Monument (novel)

17

The Hiln’s medical officer refused to pose as an expert nutritionist, but he saw nothing absurd in Aric Hort’s notion that the natives might be unable to assimilate other foods after living on koluf for generations. “It’s easily tested,” he said. “Let’s put some natives on navy rations and see what happens.”

Hort arranged the experiment, and nothing at all happened. Vorish gratefully marked it off as one less thing to worry about.

As the days spun out into weeks, he dutifully tightened his protective screen around the construction site, his men became better versed in the natives’ infiltration tactics, and work stoppages decreased almost to zero. Wembling was pleased, and the construction project began to take on a skeletal resemblance to the lavish model in Wembling’s planning office.

Vorish saw Aric Hort only on the infrequent occasions when he wanted information. The only natives he saw were those captured on the construction site. He politely declined invitations to native festivals, just as he declined Wembling’s social invitations. The air of impending tragedy at the native villages, and the natives’ blind faith in a futile Plan, disconcerted him. He easily could have become too sympathetic to them. On the other hand, Wembling was able to exude charm and infectious enthusiasm when he chose, and too much exposure easily could have biased Vorish in the opposite direction.

He saw himself as the impartial referee in a dispute, and if he got too familiar with either party, that impartiality might suffer. It disturbed him deeply that he was increasingly convinced that Wembling was right: the resort would be a splendid asset for Langri and its people. Hort’s and the natives’ fears undoubtedly were silly bugaboos that would be forgotten without regret once the benefits of the resort became a reality.

Concerning the shamefully violated treaty, though, he had no choice but to fight fiercely for justice and a full restoration of the natives’ control of their own destiny.

The dilemma seemed irreconcilable.

Because the natives were declining something that obviously would benefit them greatly, perhaps the resort should be forced upon them, as one forced a child to take the medicine he needed. On the other hand, Aric Hort, an anthropologist, stoutly maintained that whole populations had been destroyed by such stupid benevolence, and he could cite which ones they were.

If Wembling’s activities were interfering with the natives in any way, Vorish couldn’t detect it. The hunting fleets went out daily, and the invitations to attend the natives’ feasts and festivals arrived with monotonous regularity. He could not share Hort’s belief that the resort posed a threat to the natives’ existence.

And yet there had been a treaty, and there was such a thing as honor—the Federation’s and the Space Navy’s. And if the resort offered benefits for the natives, Vorish wasn’t overlooking the fact that it would benefit Wembling much more. The treaty had to be reinstated, following which Wembling could do what he should have done in the first place: convince the natives about those lavish benefits, and build the resort with their consent. Perhaps they would let him have ten per cent, in which case it would be interesting to see if he still considered that share as munificent as he had when he was offering it to the natives.

As Hort predicted, headquarters had ignored Vorish’s report on the treaty. When he politely asked what action was being taken, headquarters gave him a polite Z in response: “We assume authority and responsibility.”

Then Hort came to see him and spoke tersely, and when he left one of Vorish’s worries had been restored: the natives they thought were participating in the food test had been cheating. They ate little if any of the navy food and continued to eat native food, and the test was a farce.

“They claim they were so hungry they had to,” Hort said glumly. “That ought to tell us something. I hope so, because it’s as much as we’re likely to learn.”

If Hort could find volunteers who seemed to understand the experiment, they would try again. He was not optimistic about his success. A native accustomed to koluf meat would have to be a genuine martyr to agree to subsist on Space Navy rations, even in a short experiment.

While Vorish was still meditating this restored worry, Wembling came with a request for expanding the protective perimeter around the construction site. He wanted to enlarge it. He also wanted to begin work at a new construction site far down the coast.

Vorish brusquely refused. He had insufficient men for the area they were screening now. Further, he was becoming concerned about them. They had been vegetating on this paradise planet long enough. Specialists who didn’t use their skills soon stopped being specialists. It was time he took the Hiln back into space where it belonged.

Talitha Warr invited him to dinner at the medical center. Vorish persuaded himself that this was neutral ground and went, and the food she served was delectable beyond description.

