The Game of Empire

Chapter 14

From their island the Zacharians exported a variety of foods and high-quality manufactured goods to the rest of Daedalus. Keeping the business entirely in their own hands, they maintained dealership in every important community. The local one occupied a building near the waterfront. Its artificial material, curved contours, and metallic hues marked it arrogantly out. Targovi must stand at a scanner and request admission before the door opened.

The woman who appeared was handsome in his sight, comely in that of most humans. Medium tall, full-hipped but slender and somewhat small-bosomed, she moved as lithely as he did. A brief white gown set off glowingly olive, flawless skin. The hair on her round head was light-brown, lustrous, falling springily to the wide shoulders. Her face was high of cheekbones, straight of nose, firm of chin, lips delicately sculptured, brows arched above gold-brown eyes whose largeness was not diminished by the epicanthic folds.

“Greeting, Minerva Zachary,” he said.

She smiled. “Minerva has served her turn here and gone home.” The voice was a musical contralto. “I am Pele. Who are you that knows her?”

“I beg your pardon, donna.”

“Well, when members of our species often fail to tell us apart, I can hardly blame you.” Zacharians were always as polite as occasion demanded—in their judgment.

Looking closer, Targovi began to see the differences. Fine lines in the countenance showed that Pele was distinctly older than Minerva; their kind aged slowly but were not immortal. She spoke with a faint accent suggesting that Anglic had not been the principal language in her home when she was a child; the islanders purposely kept several tongues in daily use. She didn’t walk precisely like her predecessor; the islanders also made a point of practicing a variety of sports.

“Your name, please,” she demanded rather than asked.

“Targovi—of Imhotep, as is obvious. I am a trader who has shuttled between my planet and this for years. On Daedalus I often proceed along the Highroad. They know me right well here.”

Pele studied him. He could not have come to order any of her expensive wares. “I have no desire for trinkets.”

“Could we speak in private? I am sure milady will be interested.”

“Well—” She shrugged and led the way inside. The front of the building was the office; the rear, shut off, was the residence. Persons whom factors had entertained said those rooms—such of them as guests saw—were rather severely outfitted and decorated, though everything was of the best and, in its fashion, beautiful. The chamber which Targovi entered held conventional furniture, adjustable for comfort. Its commercial equipment was unobtrusive but first class allowing a single individual to handle everything. The few pictures had been changed; Pele evidently preferred landscapes from alien planets to the more familiar scenes that Minerva chose. The musical background was now complex, atonal, impossible for the Tigery to appreciate. Did the esthetic tastes of a Zacharian alter as he or she passed through life?

“Be seated,” Pele said. They took facing chairs on a richly textured blue carpet. “What is your errand?”

He knew little of her breed. His acquaintance with Minerva had been slight, instigated by her because she grew curious about him and not pursued for long. Otherwise he had only glimpsed Zacharians by chance, mostly in Aurea. They never seemed to leave their island in substantial numbers, unless they made interstellar trips out of their spaceport. Theirs was a society closed to outsiders. It made no production of secretiveness, exercised no censorship or anything like that. It simply didn’t communicate much, nor admit any but a few selected visitors. None of those were journalists. People who returned talked freely enough of the uniqueness they had encountered; two or three of them had written books about the place. But nothing of its inwardness ever came through. It was as if each Zacharian face were a smiling mask.

Nevertheless Targovi could see that Pele wanted him to come to the point. “I approach you, donna, more on behalf of two friends than myself,” he began. “Now I shall not insult you by claiming I have no personal concern in the matter. My situation is precarious. I landed at Aurea just as Sir Olaf Magnusson made his … declaration. Civilian space traffic is banned saved by special permission, which has not been forthcoming for me thus far. Conveying passengers—the two I bespoke—rather than trade goods, I have naught to barter for the necessities of life, and scant money lingers in my purse.”

The woman frowned. “This is no charitable organization, and it has no job openings.”

