Federation World

Chapter 20

“I would suggest,” the Keith called, lifting his staff and using it as a pointer, “that you take five paces to the right, where you will feel a section of level foundation just below the surface. Follow it for twenty paces, then turn at right angles to face me, and approach. Unless your species enjoys playing in the muck.”

“We don’t,” Martin said as Beth helped him to his feet. “And thank you.”

Close up, the watcher was a large Keidi whose loose-fitting cloak made it difficult to tell whether the garment concealed fat or muscles. His narrow, horn-tipped feet were planted wide apart so as to form a balanced tripod with its staff, which he grasped in a gauntleted hand.

“Are you organic?” the Keidi asked.

“Yes,” Martin said.

“I thought so,” the Keidi went on, briefly swiveling an eye in the direction of the lander and the silver and black symbol emblazoned on its flank. “A Federation World robot would not be so clumsy. Your species is unfamiliar to me since it is not portrayed in the white building, but you must be one of those all-powerful and all-knowing Federation Citizens. You will excuse me if I don’t prostrate myself in abject awe. Why are you here?”

The other’s hostility was all too plain. Martin said carefully, “My species is a fairly recent addition to the Federation, but we two are not Citizens, and neither are we all-powerful or all-knowing. It is in an attempt to reduce our lack of knowledge that we have come here.”

Always tell the truth. That was the primary rule in other-species contact situations, because to do otherwise and be discovered in a lie could be disastrous so far as future friendly relations were concerned. But there was no need to tell all of the truth, at least not all at once.

“We have been instructed by the Federation to visit a number of your city sites,” Martin said, “to report on conditions generally and to find out if you need anything. The fabricators on our mother ship are capable of producing virtually anything you require, excluding weapons, of course. But there is no need to be frightened of us or…”

“I have already implied by my behavior,” the other broke in, “that I am not frightened by you. That sanctimonious bunch of other-species do-gooders would never allow you to harm us. But, strangers, the opposite does not hold true.”

This conversation was not going well. Not only was this Keidi unafraid and apparently unimpressed by the virtually limitless resources available to them, he was so well-informed that Martin was losing the initiative. It was ridiculous and utterly wrong that an Undesirable should place him at such a disadvantage. He was still trying to think of a reply when Beth broke the lengthening silence.

Thank you for the warning,” she said quietly. “If you think there is danger for us here, we shall leave at once. But is there something we can do for you before we go?”

“Return our city,” the Keidi said.

Beth shook her head. “I’m sorry, its inhabitants prefer it where it is. But could we move all this mud, perhaps, or dry it out for you so that…”

“No,” the other said sharply.

Martin glared at Beth and tried to send nonverbal signals for her to be silent and leave the communicating to the one who was trained for it. He had not intended that they take unnecessary risks but neither, as she had implied, was he intending to turn tail and run at the first tint of danger-at least, not without knowing what exactly they would be running from. But the silence was lengthening again still he could not think of anything positive to say. And Beth, he saw angrily, was turning to leave.

“No,” the Keidi repeated in a quieter tone. “But you are in no immediate danger, and now that you’re here may as well stay for a while. Long enough, at least, for me to find you a couple of sticks.” He turned and pointed toward the entrance to a shelter which, until then, they had mistaken for a large heap of rubble. “I’ll lead the way. Follow me, exactly.”

They did as they were told, but were soon falling further and further behind the more sure-footed Keidi. Martin said quietly, “We nearly lost the contact back there, when you started to turn back. Please let me do the talking from now on.”

“Back there,” Beth said, “you didn’t have anything to say. But the risk was small. I had a strong feeling that it wanted to go on talking to us…he’s going into his shelter. Are we supposed to follow or wait outside until we’re invited?”

Before Martin could reply, the Keidi emerged carrying three light, stacking chairs which it placed in a line outside the entrance. The red plastic upholstery and armrests were stained and worn, and the metal framework was losing the battle against encroaching rust. They were large for the average Earth-human body, but did not look too uncomfortable. The Keidi disappeared again, this time returning with two staves which he placed carefully across the armrests of the outer chairs before seating himself in the middle one.

“Sit,” he said.

The Keidi watched Martin intently as he lifted the wooden staff from the chair, then placed it across his lap as he turned and sat down. It was about two meters long and smelled faintly of some oily preservative. About one-third of the distance from one end it had been tightly wrapped with thin rope to give a secure and comfortable grip to a Keidi hand, and the other end came to a blunt point which was tipped with metal. The Keidi’s watchful attitude made him wonder if the staff represented more than a mere aid to travel, and if the gift might be a test of some kind. Slowly, he lifted it from his lap and laid it on the ground at his feet. As he sat back, Beth hesitated then did the same.