“It’s koluf,” she explained. “It’s the staple of the natives’ diet—imagine a diet with a staple like that! But never ask to see a live one, or your koluf palate will be ruined for months.”

The next day Vorish sent for Aric Hort and inquired as to the possibility of obtaining enough koluf for an occasional navy meal.

Hort regarded him with horror. “I keep telling you that the natives don’t have enough for themselves. Don’t you believe me?”

“I somehow never made the connection,” Vorish confessed. “I know it’s their principal food—we talked about that—but Miss Warr was serving it, and—”

“The hospital has a priority, but the food supplied to it is supposed to be for the sick. And because Talitha always gets anything she asks for, she won’t believe there’s a shortage.”

“I see.”

“No, you don’t. I know the natives aren’t getting enough to eat. The koluf catch is down at least a fourth. They’re starving, but so slowly that it’s hardly noticeable. As the catch continues to drop, which it will, they’ll starve more quickly. We must find a dietary supplement. I’d like to try another experiment.”

“What sort of experiment?”

“Since some of your men are living in Wembling’s dormitories, could we bring a few native children to the Hiln for a short stay? They could be fed nothing but navy food—they couldn’t cheat if we kept them on the ship—and perhaps we could learn something.”

“Perhaps,” Vorish agreed. “Find out if the natives are willing, and I’ll find out whether my medical staff would object to running a nursery for a few days.”

The medical staff didn’t object; the natives did. They saw no need for such an experiment. They had their Plan. Hort promised to continue his efforts to persuade them.

First there was the violated treaty, and then there was Vorish’s report that headquarters had tried to Z out of existence, and now the independent world of Langri had sunk so low that the natives were unable to confer privately with their attorneys. Wembling monitored their communications center and read all of their messages. They were afraid to send letter mail on his supply ships, because they knew that he would read that, too.

Lieutenant Commander Smith discussed the problem with Fornri, and then he brought it to Vorish.

“The natives certainly have a legal right to private communication with their attorneys,” Vorish said, “but since headquarters maintains that no Langri problem exists, it wouldn’t be wise to involve ourselves in an official solution to a nonexistent problem.”

“How about a private solution?” Smith suggested. “I’ll send the communications as coming from myself, and I’ll ask the attorneys to suggest some way in which they could be representing me— just in case anyone inquires. As for their letters to the natives, they can double-wrap them and address the outer to me. I’ll pledge to deliver the inner one unopened.”

“Good idea,” Vorish said. “There’s no naval regulation that forbids your forwarding a friend’s mail.”

“Too bad headquarters Z’d your report. I thought they’d have to react one way or the other—either with a public fuss or with a private order to keep your mouth shut.”

“They will,” Vorish promised grimly. “Wembling was in this morning, and he took me for a tour of the territory he wants to add to the construction site. Know what he intends to put there? A golf course! This afternoon I’ll see Fornri about it. And yes— I’m certain I can get a reaction to my report.”

As Vorish walked along the central avenue of the native village, cordially exchanging greetings with the natives he passed, he noticed Talitha Warr seated a short distance up one of the curving side streets. Beside her was a child swathed in blankets, and her attitude was grave and intense.

He turned aside and sat down beside her. “What do we have here?” he asked, scrutinizing the child’s small, serious face.

“It’s something new,” she said. “A number of the children have come down with it, and we haven’t been able to figure out what it is.”

“Nothing serious, I hope.”

“We don’t know. They get sick and they stay sick, and we haven’t the facilities to handle an epidemic. All of our beds at the center are filled.”

“Are only the children affected?”

She nodded. “The young children. They’re a stubbornly healthy people, but this world has some very peculiar diseases.”

Vorish took leave of her and walked on up the central avenue.

At the isolated hut beyond the village, Fornri stepped out to meet him. They touched hands, and Vorish unfolded a large map onto a gourd table.

