by Larry Niven
“Lupoffs?”
“Yes. Why?”
“No reason,” Clave said.
Gourds of red liquid passed among the diners. One came within reach, and John took it. He drank, then passed it to Clave. “Fringe tea. Don’t take too much.”
It went from Clave to Rather. Its taste was bitter and sweet, not unpleasant. John stopped Rather from passing the gourd to Raym. “Too much in his blood already.”
Raym grinned and nodded.
Debby and Half Hand joined them; they made room.
Debby said, “He’s got four citizens doing the cooking, all women. There’’s a major fire against the back wall, held in by sikenwire. The kitchen’s got maybe twenty windows in it, and Half Hand closes some of them to get the breeze he wants, keep the fire going and the smoke out. He’s.roasting a slab of moby the size of two men. It’s black on one side and raw on the other, and he slices off the charred side.
“There’s also…” She waved a hand and a foot as if trying to describe without words. “I thought it was a ball of hard stuff like the Vivarium. Inside, a froth of water and live steam, and cut-up plants.”
“It’s a bag,” Half Hand said. “Keep it turning, the vegetables cook even. Draining the water is the tricky part.”
“I saw them do that. They open the bag and throw the whole glob of cookwater at the lee windows and catch the vegetables in a net.”
“Ho! Vegetables are ready then.” In fact three junglegiant women were already flying around the dome’s curvature, passing out what they carried.
“We use an open pot,” Debby told Half Hand. “Tide keeps it in, whatever you’re cooking. We cook meat and vegetables together. If you don’t keep stirring it, it all bubbles out.”
“M’shell!” Half Hand waved one long-toed foot in a half circle, and the nearest of the kitchen women came toward them. She served red and yellow and green vegetables into small-mouthed bowls. Half Hand said, “We only serve earthlife plants. A man wants foliage, he gets it at home. Meat’s different. We take what we get. Nothing turns up, Sanchiss has a turkey farm Darkward.”
The vegetables: some were good and some were not, and some you couldn’t decide right away. Clave was making notes as he ate. Food that wasn’t eaten went into a wooden barrel. From time to time one of the woman replaced the barrel.
Grag Maglicco was asking Debby, “Has Booce been wondering where his house is?”
“He hasn’t done anything about it yet.”
“Well, we saw Serjent House a few days ago. It was twenty degrees spinward of the Market and maybe fifteen klomters skyward. Doesn’t look like anyone’s disturbed it. Can you remember to tell him?”
“Stet. Tell me something else?”
“Sure.”
Debby waved around her. “I’m surrounded by teeth. How can so many of you keep most of your teeth?”
Grag fished in his tunic and produced a stick like a third eating stick, carved in the same way, with a tuft of bristly vegetable matter at the end. “Scrape your teeth after you eat,” he said, and grinned at the tree dwellers’ dubious looks.
Another gourd of fringe tea came past. Rather was thirsty; but nobody was taking more than a mouthful, and he didn’t either. He passed it to Grag, who drank deeply and sent it on.
“Why do they call you Half Hand?” Debby asked.
“My great-square grandfather was Half Hand. Stuff that moved the old CARM sprang a leak, froze his hand. Grandfather was Half Hand too. Got bit while he was Dark hunting. Now me. Soon or late, I lose it.” The idea didn’t seem to bother him. “Raym, sell me some walnutcushion?”
“Not this trip. Next time.”
“I need it. Goes good with potatoes. Green beans too.”
“Next time for sure,” Raym promised.
Nurse Lockheed laughed and said, “He can’t. He doesn’t have a ship.”
Carlot was shocked. “Raym? You lost your ship?”
Raym nodded without looking at her.
Half Hand quietly moved off toward the kitchen. Nurse reached out and lifted Raym’s chin. “Tell them the story, Raym!”
It was the last thing Raym Wilby wanted. Some of the locals were looking embarrassed. Clave was quick enough to catch it. “If it’s story time, I’ll tell you about the breakup of Dalton-Quinn Tree.”
Raym’s ship was forgotten as Clave talked.
Rather knew the tale too well. What he noticed was the rise in the noise level. Half Hand’s was turning boisterous. Clave’s words were just perceptibly slurred, as if he were sleepy; yet he was animated, frenetic, as he relived what had been the end of the world for him and for Rather’s parents. Rather himself was feeling strange.