“Thank you,” he said, leaving it unclear whether he was referring to the invitation to sit or the gift of the staff.

Beth slapped suddenly at the side of her neck and the

Keidi said, “They breed in the mud and are particularly hungry at this time of year. Later I can give you an ointment to repel them, but you may well prefer the insect bites to the smell.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Beth said.

Martin thought of the variety of chemical and vibratory insect killers available to them on the ship, and forced himself to remain silent. For some reason the Keidi preferred talking to Beth.

“Your offer to dry out our mud was refused,” the other went on, “because we do not like or trust Galactics, and will do everything in our power to avoid obligating ourselves to them.”

It was time he rejoined the conversation, Martin thought. He said, “This is our first landing on your world. Can you tell us anything about the situation here? If such a question is not deemed to be an impertinence or an intrusion on your privacy, that is, and you are free to talk about it.”

“I am free,” the Keidi said, “to talk.”

But he did not talk again for several minutes, during which Beth and Martin watched him attentively and more and more people came out to watch the three of diem. Finally, he widened the focus on his horn to include them both, and spoke.

“I have skills which are important to this community,” the Keidi said, “and for that reason I am not completely trusted, and that is why we are sitting out here in the cold. It is to show them that I have nothing to hide, that you are not trying to bribe, threaten, seduce, or otherwise influence me to leave them and not, as you may have thought, because I am ashamed to show you the inside of my home.

“Why did you lay your staff on the ground?” he added, swinging the horn around to bear on Martin. “Your familiarity with the local customs makes me uneasy.”

..Martin looked down at the staff, then said quietly, action wasn’t calculated, it was simply that battle staff on my lap felt awkward and unnecessary, the natural thing to do was to place it on the floor.

The horn and the eyes remained focused on him for a long moment, then the Keidi said, “The natural thing for someone like you to do would have been to drive the staff into the ground beside your chair, where it would have been within easy reach in case of sudden attack on you. This action would have symbolized a bloodless attack on our territory and signified to us that, while you were presently unguarded, you had powerful support and any harm or insult offered you would have brought dire retribution. You are Galactics, after all; such power is available to you.”

He looked toward the lander and the black and silver emblem prominently displayed on its hull, and went on. “Had you done the natural thing, we would have exchanged a few words about the weather or something equally unimportant, then you would have had to return to your ship because nobody else would have spoken to you. But you did not do the natural thing, you did the right thing. You voluntarily disarmed yourselves as is the custom when one is among family or close friends. It is unusual for complete ignorance and correct behavior to go together.”

He paused for a moment to hold both hands palm upward for a moment, then stood up.

“There is nothing I can tell you about this stinking, inhabited swamp we call home,” he went on, “that could possibly interest a couple of Galactics. Much more important things are being done in the First’s Estate, but special permission is required before overflying his territory…”

“We are not Galactic Citizens,” Martin broke in, hiding his disappointment over what seemed to be the sudden end of the meeting while trying desperately to prolong it. “And we would much rather talk to people who did not fire missies at us. And to strangers like us, all news is interesting, and probably important. Besides, we are taught that it is theoretically possible to discover and deduce everything that there is to know about any planetary culture simply by talking to one of its members, given the opportunity and sufficient time.”

“Sufficient…” the Keidi began, and made a startled, braying sound. “The few years remaining to me are insufficient for such a project and, forgetful though I have become, I do not remember offering extended hospitality. Quickly, bring your chairs inside.”

“Is it all right?” Martin asked anxiously, looking at the distant circle of watchers who were becoming fewer by the moment. “Do they trust us now?”

“No,” the Keidi said, “but it’s going to rain.”

The first large drops were slapping into the mud as they entered the shelter.

They followed him into a small, unlit, outer room, stumbling against what felt like a long, thin table and several chairs similar to the two they were carrying, and through a heavy curtain into what was plainly the Keidi’s living quarters. By the light of two wall-mounted candles Martin could make out the dim outlines of a bed, one big, low, thickly padded chair, a few large and small tables, wall cupboards, and many well-filled bookshelves, although not all of them were filled with books. The entire surface of one wall was covered by staves, mounted horizontally and labeled as if they were trophies of some kind. A few of them were decorated with colored bands and carvings and had long, highly polished metal ferrules, while the majority of them had the warped, knobbly look which suggested they had been whittled from the branches of young trees. There were two empty places in the display which, Martin felt sure, their newly acquired staves had occupied.