“Did Aric tell you what I wanted to talk about?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“This is a map of Wembling’s construction site and the land beyond it. He wants to push the perimeter back into the forest so he can clear land for a golf course. Do you know what golf is?”

“Airk explained it to me,” Fornri said.

“If you don’t see the point, don’t let that bother you. Some people who play the game don’t see the point. This new territory would lengthen the perimeter enormously, and I’ve already told Wembling I haven’t sufficient men. I think he’ll go ahead and use his own men for guards.”

“Perhaps we could ask our attorneys to make a suit about this golf course,” Fornri said. “The charter says Mr. Wembling can develop our world’s natural resources. Is golf a natural resource?”

“I don’t know,” Vorish said. “It sounds like the sort of question attorneys would enjoy immensely. By all means suggest it to them. This is what I wanted to see you about. There’s an abandoned village in the forest.” He pointed to the map. “Here. Did Wembling move your people out of there?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Vorish said, grinning ruefully. “If he’d forced your people from their homes, I could have done something about it. Why is this village off by itself in the forest when all the others are located on the coast?”

“It is the village of our teacher, and it is no longer in use.”

“Teacher?” Vorish echoed blankly. “What sort of teacher?”

“Every sort,” Fornri said with a smile.

“You interest me.” Vorish helped himself to a gourd chair. “Tell me honestly. Does this village have some special meaning for you?”

“It has a very special meaning.”

“Teacher? Guru? Philosopher? Prophet? A very special meaning, you say.”

“Yes. Very special.”

“And a village with a very special meaning—especially if the teacher is a religious leader—can become a shrine,” Vorish suggested. “Could we say that you left it exactly as it was in memory of your teacher?”

“Yes. That is true.”

“And you have permitted no feet to profane it since his parting. I like that. It just might be the angle I’ve been looking for.” He grinned at Fornri. “I think I’m going to get you some time for your Plan. I also think I’m going to get my report unfiled.”

On his way out of the village Vorish encountered Aric Hort, and the two of them walked together toward Vorish’s boat.

“Did you see the sick children?” Hort asked.

“Miss Warr was telling me about them. I gather that this world has some rather peculiar diseases.”

Hort turned on him furiously. “There wouldn’t be any disease if the children weren’t weak from hunger. The whole population is weak from hunger, but the children are the most susceptible to the disease. Neither she nor her precious doctor will face up to that.”

Vorish said, “As long as there’s no proof—”

“When the koluf catch is down more than a fourth, what more proof do you want?”

“Have the natives consented to your experiment?”

“We’ll start tomorrow.”

“Strange anyone should have to be hungry on such a fertile world,” Vorish mused, looking at the magnificent growth of forest.

“Don’t you know that human food won’t grow here?”

“No. I hadn’t heard that.”

“When we first came here I got Wembling to import all kinds of seeds,” Hort said. “The few things that grew were mutated and nutritionally suspect.”

“So the natives are forced to eat koluf, which would be a wonderful fate if they had enough of it.”

“Right. The water activity by construction and naval personnel, the machinery and construction noises transmitted through the water, the pollutants that are dumped offshore—all this and maybe other things are driving the koluf into deep water where the natives can’t catch them. The situation is going to get a lot worse, and it may never get better because once the resort opens the tourists will ruin the hunting grounds much more thoroughly. Yes, the natives are hungry, and the children are showing the effects of it first.”

“Strange,” Vorish said. “One would think the medical center would detect a thing like that immediately and do something about it.”

Hort said bitterly, “The most the medical center can do is make it possible for the natives to starve to death in perfect health.”

On his return, Vorish went to see Wembling. “About that golf course,” he said. “What do you plan to do with the native village?”

“Knock it down,” Wembling told him. “It’s abandoned. Probably it’s been years since the natives have used it.”

“Let’s go have a look at it,” Vorish suggested.

Wembling went willingly. Probably he hoped to persuade Vorish to extend the perimeter. His machines, well guarded, already were biting deeply into the forest. Wembling led the way around them and along a path that led to the village. It consisted of an oval-shaped clearing with a cluster of native dwellings at one end.

