“It’s impolite to stare,” said Carlos. “Especially when your guest is hungry.”
He showed her the menu selector and watched her use it. He sat on the opposite side of the table: food slid out of the slot and she ate it as it came, daintily and absentmindedly, but with unfailing appetite.
He questioned her on the customs of Kransi. She was his cousin, she told him, Kransi style. Five hundred years ago, give or take, someone from his mother’s side had married someone from her father’s side. The family connection was now growing a bit remote though, and unless it were renewed in this or the following generation, the family ties would then cease to exist.
He received the information silently. That was Grandy’s game; he should have expected it, but somehow he hadn’t. He just didn’t associate that kind of an attitude with such gentle people. And they were gentle with those inside their group, he thought, no matter how fiercely they fought those outside it.
“You’re not very clever,” he said. “I have no intention of marrying you.”
Carlos looked up. “Haven’t asked you yet,” she said through a mouthful of food.
Apparently, that was another Kransian custom. He ignored it. “I’ll get you another place to stay. You can make your pitch for money at the picnic.”
“Money?” said Carlos, still eating. “Who has money?”
“I do,” he said savagely. “And I don’t like people who scheme to get it. Don’t you think I can see what you’re trying to do?” He looked at her contemptuously and her considerable attraction vanished, and she became merely a pretty girl, willing to sell herself to escape the poverty of Kransi.
Carlos swallowed the last bite. “You poor thing,” she said. “Do you have to have so many things that you need money to buy them?”
She was infuriating and he couldn’t help shouting. “Yes I do. Everybody does. How do I get the food I eat and the clothing I wear—” He stopped shouting. The clothing he wore! Her needs on that score were simple. A tube of goop might last for a year, providing her with every style change she could want, one each day according to her mood. There was nothing like it on Earth, or elsewhere. And it might be the same with food. There were other things humans needed, but Kransi might have answers for them too.
He lowered his voice. “The picnic is for me, isn’t it?”
She nodded.
He got up and walked nervously across the room. “You know that I’m very wealthy?”
She shook her head. “We didn’t.”
There was no reason to believe her, and yet it might be true. Kransi was isolated, and maybe the news hadn’t penetrated that far. They would be indifferent to matters of importance.
“Then what is it?” he asked. “If it’s not money, why are you going to all this trouble?”
“You’re a very important man,” she said. “No one on Kransi has ever been invited to join the organization on any level. They don’t think we’re suited I guess. Anyway, here you are president of Amity.”
He sat down. Amity. What the hell was Amity? Vaguely he remembered. He had taken over his father’s business and rim it as well as anyone could. There were always charitable groups which were appealing for contributions. One such group had been Amity. Not Amity, Inc., or anything like that, just plain Amity, a half-baked, idealistic institution dedicated to extending peace throughout the galaxy.
As a matter of policy he had made a contribution to Amity, tax deductible. It was more than they had expected, probably more than they had ever received in a lump sum. It hadn’t meant anything to him, but it meant a great deal to them, and they had responded by making him their president. The title was strictly honorary. He had forgotten about it, but Kransi hadn’t; and he was therefore important in their opinion—not because of the wealth at his command, the power he wielded. It indicated a lot. They were warlike, if any people were. Their special enemy was Merhaven, but if the occasion arose they were willing to tackle any other foe. There was only one exception; they had never fought Restap. But aside from that, they waged war easily and cheerfully, with ferocious grace and elan.
But actually they wanted peace, if only someone could tell them how to achieve it. He grinned at Carlos. He wanted peace too, and he suddenly felt he belonged to Kransi. He was tall, and in that, he resembled his father. He picked up Carlos in his arms. “Keep the plans for the picnic working,” he said. “I’ll be back.” He kissed the crumbs on her lips and sat her on the table and left.
* * * *
The space ship decelerated, and the lurch awakened Jason. He wandered to the screen, snapped it on, and began examining the planet. He was soon going to learn whether his idea was any good.
Mist-shrouded and rugged, Merhaven possessed a craggy sort of beauty. Covered largely by mountains that were not high, the terrain nevertheless took the hard way up from the shores of the seas to the tops of the tallest mountains. The higher plateaus were overrun with a thorny growth, and here and there were patches of flowers. If there were a unity between character and geography, it was easy to see that his father had been born there.
The valleys of the planet—but he didn’t have time to reach a visual conclusion as to what the valleys were like. The screen whitened in front of him. Instinctively he closed his eyes, and the filters cut the intensity of light before it could blind him. He staggered against the panel and pulled down the squawker. Whether or not the men in the patrol stations received his identification signal, he couldn’t determine. The ship shuddered from another near miss.
By this time he could see again; not well, but he could see. The instruments registered another uncomfortably close detonation. They didn’t care how much ammunition they used on him. He slipped the ship into an automatic, falling-leaf pattern and let it rush toward the planet. At the edge of the atmosphere the attacks ceased, as he expected. They wanted to eliminate him, but they would rather not breathe radioactives. And nothing less than their big stuff could bother the ship.
