Episode 11, “Homage to Luxenben”

Verifying Neuman’s location the next morning took only a call to Research’s front desk.  Its cooperative receptionist informed me that, although Neuman was indeed quartered in the institution, there was no way of contacting him directly. She would, however, be happy to leave a message with his case worker, Mr. Mulhouse who would return my call shortly.  And, in fact, within the hour Mulhouse phoned.  Yes, a meeting with Mr. Neuman could be arranged as soon as 1:00 the following day, if that would be satisfactory.  When I quickly agreed, the case worker said he would advise the guard at the gate to expect me and point the way to the Product Development Building where I would find my friend.  I put down the phone and heaved a sigh of relief.  However Neuman had been treated these last ten weeks, the authorities evidently had no qualms about his being interviewed by an outsider.  I was further relieved to learn that the boy was to be found someplace besides the psycho ward Eddie had envisaged.  I set aside the worst of my fears and looked forward to the afternoon.

In this positive frame of mind, I went to find Eddie, my newfound information source, who, I hoped, would forearm me with enough knowledge of the Research facility to deal more confidently with its personnel.  Besides I had another motive in interrogating the little beast.  The previous day’s junket to the Pageant had left me, for the first time, curious about what undercurrents might be circulating beneath Semiland’s placid surface.  Thus far, whenever I had a question about SVI’s doings, I habitually ran to Matilda for information.  After our outing, however, I began to realize that she invariably sided with the company on every issue I raised.  Eddie, I suspected, would prove to be a more open minded resource.

The little beast was seated contentedly on one of the benches surrounding the courtyard just outside the cafeteria.  Seeing me, he proffered a grubby handful of cheddar-flavored popcorn from a huge bag at his side but did not seem overly disappointed when I declined as I sat down beside him.

I began our conversation by asking him how he had ended up in Research in the first place.

“We only got here a little while ago.  Went through orientation—maybe the class just before yours—just like everybody else.  Passed all their tests.  Assumed I was a shoo-in for trustyship.

“But you weren’t?”  I hardly knew what to ask next.  His modest size should have made his conferment practically automatic.  Understandably, the smaller the Semi the fewer qualms the curators had about letting him wander about unescorted.  Aware of my embarrassment, he answered my question without my having to state it.

“They were worried about my teeth,” the little beast explained.  “See.”  Eddie unhinged his jaw and opened his mouth wide for my inspection.  One look and I had no trouble sympathizing with the curators’ concern.  His incisors may have lacked the heft of those of a saber-toothed tiger, but their proportions were similar.  All in all, his dentition would have been impressive for an ani­mal three times his size.

“I kept telling them I was a vegetarian.  Which was true.  Largely true, at any rate.  There aren’t many of us up here and we tend to keep our distance.  A Ruinecamian Fellowship Society would have trouble attracting new members, you know.”  The little beast curled his lips back in an expression that I supposed would have been thought win­some by oth­ers of his kind.  “The zoologists they brought in claimed my species couldn’t have devel­oped teeth like mine munching on water­cress.  Didn’t buy my explanation about them being a throw­back from a carnivorous branch we didn’t even talk about any more.”

“I take it you didn’t bring up your protein predilec­tions?”

“Hell no, why should I?” Eddie said defensively. “So the next thing I know, they throw me into a cage with a lot of what they called ‘tidbits.’  One day it’d be a bunch of mice.  Next day it’d be ham­sters.  Every goddamn hyperactive, bite-sized animal they could think of.  They even installed a little barbecue grill with a shelf full of sauces.”

“How long did that go on?”

“For over a month.  Geez, every time I rolled over I was afraid I was going to squash something,” the little beast recalled unhappily.

“I take it you didn’t snap at the bait.”

“Who’d want disgust­ing stuff like that?  Packing away other species is your cup of tea, remem­ber?  Anyway, they finally let me out a couple of weeks ago.  God, I hope you’re wrong about them throwing me back in there.  It got pretty tiresome.”