“See? It’s just an abandoned village,” Wembling said.

He began poking into the huts. Vorish, looking about him, saw an utterly strange object: native cloth stretched between two trees and plastered with a smooth layer of clay, and the dried clay bristled with mathematical symbols. “What the devil’s this?” he exclaimed.

Wembling emerged from a hut. “It’s been abandoned for years,” he called to Vorish. “Anyway, I couldn’t possibly leave it here. It’s right on the eighth green.”

Vorish was staring at the math symbols. “Why—it’s a problem in celestial navigation! Then this is a teacher’s village! But what would the natives want with mathematics on this order?” He turned away shaking his head.

Vorish joined Wembling as he emerged from investigating another hut. “Sorry,” Vorish said. “I can’t let you touch this place without the natives’ permission.”

Wembling playfully prodded him in the ribs. “Don’t be silly. You wouldn’t tie up my whole project for a few grass huts. Let the natives sue me. The court won’t stop me—it’ll just award them the value of the huts, which can’t amount to more than a credit and a half, and the suit will cost them fifty thousand. The faster they use up their money, the sooner they’ll stop harassing me.”

Vorish said sternly, “The navy is not here for your exclusive use. My orders specifically call for the protection of the natives and their property, just as I protect you and your property. Maybe the court won’t stop you, but I will.”

He strode away, leaving Wembling to glare after him. “But he thinks I’m bluffing,” Vorish told Smith afterward. “I notice he has the machines pointed at the village. Some people can’t resist calling a bluff, even if they know it’ll explode when touched.”

“I hope you realize that you’re sticking your neck out,” Smith said.

“A naval commander who’s afraid to stick his neck out isn’t worth a damn.”

When the machines broke through into the village clearing, Vorish had his men waiting. He stood with Smith on the high ground near the lauding field and watched Wembling waddle up to a work crew, gesture, and step back. A machine edged forward and smashed the nearest hut. Vorish signaled his own men into action. An armed navy squad moved down the slope, weapons at the ready, and took possession of the village. The machines clanked to a stop, and as Vorish and Smith approached, Wembling stormed to meet them.

“Did you get the natives’ permission for this?” Vorish demanded.

It cost Wembling an effort to master his rage. “I have a charter. How I use it is none of your business.”

“I think it is,” Vorish said. “Shall we have a legal test? Maybe the court will award you the value of the huts.” He turned to Smith. “Place these men under protective arrest and stop all work on the construction site. A sacred place has been desecrated, and we’ll have to use the utmost care to prevent a native revolt.”

He went back to his quarters on the Hiln and worked on his report. Smith came in later, grinning broadly.

“Well, it’s done,” he said. “Wembling is confined to quarters. His project is closed down and his entire force has an indefinite vacation. The workers are delighted and Wembling is apoplectic. Are you sure that’s what you wanted?”

“That’s what I wanted. There’s a massive conspiracy to cover up Wembling’s shenanigans here, and I know of only one person who has enough influence, and is capable of making enough noise, to force headquarters to take action.”

“Who’s that?”

“Wembling. You and I have to use the chain of command. He can broadcast complaints in all directions, at the top of his voice. If he gets mad enough, he will.”

“He’s mad enough. He’s sending messages furiously. I was going to suggest closing his com center.”

Vorish shook his head. “I want every message he sends to go through promptly. About the time headquarters grasps the significance of my report, his complaints will hit it from a dozen different directions. I’d like to see it Z Langri this time!”

Wembling’s work had been at a dead halt for three weeks when Vorish next called at the native village. Talitha Warr had taken over a large dwelling to use as a children’s hospital, and he saw her at work there, though she was much too preoccupied with her young charges to notice him.

He wondered if Hort had told her of the sober preliminary report from the Hiln’s medical staff: the children in Hort’s experiment were indeed undernourished, all of them, and as far as the staff could determine, navy rations did nothing to correct that. The experiment was continuing, but the staff was disposed to give Hort’s theory a qualified endorsement: the natives were so thoroughly adapted to their diet of koluf that only a very similar food could successfully supplement their diets. The staff now was attempting to figure out what might constitute a similar food.