Half Hand was back. “Look out the window or go outside,” he said. “See something.”
“Water,” Rather said clearly.
“What?”
“Water, not fringe tea. Does something to my head.”
“Oh. Get you water, stet. M’shell! I’ll fix it. Tree dwellers shouldn’t drink too much fringe. Get to a window, boy. Thank me later.”
The nearest window was crowded, but Rather managed to get his head into the grouping. He watched three kitchen women carry garbage barrels outside and fling their contents across the sky. Nothing happened for a time. Rather continued to watch. He felt as if he were dreaming. Fringe?
He dreamed that triunes abruptly converged from all directions, splitting into individuals as they came. Rather shouted: not a warning, just an incoherent yell.
The women heard. They looked at him in the window and laughed. Slender blue-and-orange torpedos dove among them. The wind of their passage sent them tumbling. In twenty breaths it was over. The triunes moved away, regathering their families. The garbage had vanished. The women kicked to stop their spinning — and not one had been touched by the predator birds.
All the strangers around Rather were laughing at him.
The only good thing about it (he decided as he returned to his pole) was that nobody else had gone to a window. Grag and Debby seemed mostly interested in each other, but the rest were held spellbound by Clave’s storytelling. He spoke of the foray into the Carther States jungle—
He was on the verge of describing the London Tree CARM! “Clave?”
“Me, I didn’t notice most of this, what with my broken leg. Yeah?”
“Drink some water. This fringe is strong.”
John Lockheed said, “Yes, you’re not used to it,” and passed Clave the water gourd. Clave drank, and drank again. Rather was given a gourd, and he couldn’t understand how he had become so thirsty.
Then Carlot was there and it was all right, and Rather was free to go to sleep.
Kendy saw them streaming toward the log like a covey of brightly colored birds: young men and women stretched like taffy. Wings patterned in primary colors flapped behind, making them seem even longer. Each pattern was different. Birds must find each other in the sky.
The helmet microphone picked up giggling and snatches of talk. Some flew with skewed clumsiness, drunk on alcohol or other recreational chemicals. Kendy ran the record again, but the noise factor was too great; the words wouldn’t come clear.
They passed out of the helmet’s view and were gone.
Chapter Sixteen
High Finance
from the Citizens Tree cassettes, year 926 State
CHECKER
OFFICER RESPONSIBLE FOR THE ATTITUDES AND EMOTIONAL WELL-BEING OF THE CITIZENRY, AND FOR THEIR BENIGN RELATIONSHIP TO THE STATE.
BOOCE STARTED TEA WHEN HE SAW THEM COMING. HE looked them over as they entered. Nurse Lockheed had the giggles. Her brother was furious.
Booce smiled at them. “Half Hand’s?”
“Right. Fringe tea.” Carlot wasn’t happy.
“It was strange,” Debby said. “We ate…well, we tried everything. Clave made a list—”
“I hope we can afford it all,” Clave said. “Where’ll we grow it? We’ll have to plant the out tuft and make the lift cables twice as
long.”
The teapot went among the half-dozen dumpers who had returned with Logbearer’s crew. In a dozen breaths it was empty.
“Jonveev was kind enough to lend me some stuff,”
Booce said. “The teapot, some blackbrain, some cookware. Carlot… “He frowned. She should have brought supplies from the Vivarium and the Market shops.
She handed him a translucent blanket-leaf folded lengthwise. There was food within: vegetables, a slab of cold moby meat, and a baked sweet potato. “Half Hand gave us credit.”
“That’ll be breakfast. Jonveev fed me.”
John Lockheed sensed what was happening. “Many thanks, Booce, and we’d best be going.”
Raym showed his astonishment. “We just got here!”
“Raym, now. Come on, Nurse. Booce, we’re sorry about your trouble, but it didn’t ruin a good evening. It’s good to see you-back safe. Carlot—” He stretched his toes to clasp hers. Then the whole covey of dumpers moved out into the rain, shooing Raym and Nurse ahead of them.
“Now why did they do that?” Clave asked.
“They know we have to talk about money. You don’t do that in front of strangers,” Booce said. “All right, Carlot.”
