted over and over again.
DOMINIONIST CLERGYMAN DENOUNCES RELIGIOUS LEADER
The senior minister of the Church of the Holy Dominion mission on Coyote has publicly attacked the leader of the Sa’Tong spiritual group, stating that he represents an alien religion that is “godless, blasphemous, and dangerous.”
The Reverend Alberto Cosenza, a Dominionist deacon who has been serving as acting pastor of the Church’s mission in Liberty, New Florida, spoke out against Hawk Thompson, who calls himself the “chaaz’maha” and claims to be a teacher of a philosophy known as Sa’Tong, which he alleges to be the principal spiritual belief of most extraterrestrial races of the galaxy. Thompson, 26, was arrested in New Brighton, Albion, on charges of jumping parole in connection with the second-degree murder of his father, Lars Thompson, several years earlier.
“Thompson is a criminal and a charlatan,” Rev. Cosenza says, speaking in New Brighton, where he traveled after learning of Thompson’s arrest. “Anything he says is tainted by both past and present sins.”
Rev. Cosenza said that he first learned of Sa’Tong from the mission’s former pastor, Rev. Grey Rice, who resigned from the ministry shortly after Rev. Cosenza arrived on Coyote. The deacon admitted that he hasn’t personally delved into the philosophy’s teachings, but said that its central beliefs are contrary to what is taught by all human religions.
“Sa’Tong is nothing less than an assault on God,” he says. “Regardless of its claim to be a philosophy, the fact remains that it is a religion that doesn’t hold the existence of the Almighty at its core. That alone makes it a clear and present danger to the human race.”
Rev. Cosenza refused to call Thompson by his chosen name, saying that “chaaz’maha” is only “a fictitious title.” He expressed hope that the New Brighton authorities would hold Thompson indefinitely, and that he would face reincarceration for the slaying of his father…
The jail was located on the edge of New Brighton, close to the torii that marked the city limits. The bamboo fence separating the town from the nearby refugee camp had been erected at both ends of the Japanese gate, with a removable barrier blocking the gate itself. It was there, within sight of the jail, that the demonstrators held their rally. They were prevented by local proctors from coming any closer, but they could be clearly seen and heard for many blocks away.
Nonetheless, Grey Rice had managed to slip through the cordon. Upon his arrival two weeks earlier, the proctors had issued name badges to the group from Carlos’s Pizza, identifying them as relief workers and thus allowing them to enter New Brighton for the purpose of bringing in supplies from the harbor. After the chaaz’maha was arrested, Grey volunteered to follow him into town and take up a post near
the jail in order to keep an eye on him; the rest of the relief workers would stay behind, continuing to feed refugees while organizing a protest march in support of their leader. Although the others had been shaken by the news that the chaaz’maha had a dark past, it was a sign of their faith in their teacher that they remained loyal to him.
Grey had found a cheap room in a hostel a couple of blocks from the jail, but he’d only used the place to sleep and change clothes. He’d spent the previous evening, and the morning that followed, sitting on the low stone fence that surrounded the jail, the closest the proctors would allow him to come. They had already denied him permission to visit the chaaz’maha, stating that, for security reasons, none of his students would be allowed to see him. And although the chaaz’maha hadn’t yet been arraigned, the Chief Magistrate had already sent word that he would be denied bail until further notice.
So Grey had spent long hours at the jail, waiting to see what would happen next. He’d used a satphone to keep in touch with the camp and learned that Bess had managed to enlist several hundred people to join the protest. That wasn’t surprising; in the two weeks that the chaaz’maha and his people had been living and working among the refugees, they’d earned their respect and trust; many of them had accepted downloads of the Sa’Tong-Tas along with the hot meals served in their tent. When the chaaz’maha was taken away, it had been in full view of dozens who’d been waiting in line for dinner; word of the arrest had spread quickly, and by morning most of the camp knew that the soft-spoken young man who had come to take care of them had been dragged away by the authorities.
Bess had told Grey that the protesters were scheduled to meet shortly before noon, after which they would march to the torii, where they would stage a demonstration. No attempt would be made to pass through the gate; it was clear that the proctors didn’t want any refugees to enter the city, and the last thing anyone wanted to do was take any actions that might compromise the chaaz’maha’s chances of being released. So nonviolent civil disobedience was to be their way of expressing their outrage. And in the meantime, Grey was to remain where he was, watching the jail to see how the proctors would react to the protest.