Targovi imitated a human smile, keeping his lips closed because his carnivore’s teeth could give the wrong signal. “I ask no favors, donna,” he said ingratiatingly. “Already I am in your debt.” He touched the oxygill that rose out of his robe. “Was not this, that keeps me breathing, produced on Zacharia?”

The flattery was wasted. “You paid for it, or somebody did. I have heard your species is physically strong. Try for a position as a dockhand, day laborer, or the like. Most backwoods communities lack adequate machinery.”

“No, hear me out, I pray you. Those whom I carried from Imhotep are unusual. I think they have something to offer which your people will find worthwhile. At least, the Wodenite does.”

That caught her attention. “The Wodenite who arrived yesterday? I have seen him wandering about, and considered inviting him to come for a talk. And dinner, perhaps,” Pele added in a flick of humor, “abundant though the servings must be.”

“I can introduce him to you, milady. May I tell you the story?”

He gave her an account of Axor’s quest, succinct because that should whet her appetite for details. “—In Olga’s Landing he acquired a guide, a vagabond by the name of Diana Crowfeather—”

Pele raised his hand. “Wait. Is that the dark-haired ragamuffin girl who was strolling at his side?”

“Who else?” Targovi observed her grow thoughtful, and at the same time seem a bit amused. He continued: “Diana and I are old acquaintances. I decided to do her a kindness and provide passage to Daedalus, where I thought it likelier they would find relics such as they sought than on Imhotep. If naught else, here they would have access to records of whatever may have been discovered but never really publicized. Furthermore, Diana should enjoy this planet, more congenial and almost new to her. And, to be sure, Axor would pay me.” Slipping fast by that bit of mendacity: “Unfortunately, as I said, the outbreak of hostilities left us stranded. In fact, we were arrested and interrogated.

“Upon release, Axor and Diana spent a while in Aurea searching for information about Ancient relics. What they learned made them decide to fare downstream. They might as well. I stayed behind, striving to wheedle a clearance for return to Imhotep. Nothing availed. Finally I took a boat to Lulach myself. It was an express, therefore it arrived nearly as soon.” Considering the number of such craft and their short turnaround times, Targovi didn’t anticipate anyone would attempt verification of his narrative.

“An intriguing story,” Pele said, “but what significance has it to me?”

“Much, I trust, milady,” he replied. “May I ask a question? Are there mysterious remnants on Zacharia?”

She gave him a close look. “No.”

“Truly not?”

“We have occupied the island for centuries and modified every square centimeter of it. We would know.”

Targovi sighed. “Then the clues that my comrades came upon are false. Ah, I hate the prospect of disappointing them. Their hopes were so high.”

“It was always inevitable that all sorts of unfounded rumors would go about, concerning us. Why should I lie to you?” Pele stroked her jaw. “I have, myself, heard of huge, inexplicable walls and the like—but afar in the mainland jungles or glaciers. It may be nothing more than travelers’ tales. Your associates should inquire further.”

“That may be less than easy, donna; for their purses have grown lank too. What has occured to me is this. You yourself know naught certain about Ancient relics, aside from their existence on some other planets. The subject has not interested you. However, during the centuries that Zacharians have dwelt on Daedalus, their explorers and factors must have ranged over the whole globe, as well as distant worlds. There must be ample records, and mayhap even individuals, to tell what is or is not real. It would save us—Axor—an effort that could prove hopelessly great.”

“Do you wish me, then, to make a search of our database?” The woman pondered before continuing genially, “Well, I can. You have roused my curiosity.”

“Ng-ng, milady is most generous,” Targovi said, “but that is not truly what I had in mind. Could we come to Zacharia in person and pursue our inquiries? You know that printed words and pictures, valuable though they be, are not everything. There is no substitute for discourse, for the interplay of brains.”

Pele sat straight. Her gaze sharpened. “Are you in search of free food and lodging?”