“Zakry won’t give me credit. We’ll have to forage the trunk for food. I went to Dave Kon. He still owes for a klomter of wood from our last trip. He wouldn’t pay me. He offered full payment if we’d sell him a klomter off the new log at two times ten-square. I turned him down.”
“Right. That mutineer thinks we can’t afford to hire a judgment! See, Clave, the Admiralty won’t convene a civil court unless both sides can prove that they can pay court costs. Loser pays. But the Navy knows we have the Wart! One way or another, we’ll get money or credit. Carlot, I think I know what Hilar has in mind. Burl.”
Carlot thought it over. The tree dwellers watched with no sign of comprehension. She said, “Risky. Nobody knows how.”
“Hilar can afford to take the chance. He brought his tree in with the tuft still on. He asked for a loan and offered decent terms. Usually the tree dies, but sometimes—”
Debby suddenly said, “I remember. The idea is to let a tree grow without tide. The wood’s supposed to twist into knots?”
“Right. But trees aren’t really built for that. I wonder if Hilar knows something? If he can get money to live on, he can grow his burl while we sell our wood. He’d like to get the money from us, if we had it.”
“We should be asking Jeffer about this.”
Booce grimaced. Then: “Sorry. Debby, you’re tree dwellers, you should know a lot about them, but you’ve never seen a tree growing outside of tide.”
“You wouldn’t grow burl yourself, stet? Belmy’s not a fool or he wouldn’t be richer than you, stet?” Booce bridled, but Debby went on. “He knows something you don’t, something about burl. Jeffer the Scientist knows a lot we don’t. Let’s ask.”
“Burl,” Jeffer said musingly, watching the faces in the bow window. Debby was hiding anxiety. Booce had asked his question with some belligerence. This had been her idea, not his. Are you any good at all? Prove yourself, Scientist!
Blue lines of print scrolled across the faces.
INTEGRAL TREES GROW WELL IN A WIDE RANGE OF TIDES. LOW ATMOSPHERIC PRESSURE KILLS THEM PASTER THAN LOW OR HIGH TIDE. IN DENSE AIR AND VERY LOW TIDE THEY MIGHT SURVIVE. IN FREE-FALL THEY DIE. OTHERWISE WE WOULD FIND TREES GROWING NATURALLY IN THE CLUMP.
Booce was talking. “Hilar thinks he’s got me by the seeds. He offered me a loan if I withdraw my tree from sale, but he’s not serious. It’d break me. I’d be paying interest, and no way to get it back. Of course he doesn’t know about the Wart metal.”
“Do you really need to know if he can grow burl?” Jeffer said. “Booce, you’re satisfied that he’s trying it. You only need a short-term loan till you can sell your metal. The Belmys aren’t your enemies, are they?”
“No, they’re friends. Who would I talk to if I couldn’t talk to other loggers? But Hilar would love to have me carving the dumbo on my sticks, and all the loggers want to be richer than, say, the architects. Jonveev won’t loan me money unless she thinks I can pay it back. Or if I’ve got some kind of collateral…hell.”
A TREE SHOULD CONTINUE TO GROW IF THERE IS SUFFICIENT TIDE TO PULL WATER AND NUTRIMENT INTO THE TREEMOUTH AND TO WORK THE INTERNAL VEINS WITHIN THE TRUNK. SPIN THE LOG, JEFFER.
“Tell them about the Wart,” Carlot was saying.
“I didn’t want to. I guess…I’ve got to. It’d be better if I knew exactly what Hilar’s planning.”
“He’ll spin the log,” Jeffer said.
“What? What for?”
“Spin tide. Clave. It’s a scientific thing. Here, pick up that pot or whatever and throw it round and round your head. Ann’s length…like that, stet. Feel the pull? Like tide, isn’t it? Belmy’ll use his steam rocket to start the log spinning, not enough to tear it apart, just enough to keep some pull inside the tuft. The tree needs tide to move its food around—”
“By the State, I believe you’re right.”
“But the, uh, growth patterns would still be screwed up, with Voy going round and round and weird Clump tides going every which way. I’ve never seen burl, but isn’t that what you want, Booce? Grain that doesn’t grow in straight lines? He’ll spin it just enough to keep water and fertilizer in the treemouth.”