He found his bearings and limped along over the Merhavian continents, molested no further. He found the place he was seeking, an upland valley not far from a small settlement. As nearly as he could tell, Merhaven was decentralized, with no large cities. He set the ship down on the side of the valley.
A weatherbeaten man came out of a rambling house at the forefront of a cluster of buildings a half mile away. It was impossible to guess his age; he may have been old, for his cheeks were eroded like the crumbling granite cliffs that guarded the valley. The old man covered the distance in a short time and stood with tight lips, surveying the damage to the ship, the fused plates and the battered prow.
The old man turned as Jason left the ship. His eyes were grave. “Welcome home, laddie,” said his grandfather.
* * * *
Jason could not name what he ate, but, although there was no great variety, the food was satisfying. His grandfather sat across the table, watching in silence. After an interval he pressed a button; the table buzzed, shook, trundled across the floor, made a right turn, and disappeared into the next room.
Still in silence his grandfather looked out of the window. “We are not good technicians,” he said finally. “But we can repair your ship so it will take you safely back.”
Jason flushed. He hadn’t mentioned going back; he’d hardly said anything. Evidently it was assumed he wouldn’t want to stay. “I’ll get it fixed up on Restap,” he said.
“We are poor workmen,” said his grandfather, his ancient jaws twitching. “But not that poor. It’s not safe to be traveling at all in a ship so battered.”
Mentally Jason shrugged. Neither was it safe to trust a ship to unskilled hands! But it didn’t seem advisable to mention that. “Did you get the message?” he asked.
“That I did.”
“Then why did they fire at me? They should have been able to identify the ship. It isn’t common, you know.” That was an understatement. Not even a novice could mistake it for something from Kransi.
“I don
’t know, laddie,” his grandfather sighed heavily. “I’m merely a private citizen.”
It was true, but it didn’t tell the whole story. On this loosely-governed planet he was a citizen of considerable influence and prestige. The message had to be cleared through a government station, and therefore the planet patrol had been forewarned that he was coming. They knew who he was but that hadn’t stopped the attack.
Again a long pause. “I will inquire,” said his grandfather.
Jason let the subject drop. He was pretty certain where the inquiry would lead—nowhere. The most he could expect was an official apology. Someone had a reason for wanting him out of the way. As far as he could see there were only two forces—Kransi and Merhaven.
Kransi wasn’t likely. He’d come on the spur of the moment and told no one where he was going. The message hadn’t been sent until he was in full flight, and since it had got through, it positively hadn’t been intercepted at any intermediate point. The government of Kransi would have had to do some fast plotting, even assuming they had relied on guesswork to determine his destination.
But the big argument against Kransi could be stated more simply. Merhaven was not likely to cooperate with Kransi on anything. Therefore Merhaven wanted him out of the way! And what that implied he didn’t know. He was not a Merhavian, but his father had been, and in their eyes that was enough. In his mind Jason saw the screen again, whitening before his eyes. Perhaps the kinship angle was not as strong as he had thought.
His grandfather arose, agile and strong in spite of his years. He was dour and taciturn, but he was also a sincere man. “Come laddie, I will show you Merhaven.”
Jason walked out with him. Across the valley workmen were climbing in and on his ship. His grandfather had not waited for permission to begin repairs. In any event, it was too late for protest.
Jason headed toward the landing field.
“Not there,” said the old man, catching his arm. “We’ll walk.”
“Walk over Merhaven? It’s pretty big.”
“You’ll see nothing elsewhere that you’ll not find on my place.”
“But won’t it be easier if we take one of the little skimmers?”
“They’re not in good condition. You’re not safe in them.”
The remark didn’t need much interpretation. In the sky he would be an excellent target. Even the presence of his grandfather wouldn’t save him. They hadn’t stopped trying.
Who were “they”?
Jason stepped closer to the old man and kept behind him as they climbed laboriously and silently up the nearest mountain. An hour passed as they ascended, and then another half hour. When they reached the top they paused and looked around. Jason was tall, but the other was taller.
“This is the world your father left. He would want you to see it.”
Jason shaded his eyes. A cloud hung on a mountain peak to the left and a brook sparkled below in the sunlight. There was nothing but bare rock where he stood; elsewhere there were masses of purple flowers.
“It is a beautiful world,” said his grandfather in answer to the comment that his grandson felt but did not say. “We like it, but it gives us little in the way of a living. It will grow flowers, but not food.” His grandfather turned away. “We are inadequate business men. Were we otherwise, our life would be better. Two thousand years ago the planet was settled because it was rich in uranium. At that time uranium was used to drive ships and everyone wanted it. But new fuels were discovered and uranium is no longer used—not for any purpose. Today it is difficult to give away uranium, although it is the only mineral we have in abundance.”
Jason nodded; that was to be expected with an economy based on a single product. When the demand for that fell off, there was nothing else.