In the grove of trees at the top of the avenue, Fornri and Aric Hort were seated in gourd chairs talking quietly. They made Vorish welcome and called for another chair and drinking gourds. Nearby, several elderly natives lay talking in hammocks that swung gently in the sea breeze. Vorish noted their leisurely conversation and long, meditative silences and reflected on the wisdom of the natives in placing the burden of leadership on Fornri and not on the Elder. The menace of a Wembling could not be coped with by the hammock talk of the elderly.

Fornri said anxiously, “Is it true that you will suffer harm from helping us?”

“I’ll be threatened with all kinds of dire consequences,” Vorish said. “I already have been, by Wembling, as recently as this morning. The worst that’s likely to happen is that I’ll be recalled and spoken to sternly. Anything more serious would require a public airing of this mess, which is the last thing Wembling’s friends want.”

“The commander is an optimist,” Aric Hort said. “He’s bought time for your precious Plan, and he may pay for it with his naval career. There’s an admiral on the way here, and his first action will be to turn Wembling and his men loose and arrest Commander Vorish.”

“This particular admiral is an old friend of mine,” Vorish said with a smile. “If he arrests me, he’ll do it affectionately.”

Hort gestured disgustedly. “If Wembling has anything to say about it—and he will—he’ll have the commander’s ears on a platter, barbecued. I’d feel much better about this if you’d made some use of the time that he bought. If your Plan is to hold out and harass Wembling until he goes away, I promise you that he won’t.”

Leaving the village, Hort and Vorish found Talitha Warr sitting at the edge of the beach. She had been gazing morosely out to sea. “I can’t understand it,” she said. “The sick list grows longer every day.”

Hort had been in a savage mood throughout the interview with Fornri, and now he turned on her furiously. “You can’t understand it? You mean you still can’t see what is happening? Are you blind?”

“What—what do you mean?”

“An entire population is in the preliminary stages of starvation, and you can’t understand why the sick list grows. Do you know how many koluf this village caught yesterday? Just two, and they were small. Normally it takes sixteen to twenty to feed a village this size. Try eating one eighth of your usual diet and see how your strength lasts.”

She tried to meet his eyes and failed. For a suspenseful moment she stared at the lines her foot was drawing in the moist sand. Then she got to her feet and walked toward the village.

Hort called after her, “Where are you going?”

She did not answer. Vorish and Hort exchanged glances and followed after her. She went to the large dwelling she was using for a hospital, and they waited outside while she moved slowly from one child to another. When she emerged her face was white.

“I was blind,” she whispered.

“Have you looked at the old people lately?” Hort demanded. “The koluf hunters have to keep up their strength—hunting koluf is a tremendous physical struggle, and there’d be instantaneous starvation the moment the hunters became weak. The hunters eat first, and the old people who contribute the least and have the least to lose eat last. They lie in their hammocks and wait for death. Haven’t you noticed that a fire of death is almost a nightly occurrence at every village?”

“I was blind,” she whispered again. “But why didn’t Dr. Fenell recognize it?”

“Malnutrition isn’t a civilized disease. He probably never saw a case before.”

“Uncle will have to import food for the natives.”

“It’s too late,” Hort said. “That should have been thought of before the construction started. Commander Vorish’s doctor has been trying to feed navy rations to native children. He hasn’t been able to find a food that gives them a significant amount of nourishment. Humans accustomed to eating nothing but koluf can’t assimilate other foods.”

Talitha buried her face in her hands. “It’s my fault. I suggested the resort to Uncle. I talked him into it.”

“Maybe you did or maybe you didn’t,” Hort said grimly, “but I don’t think anyone is going to talk him out of it.”

Vorish turned out an honor guard when Admiral Milford Corning arrived on the command cruiser Maldaro. The admiral, a crusty, fussy little officer whose men affectionately called him—out of his hearing—“the Old Woman,” paused at the top of the ramp to receive Vorish’s salute, and then he marched down and touched hands with him.