“Yes. Okay.”
LOSING CONTACT.
Hilar and Jonveev waited, wearing polite smiles, until Booce had finished talking. “Burl,” Hilar said. “It sounds interesting but risky.”
“Hardly cost-effective,” Jonveev said.
Booce said, “There are other values. It would be indecently lucrative if it worked. You’d have done something nobody else could.” They did not comment, and he went on. “Let’s assume, just for talking purposes, that you’ve been considering a burl tree. Who else would you let in on the secret?”
The Belmys looked at each other.
“You’d need masses of tree food. Mud, say, from deep in the Dark. Would you buy it from Zakry? Or haul it yourselves, with Woodsman?”
Jonveev sighed. “All right, Booce. What have you got in mind?”
“Logbearer could haul the mud to feed the tree. The whole Market knows that my last trip failed. They won’t be surprised when Logbearer becomes a Dark diver. Let them think I’m looking for fringe and blackbrain while I haul mud for Zakry.”
“Mmm,” said Jonveev.
“One thing more. I’ve got eight kiltons of metal buried under the termites.”
Their faces were quite blank. After a moment Jonveev said, “That’s not portable money. You still can’t offer us a loan, not until you sell it.”
“An excellent point. Hilar, Jonveev, what I want is this. First, you do your damndest to turn that half tree into burl. Second, I need a loan—”
Hilar was laughing.
“A short-term loan to let me spend money like an old Dark diver while I wait for the Navy to buy my metal. I’ll pay twenty percent to the crossyear, and I need tento-third chits. I’ll pay part of it back in mud at the same price Zakry pays. The rest at the crossyear, and I’ll hand you another five times ten-to-third. That’ll save any project you had to shortchange. It’s not a loan, though. It buys me half the burl.”
“Half!” Jonveev exclaimed.
“So.”
Caught! Jonveev Belmy laughed and said, “We hadn’t thought of spinning the tree. But can you really afford to risk that many chits? You’re moderately rich now. Why not stay that way?”
“I like the odds. I’ve got some crew who think it might work, and they’re tree dwellers. I think you think it’ll work, and that helps.”
“Two-fifths of any burl, and we want five times tento-third chits. We’ll get you your loan, but at forty percent to the crossyear. Mmm…I’ll hand you our cash on hand and give you the rest in ten days.”
Booce said, “I’ll pay thirty percent to…to ten sleeps past the crossyear. The N
avy might just hold me up for that long. And classify this. If the Navy knows I took a loan, they’ll know I’m still under pressure. I want them to move.”
Hilar laughed. “Where else could it have come from?”
“I’ll visit the house before I start throwing money around. They’ll think I had it in the house.”
And all of this was reported in garbled form, through Clave and then Jeffer, who had never dealt with finance, to Kendy, who never had either. But Kendy had sketchy records of the capitalistic societies that had died with the formation of the State, hundreds of years ago.
It was a hell of a way to run a civilization. These people needed him.
Jeffer, seated before the CARM camera, asked, “Do you understand any of this?”
“Yes, but it would be difficult to explain. What matters is that your citizens will have their earthlife seeds.”
“Yeah.” Jeffer stretched unself-consciously. “That’s good. We’ll have to talk fast when we get back to Citizens Tree. The seeds’ll help, and we’ll carry fresh food too, something they can eat right then. Are you getting what you wanted?”
What Kendy wanted was still beyond his reach. He said, “I’ve learned some things.”
“Tell me.”
“The Admiralty is self-sufficient. They’re a successful culture, but the crime rate must be high. Otherwise they would need fewer Navy ships, and the houses would have more openings.” Kendy displayed the picture the pressure-suit camera was sending from the Clump. Small green outlines flickered as Kendy pointed out ships, then the few but massive doors on nearby houses. “They’ve settled the outer shell of the Clump, but they only venture gingerly into the dark center. Their infant mortality rate must be as bad as yours. When they add up their population they don’t count children, any more than you do.”
“I never noticed that. Hmm…London Tree didn’t either. Is it because so many children die?”
“Yes. Wait a thousand years and the death rate will have diminished. There’s nothing else to be done.”