Targovi chuckled. “Plainly, yes, that is my chief motivation. Give me several standard days without pressure, perchance a week or two, and I can devise some means of keeping myself alive on Daedalus. I might even make trade arrangements with you Zacharians, or at any rate get your kind of help in persuading the Navy to let me flit home. You have influence.”

“I told you we are not a charitable organization.”

“Nor am I a beggar, donna. My humble goods may prove worthless to you, but at the moment my stock in trade includes Axor himself. Think. He is likely the first Wodenite ever to betread Daedalus. Certainly none else have come here in living memory. Not only can he tell your savants much about his world and his folk—the sort of facts that do not get into dry dispatches—but he has roamed throughout the Empire. Not only is he a leading authority on the fascinating Ancients, he has experience of many and many contemporary societies. Let us admit that this entire sector is provincial, marginally touched by the currents of civilization. Axor will come like a breath of fresh air. I assure you, as a person he is delightful.” Targovi interposed a few seconds of strategic silence. “And … the total situation in the galaxy has become totally fluid. Aught can happen, whether mortal danger or radiant opportunity. Axor is no political scientist or seeker of wealth and advantage. But he is widely traveled and he has thought deeply about the things he has witnessed—from his nonhuman, non-Cynthian, non-Merseian perspective. Who knows what clues toward action or precaution lie in what he has to tell? Dare you refuse yourselves the input he can give you?”

The quietness that fell again grew lengthy. At last Pele asked, “What does the girl want of us?”

“Why, simply the thrill of newness. Whatever you care to show her. She is young and adventurous … We three travel together, you understand.”

Pele looked beyond him. “She is attractive,” she murmured.

Targovi knew the reputation of Zacharian men. They practically never married outside their society; that meant exile. They did, though, spread their superior genes through the lesser breeds of humanity whenever they got the chance; and they had a way of creating frequent chances for themselves. Pele must be thinking she could put her brethren on the track of some fun.

To a degree, Targovi had taken this into his calculations. He didn’t feel he was betraying Diana. She should be capable of reaching her own decisions and enforcing them. If not—well, she’d likely enjoy herself anyway, and bear no permanent scars.

Zacharian women were different, he recalled. They took occasional outsider lovers, whose later accounts of what had happened were awestruck and wistful. But they never became pregnant by such men. At most, if they thought someone was worthy, they would donate an ovum for in vitro fertilization. Their womb time they kept for their own kind.

Pele emerged from her reverie. “I’ll call home and inquire,” she said crisply. “I may well recommend a positive answer. You do make a plausible case for yourself. They’ll send someone to investigate closer before they decide. He will want to talk with each of you. Where are you staying?”

“At the Inn of Tranquil Slumber. That is where my friends are, and I will take a room there too.”

“You should find this house more hospitable when we summon you,” Pele said. Conviviality provides openings for the probing of character. “At present I have my work to do. Good day.”

Diana sped to meet him, over the cobblestones of the hostel courtyard. “Oh, Targovi, old dear!” She hugged him till his firmly muscled ribs creaked. The fragrance of her hair and flesh filled his tendrils. “Welcome, welcome!”

“How have you two fared?” he asked.

She let him go and danced in the sunlight. “Wonderful,” she caroled. “Listen. We went parleyin’ around, and right away we heard about what’s got to be Ancient ruins, with inscriptions, in the jungle south of Ghundrung.”

“The Donarrian settlement? But that’s far downstream, and then you’d have to outfit an expedition overland. Where’s the money coming from?”

“Oh, we’ll earn it. Axor already has an offer from a lumberin’ company. He can snake a log through the woods cheaper’n any gravtrac can airlift it. And me, I’ve lived off odd jobs all my grown-up life. I won’t have any trouble gettin’ by. This is a live town.” Diana sobered. “I’m sure we can find somethin’ for you as well, if you want.”

“But you’d take months, a year or more, to save what you will need!” Targovi exclaimed. “Meanwhile the war goes on.”

She cocked her head and stared at him. “What’s that got to do with us? I mean, sure, it’s terrible, but we can’t do anything about it. Can we?”