He said, “Good to see you, Jim,” and Vorish responded, “You’re looking well, sir,” and they moved off to inspect the guard.

When they reached the end of the last line, Corning said, “That’s as much ego lub as I can stand for one day. Now let’s go where we can talk.”

“Your quarters or mine?” Vorish asked.

The admiral sniffed the sea air. “Jim. I’ve been in space for six months. Let’s have a look at that beach.”

They strolled out beyond the perimeter and seated themselves on boulders where the surf washed gently beneath their feet. The devastation of the construction site was hidden from them; the nearest sentry was fifty meters away. Corning sniffed the sea breeze again, and observed, “Nice place here. Your men look as though they’d enjoyed it. You’re looking pretty good yourself.” He paused. “Jim, just what is going on here?”

“I don’t suppose headquarters showed you my reports,” Vorish said, “so I had copies made for you.”

He handed them to Corning, and then he walked a few paces along the beach and stood watching the lapping waves while the admiral quickly perused the reports.

Finally Corning said, “All right—I’ve read enough to get the idea. I’ll go through them carefully tonight. What official action did they take?”

“None,” Vorish said.

“You mean—you formally submitted these reports, and headquarters took no action at all?”

“Neither report was acknowledged. When I asked to be informed as to action taken, headquarters Z’d them.”

Coming’s lips shaped a soundless whistle. “I agree with you absolutely. It’s a damnable mess, and eventually heads will roll, but that’s no concern of yours. Your duty was to report the situation, which you did. Sit down here.”

Vorish perched himself on an adjacent boulder.

“Now then. What’s this nonsense about a few native huts?”

“According to my orders, I’m an impartial referee here,” Vorish said. “I’m to maintain the peace, which means that I protect Wembling against any excesses perpetrated by the natives, but I also protect the natives against infringement upon their customs, property, sacred places, and so on. Paragraph seven.”

“I’ve read it.”

“The idea being—I assume—that if the natives are treated properly, Federation citizens and property are less likely to need protection. Those few huts are called, by the natives, ‘The Teacher’s Village,’ and the place seems to have a religious significance to them.”

“Ah! That would make it a sacred place in terms of your orders. I take it that Wembling busted right in and started tearing the place apart.”

“That he did.”

“And you’d warned him ahead of time that he had to have the natives’ permission, and he laughed it off. Up to that point your conduct was not only proper but commendable, and no one will fault you. But why did you have to close Wembling down and stop his work completely? Why didn’t you just make him put his golf course somewhere else? If he’d complained about that, he’d have been laughed at. By stopping his operation you’ve cost him time and money, and now he has a valid grievance—and he has plenty of political influence.”

“I closed him down for his own protection,” Vorish said.

“His own—protection?” Corning echoed blankly.

“He’d defiled a sacred place. If the natives had retaliated, I would have been responsible. So I placed him under guard and restricted his workers.”

Corning burst into laughter. “That’s very good! For his own protection! All right—I’ll support that. I think I can keep you from being shot.”

“Is that what they were planning?” Vorish asked with a grin.

“They were—are—planning to do their worst,” the admiral said soberly. “I don’t like it, but I have my orders. You’ll return to Galaxia on the Hiln, under arrest, to stand court-martial.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I’m looking forward to describing Wembling’s iniquities for the public record.”

“That’s the last thing headquarters will want, and if you insist on a public court-martial they’ll probably tell you to forget it and give you a commendation. So insist.”

“I’ll insist,” Vorish promised. “A private hearing wouldn’t accomplish a thing—except maybe get me shot. I’m glad I’m leaving Langri in capable hands.”

“Not in my hands, you’re not,” Corning said. “Not for long. The 984th Squadron is on its way to take over. Eleven ships. Headquarters is taking no chances on the Langri situation getting out of hand. The commander is Vice Admiral Ernst Dallman. A good man. Know him?”