Although there were no ventilation openings visible, the room smelled fresh and clean except for the faint, acrid odor of the candles. Both the visibility and the smell increased as the Keidi moved around the room lighting more of them.

“An interesting collection,” Martin said, nodding toward the wall and trying to find something complimentary to say about the place.

“Most of them were sent to me when their owners died,” the Keidi said, “and some are the gifts of important people who felt obligated to me. I like to look at them when, as sometimes happens, I wonder if I am as content here as I expected to be. But I can only use one at a time, so you may keep those two as long as you need them.”

Martin, who had been about to replace his staff on the wall, wondered what kind of being this was who would lend his trophies, which occupied pride of place in the room, to a couple of strangers.

“We, too, are obligated to you,” Martin said.

“You are,” the Keidi said, dropping heavily into his seat and motioning for them to bring their own chairs closer. Even on those totally alien features Martin thought that he could read incredulity as he went on. “If two of you are going to deduce the details of our entire culture by questioning only me, you had better begin.”

“The questions,” Martin said carefully, “would include asking why some people shoot missies at us while others extend hospitality.”

“Some people,” the Keidi replied, “maintain themselves in constant readiness for war, and react violently against any threat to their security. A Federation World ship would be seen as the ultimate threat. Then there are other people, some very selfish, unscrupulous, culturally undernourished people, like myself, who might consider the surrender of half a day’s time and two well balanced staves a fair exchange for the chance to talk to beings whose background and thought processess are unfamiliar. Will you answer as well as ask questions?”

“Of course,” Martin said, relaxing in his chair. By sheer good fortune they had met an elderly, dissatisfied, and very bored Keidi who wanted to talk as badly as they wanted to listen.

“In that case…” he began, when the loud, erratic beating of a drum made him break off. He made a sound which did not translate, and went on. “I’m wanted.”

The candlelight paled in the suddenly bright, electrically lit room.

“And the early power switch-on means that I’m wanted urgently, on the radio. It is possible that you will have a long time to consider your questions.”

He moved quickly to the radio which, in the candlelight, Martin had mistaken for an incomplete shelf of books, and snapped, “What is the problem?”

“A signal for you from across the river,” came the reply. “Relayed from the Estate, coded most urgent, and action immediate…”

“I can’t remember a message from the First which wasn’t,” their Keidi said.

“You are to contact Frontier Camp Eleven direct,” the voice went on. “It would be advisable to send your visitors away first.”

The Keidi made another untranslatable sound, then bent forward, apparently to change the frequency before going on, “Frontier Eleven, you have an urgent message for me. There are strangers here. What is it?”

There was a moment’s hissing silence, then another, harsher voice said, “The dregels take you, our signal went out just after dawn! Why don’t you people keep proper radio watch so we wouldn’t have to waste time on helio relays? This is an urgent…”

“Why don’t you people give us enough fuel to run a generator all day?” the Keidi broke in. “And why don’t you stop wasting time talking about wasting time, and tell me what is wrong there?”

“Very well,” the voice replied. “But if the channel isn’t secure, use voice code…”

The message was brief and when the other paused for the reply, their Keidi protested, “But you’re nearly three day’s journey from here. Can’t you use one of your own…”

“The First wants you, and quickly,” the voice broke in. “Initial transport will be on a locally owned corsa, which should be saddled and waiting for you on the bridge by now, but a vehicle has been sent out to meet you. Understand this, you will not stop for any reason or any person. This will be a major obligation, a personal three-one on the First. Please, can you leave at once?”

“Yes,” the Keidi said, and broke the connection.

Martin stood up quickly. Fingering his wrist unit he looked warningly at Beth, then said, “Plainly we have visited you at an inconvenient time, so we will return to our ship. Thank you for the staves and the hospitality, and if there is anything we can do to help you, it will be done. We hope to meet you again, soon.”

The Keidi stared at them for a moment. “My apologies. If you wish to continue this conversation, and if all goes well, I should be back here in twenty days.”

“You’ll see us,” Martin said under his breath, “much sooner than that.”

They moved through the outer room, whose equipment and purpose was now clearly revealed by the electric lighting, and onto the slippery ground outside. It was raining heavily, but the staves enabled them to keep their balance and find a way back to the lander without taking another mudbath. Martin glanced back once to see the Keidi, loaded with a heavy backpack, leaving his shelter and heading for the island end of the bridge. By the time they were on board, he was walking quickly along the central span with his staff threaded through the straps of his pack. On the mainland end of the bridge they could see a figure holding the reins of a large, hairy quadruped which had to be the corsa.