“We’ve tried our hand at manufacture,” continued the old man. “We make little items that do not require much material, but our products are inferior and do not find a ready sale. Still, we have to continue because we need food.” He pointed to the floor of the valley. “See.”
Jason looked; there was a spot of intense green, but he couldn’t make out details.
“That little place grows more food than all the land around you,” said his grandfather. “There is a chemical which we import that works miracles with our thin soil. If we could get enough of it, we could remake our planet into a paradise.”
“What’s the name of the chemical?” asked Jason.
The old man did not reply directly. “I guessed why you came,” he said. His eyes were clouded and stern. “Your father could have come home any time, if he had not wished to bring that Kransi woman. After she died, we thought—” He broke off and started down the mountainside. “Merhaven is poor,” he called back over his shoulder. “But we will not accept charity from a Kransian.”
He wasn’t going to make much headway against that kind of an attitude, Jason decided. Besides, for any marksman in the valley he was perfectly silhouetted against the sky. He scrambled down after his grandfather.
* * * *
Jason considered sleeping in his ship. It would have been safe enough, but with the repair crew working on it around the clock, it would he a little too easy for accidents to happen.
And then there was his grandfather. He was trying hard, and if he didn’t succeed in being warmly hospitable, it wasn’t for want of good intentions. He settled for some equipment he brought from the ship.
The old man disappeared in the middle of the afternoon, leaving Jason to entertain himself. He didn’t wander far; there was much to see, but the people around him were by no means friendly.
He started toward the green fields he had seen from the mountain. Men were working in the fields and he turned around and came back. Those fields would have to wait.
The old man returned at dusk and they ate the evening meal in nearly complete silence. He tried to engage the old man in conversation on neutral subjects, but his grandfather doled out his words one at a time, and when he couldn’t find shorter syllables he started spacing his answers at longer intervals.
Jason gave up and let the old man lead him to his room. As soon as he was alone, he walked to the window and looked out. The crew had set up lights and was still working on the ship. He closed and locked the windows and the door. He lay down, fully awake, and tried to reach some conclusion about Merhaven. Nothing came of his thoughts. The purpose for which he came seemed far out of reach. Kransi might want peace, but peace didn’t seem to interest Merhaven. He would have to let the idea die.
At length he got up and quietly attached flexible strips to the edges of the door and around the window. He focused a remote circuit on the strips and set it for alarm. A few adjustments, and he was ready for any attempted invasion. He lay down but wasn’t inclined toward sleep. Noise filtered in from the activity outside and lights flickered across the window. He reached out in the darkness and found the sleepo unit. He slipped it on, activated it, and relaxed while a pure, monotonous tone massaged his skull. In five minutes he fell asleep.
Sometime later a large hand grasped his shoulder and shook him roughly. “Wake up, laddie.” The hand removed the sleepo unit.
Jason opened his eyes. It was dark. He sat up immediately. He had rigged up a warning system and it had failed to work. “How did you get in here?” he demanded unsteadily.
“Your equipment is worse than ours,” grunted his grandfather. “It wouldn’t stop a clumsy child.” He went to the windows and opened them. Outside it was dark and there was not a sound. “The repairs on your ship are finished.”
The meaning of that was clear enough. “I’ll leave in the morning,” said Jason stiffly.
The old man moved closer. He anticipated Jason and caught his hand as it fumbled for the switch. “I’ve sent them all away,” he said in a choked voice. “But some of them may be waiting in the hills. You will be safer if you do not show much light.” And he provided a tiny light from his pocket.
In the dim light Jason looked at him. The old
man’s cheeks were splotched and sulphurous; his eyes were inflamed and watering; his hands trembled. Jason caught the feeling of urgency and fumbled for his equipment.
“Do not tarry. Leave it, and I will send you better equipment to replace it.”
There was no time to argue. Jason left them and followed the old man out of the house.
Near the ship his grandfather stopped and pressed something into his hand. “A stranger—but also my grandson,” he whispered hoarsely. “You won’t understand why I’m giving this to you. Neither do I. But with all my mind, though not my heart, you’re welcome.”
Jason tried to resist, but for all his trembling the old man was stronger, far stronger. “Take it,” he rumbled, anger flaring in his voice. “Take it before I use it. I am tempted.” He thrust it back into Jason’s hand and stumbled away. “Hurry,” he called.
Jason had every intention of hurrying, although he didn’t understand everything behind his feeling. He got inside and readied the ship for take-off. He jerked it off the ground and kept going. Out of the atmosphere, he worked his ship up to its highest speed. Regardless of what he did he was taking a chance. Merhavians were waiting to throw their heavy stuff at him; and some of them had repaired the ship. If the repairman had made errors, deliberately or otherwise, he was finished. But the ship held up.
Safely out of range, he inspected the ship as well as he could from the inside. The repairs were more than adequate, in spite of the fact they had been rushed along at top speed. Practically, his ship was stronger than the day it had been built. They had even made repairs of a minor nature on his electronic equipment. Everything functioned perfectly.
The Eleventh Golden Age of Science Fiction Megapack Page 32