“But otherwise the staff treated you okay?”

“Yeah, on the whole, I’d have to say they were a pretty civil bunch.  Let me out to stretch my legs whenever I wanted.  That sort of thing.”

“That’s good to hear.  I’ll have a chance to talk to my friend Neuman tomorrow.  Find out what kind of treatment he’s had.”

“He’ll be okay,”  Eddie said.  “I wouldn’t worry about him.”

“I hadn’t until I ran into a guy named Conrad at the Pageant last night.  Claimed the company was out to screw us every way it could.  Tried to get me to join Surge.  You’ve heard of them?”

“Who in Semiland hasn’t?”

“Who are they?”

“Beats me.  Came out of nowhere a couple of months ago.”

“I don’t know what they’re bitchin’ about.  Seems to me we’ve got it pretty good here.  Matty says Conrad’s a weasel.  Doesn’t believe a word he says.”

Eddie looked doubtful.  “Matty’s a company gal.  Personally, I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

“But what’s the point?  I mean even if every inmate signed up with Surge, it wouldn’t change anything.  The company holds all the cards.”

“I wouldn’t say that.  SVI’s in hot water.  Last thing they need is another front to fight on.”

“Hot water?”

“Financial trouble.  Big time.”

“Really?” I said in surprise.  “First time I heard about it.  They’re such a huge outfit.  Ventureland must make them a mint.  And with all those spaceships out there.  Hard to believe when you look around this place.  You sure?”

“Yeah, the words gotten around.  Course that’d be the last thing Matty’d talk about.”

“But you would, right?”

“It’s kinda of long story.”

“That ‘s all right.  I haven’t got anything better to do.”

I settled comfortably back against the bench backrest, gazed at the sky, and waited expectantly for Eddie’s narrative to unfold.  But when no sound was forthcoming, I turned back to my companion.  His agitated whiskers bespoke a distracted state of mind.

“I’m starved,” he said.  To demonstrate his plight, Eddie held his now empty popcorn bag upside down and shook out the crumbs.  Without further explanation, the little beast hightailed it back to the cafeteria and I was left wondering whether or not he would return.  But he reappeared a few minutes later with a refilled bag and composed expression.  He plopped down beside me and prepared to fill me in.

“When SVI got started, they made tons of money.  Luxan technology was years ahead and the gooks were willing to pay anything to get it.  Machine tools, computers, medical devices, software, you name it.  So all they had to do was plunk down on just about any underdeveloped planet, stiff the natives for everything they had on board, and bring home the loot in whatever form the they could profit from: goods, gold, zoo specimens, whatever.

“But as time went on, pickings got slimmer.  Their advanced customers got tired of paying through the nose for Luxenben’s higher manufacturing and distribution costs.  And paying SVI a fat profit besides.  So over the years, their customers learned how to make most everything they needed on their own.  Lower volume and thinner profits for SVI.  Other planets just plain ran out of gold.  And now that they’ve got the zoo filled with just about every creature imaginable, it didn’t make much sense to haul in more.”

“But couldn’t they always find new planets to sell to?  There’s got to be a lot of them out there?” I asked.

“Good question.  Yeah, plenty of them.  More than enough to provide a marketplace big enough for SVI and every other trading company out there.  Trouble is they can’t touch them.”

“Why’s that?”

“Regulations.  They go way back.  Back when the companies could sell any technology they wanted to any planet they wanted to.”

“Free trade, in other words.  What’s wrong with that?” I asked.

“Herculus is what’s wrong.  Herculus was a highly advanced planet that lapped up whatever technology SVI ships had to offer.  Paid for it all in hard currency.  Became the company’s top customer.  Written up in their newsletters and everything.  Problem was Herculus already had armies armed to the teeth.  Grabbed ahold of all that new stuff like it was a gift from heaven.  And where do you think they applied it?”

“Oh, oh.”

“Right.  Took them less than one-hundred years after SVI first landed.  The war killed off all animal life, and plant life died out too over the years.  They say  you can’t find a blade of grass on it even today.”

“Pretty much like Haydes, I guess.  The planet that Weyland  talked about.”

“Except you could say that in Herculus’s case, Luxenben was as much to blame as dichotomania.  You can imagine the political uproar that caused.  Ethical Luxenben knocking off millions of intelligent beings like that.  So the government rushed through regulations prohibiting all contact with newly discovered planets except to acquire zoo specimens and make scientific observations.  Only exceptions were planets that, like Luxenben, were united in a single government so that there was no possibility of a large scale war.”

“So that stopped SVI from gaining new customers.”

“Pretty much.  They found a few stable ones, but not many.  And meanwhile their existing base kept shrinking like I said.  The bottom line is that SVI’s bottom line stinks.  And with the company on  the ropes like that dependent on Ventureland to pay the bills, Surge’s got more leverage.”

“I guess  that’s why Conrad was harping on the company selling those bags of popcorn.”

“That’s nothing compared to the fuss Surge’s making about the Church in the Round.  Conrad tell you about that?”

“Nope.”

“Don’t worry.  He’ll get around to it.  You can’t argue with him.  SVI is milking Ventureland for all its worth.  Maybe they have  to.  I don’t know.”

“Who’s the church for?”

“We Semis.  Interdenominational.  Any recognized religious organization that wants to use it.”

“The Fulls are so bent on their own religion, I’m surprised they’re so tolerant.”

“Tolerance?  I’d call it expedience.  All that praying and hallelujahing keeps us divided and easier to govern.  Another thing.  The Fulls didn’t want us attending their own churches, least of all the Shrine, seeing how close it is to the zoo, you know.  What it boils down to is that we can practice any damn religion we want to as long as it’s not their’s.  That’s tolerance for  you.”

Despite Eddie’s anti-company version, my inclination was to give our hosts the benefit of the doubt.  “That’s your interpretation.  Maybe they don’t want to impose their own beliefs.  Sounds to me like they were showing respect for cultural differences.”

“Respect?  Yeah.  That’s it,” Eddie said with a tooth-filled smile.

Eddie had opened up another subject I was ignorant of and I began to question him further on it, but he was in no mood to talk any longer.  I could see the church for myself if I liked.  It was in easy walking distance, he said, and gave me directions to a section of the zoo I had not thus far ventured into.

As I watched the little beast plod purposely back to the cafeteria, it occurred to me that with his furrowed brow, rumpled clothing, and whittled-down frame, he could pass for an itinerant philosopher trundling about town contributing, on the cheap, his sagacity to one thought-provoking assignment after another.

Until now I had had no reason to distinguish between the ultimately satisfying ambiance of the zoo and the efficacious workings of the planet as a whole—it was as though they belonged to the same unbroken, utopian continuum.  Now that I was aware of the zoo’s discord, that link had been shattered.  Implied in Eddie’s account was the possibility that Space Ventures, Incorporated could actually go bankrupt.  Perhaps fall into other hands or cease operations entirely.  If so, what would become of us inmates?  From what I had heard of Luxenben’s smaller zoos, it was unlikely that a new operator would be as attentive to our needs as SVI had been.  And life, as an unemployable Semi, outside a patron’s custody was virtually unthinkable.  Even SVI’s promised escape hatch seemed in jeopardy; it was doubtful that a company on the verge of dissolution would be in position to honor its commitment to return desirous Semis to their native planets.

Sadly, it appeared as if Ventureland, like Earth, had its share of good guys and bad guys.  The trouble would be telling them apart.

*    *    *

With the afternoon open and my curiosity whetted, after lunch I made my way to the chapel.  It was not hard to find.  Once I came within its vicinity, a series of signs guided me to the Church in the Round that I took to be my destination.

A line of Surge picketers was the first thing I saw of  the place.  The placards they carried made clear they were strongly opposed to something, but just what I did not at first understand.  One read, “Religion in, Money out” and another “Keep Your Noses Out of Our Bibles.”  However, when I came nearer the church, the source of the picketers’ complaint and Eddie’s cynicism was clear enough.

Enclosed within a beautiful arboreal setting and lavishly ornamented with flower beds, hedges, and natural stone walks, the church possessed all the elements one would wish for in a pastoral religious institution: a raised altar, pulpit, and circumferential pews all made up of sturdy, beautifully-fitted, blond wood fixtures and all.  But, unfortunately, the Church in the Round did not stop there.

Rising above the pews were rows upon rows of bleacher seats—some eight in all—and beyond them stood a high chainlink fence entirely surrounding the church-cum-entertainment venue.  The only entrance was through a wood stall containing two ticket windows.  And mounted on the stall’s front wall was a large signboard on which was posted the services/shows of the day, their times, and ticket price which varied, I gathered, according  to their duration and exoticism.

As it happened, an event—to use a generic term—was taking place inside when I arrived and I was interested in seeing it.  However, uncertain of the rules, I hesitated just outside the entrance until a friendly arm, extended from one of the ticket windows, waved me in free of charge.  Just beyond the stall, the entryway divided in two.  Taking the walk denoted for Semis, I turned into the church proper and took a seat among the pews.

The sacred rites being performed had no significance to me since I knew nothing of the religion from which they derived, but they did strike me as being more theatrically costumed and lavishly produced than I would have expected of a normal religious ritual—that is, until I learned later that the officiating officials got a cut of the house and, not surprisingly, spiced up the service for popular consumption.  In any case, my fellow worshippers were as totally absorbed in the proceedings as any comparable group of congregants on Earth.  Prayer books in hand, they dutifully followed the service, kneeling, standing, and chanting on cue, and seemingly insensible to the role they played in the affair.

I gazed at the gaping Fulls ringing the church in the half-filled paid-seating stands, and guessed this was not a bad turnout for a mid-afternoon, weekday program.  They were a respectful audience, or at least tried to be.  Granted there were prominent signs directing the audience to observe decorum during the service but these, I suspected, were largely superfluous.  Common regard for the expression of devotion, no matter how seemingly bizarre, was probably the stronger motivator.  On the other hand, there were the inevitable occasional outbreaks of giggling and elbow nudging by the younger set and popcorn-bag rattling by one and all.  Certainly there were no overt acts of derision but, had there been, I noticed there were husky attendants who looked perfectly capable of quickly ushering out any hecklers.

Frankly, I was not sorry when it was all over.  The service shortly became a bore and there was nothing happening in the stands to arouse further interest.  I shook hands with one of the Semi chaplains at the door and headed back to the dorm to get Matty’s opinion of what had struck me as an indefensible commercialization of religion.  Certainly my earlier image of the company as a bastion of religious freedom was more than a little tarnished.

Nothing I told the old bird was a surprise to her.  She knew all about the church and, indeed, had attended a wedding there only a few weeks before.  Moreover, she was perfectly comfortable with what she called a win-win-win arrangement.  Win for us Semis who would otherwise have no place to congregate.  Win for the Semi clergy who, prior to the church’s construction, had no sanctuary with which to identify and no place to hold services except in the sometimes inclement open air.  And win, obviously, for the company whose income from  the Church in the Round was nearly that of what it derived from general admission.

“But, surely,’ I argued, “there are other, less offensive, means of raising money.”

“Name one,” she snapped.

“Well, I can’t.  Not off the top of my head.  But…”

“How about our feeding times?  Or lovemaking?  Like those any better?”

“Come on, you know…”

“Look,” she demanded.  “Has it ever occurred to you how the company can afford all of our freeloading?  It’s profit from trading is only a trickle of what it made in the old days.  Ventureland is what’s putting food on the table and don’t you forget it.  Or go join Surge and make sure we all starve to death.  You’re in league with them or you’re out.  Make up your mind.”

“Out, Matty.  Out.”