Jo drummed her fingers on the desk and studied the old man. His concern was genuine. And despite the conspiratorial overtones of his suspicions, Jo had an uneasy feeling that he could be right. The Restructurists had been rather quiet of late. Maybe something was brewing after all.
But a secret plot to trigger the emergency clause of the Federation charter? Unlikely. But then again… Old Pete had never been known to be prone to hysteria, nor to paranoia. He was getting on in years, true, but not that far on. He and her grandfather had possessed two of the shrewdest minds in the interstellar market in their day and she sensed that Pete’s was still sharp. If he thought there was something in the wind that threatened IBA, then it might be wise to give him the benefit of the doubt.
Jo withheld complete acceptance. She’d help, even if it meant continued close contact with Pete, but she’d keep an eye on him. If he was wrong and his suspicions had no basis in fact, then little was lost except some time and personal aggravation. If he happened to be right, however… well, IBA was her home and her family. Anything that threatened it, threatened her.
“I’ve always found conspiracy theories titillating,” she said after a long pause, “though rarely verifiable. But if it’s in IBA’s interest, I’ll do what I can.”
Old Pete’s body relaxed visibly as he heard this. “Good! You can help me dig. I’ve already got someone checking out this fellow on Dil. We’ll have to keep a watch on all the Restructurist eminentoes to see if anything else is about to break.”
Jo nodded. “I can see to that. I’ll also send someone of my own to Dil to see what can be uncovered there.” She rose to her feet, anxious to end the meeting. “In the meantime…”
Old Pete sat where he was and held up his hand. “Not so fast.”
“What’s the matter?”
“If we’re going to be working together on this thing,” he said, “let’s get one thing settled: Why do you hate me?”
Jo’s voice rose half an octave. “I don’t hate you.”
“Yes, you do. And I’d like an explanation. You owe me that much, at least.”
She wondered at times if she owed him anything; then at other times she felt she owed him everything. But always, when she thought of him, old hatreds rose to the surface. She hesitated.
“I’m waiting,” Old Pete said patiently.
Jo shook herself and made ready the reply that was as unpleasant for her to say as it was going to be for Old Pete to hear.
“If it hadn’t been for you,” she said slowly and distinctly, “my father would be alive today.”
Old Pete’s face registered the expression she had expected: shock. And something more… he was hurt, too.
After a long pause, he spoke in a low voice. “How could you think such a thing?”
“Because it’s true! You probably talked him into that sabbatical of his. And if you didn’t talk him into it, you could have talked him out of it. But however it was, you got control of his stock and sent him off to be killed!”
Old Pete suddenly looked all of his eighty-one years. A lot of things were suddenly very clear to him.
“You must believe that Junior insisted on leaving… I did my best to dissuade him, but you can’t talk a Finch out of anything once he’s got his mind set on it. He thrust the stock on me for safekeeping until his return – he only planned to be away a year.”
“But he never returned and it all turned out very nicely for you, didn’t it?”
“You’re not thinking very clearly, little girl,” Old Pete said as anger began to absorb the hurt. “Think! What did I do with that stock? Did I set myself up as all-powerful ruler of the IBA complex? Did I remake the company in my own image? Did I milk it dry? No! No to all of them! I set up a board of directors to run things for me because I’d lost interest in the whole affair. Joe dead, and then Junior dead… all within four years…” His voice softened again. “I just didn’t feel like going on with any of it any more.”
In the long silence that followed, Jo was almost tempted to believe him. His hurt at what she had said seemed so real. But she couldn’t accept it. Not yet. There was something locked away in Old Pete, something he would never let her see. She had no idea what it was or what it concerned, but it was there. She sensed it. And she couldn’t let the old hatreds go. She had to have someone to blame for losing a second parent by the time she was eleven years old, for the years spent with an indifferent uncle and a preoccupied aunt.
“Well,” she faltered, “someone made him leave. Someone got him out of the picture.”
“Yes, and that someone was Junior himself.”
Jo’s voice broke. “Then he was a fool!”
“You can’t understand why he left, can you?” Old Pete said softly, as if seeing Jo for the first time. “And I think I know the reason. Since you were in your teens you’ve known what you wanted and you had to work to get it. You had to confront me, then the board of directors, and then you had to prove yourself to the interstellar traders.”
He rose and began to pace the room.
“It was different, however, for Junior… perhaps we shouldn’t have called him that but it got to be a necessity when he and his father were working together. You’d say ‘Joe’ and they’d both say ‘What?’ But anyway, it was different for him. He grew up in your grandfather’s shadow; he was Joe Finch’s son and everything was cut out for him. He had a prefab future in IBA and most sons would have slipped right into the mold.
“But not Junior. IBA was a golden apple waiting to be plucked and he walked away. Oh, he hung on and gave it a try for a couple of years after his father’s death, but it just wasn’t for him. At least not yet. He didn’t feel he’d earned it. It was no accomplishment for him to take over IBA. He balked.” Old Pete snorted. “That Finch blood, I guess.”
“And you couldn’t change his mind?”
He shook his head. “No. Tried up to the last day. He said good-by not knowing where he was going; I said good-by figuring to see him again in a year or so. You know the rest.”
“What there is to know, yes.” Jo slumped in her chair. “I’m sorry, but I don’t care to talk about this any more.”
Old Pete ignored her. “You know, I just realized what’s missing in this office: a picture of Junior. Jo, you really shouldn’t reserve all your ancestral reverence for your grandfather.”
“Please,” Jo said, “not now. I’ll have someone show you to the guest suite.”
“Quite all right,” came the smiling reply. “I know exactly where it is – I helped design this building, don’t forget.” He turned at the door. “A nice little holo of your father would go very well on the desk there. Think about it. Junior was really quite a fellow in his own way. And you’re closer to him than you’ll ever know.”
Jo remained in her chair after he had gone. It was a long time before she was able to get back to her work.
Junior
THE VANEK VILLAGE was an odd place, almost humorous in its incongruities. Sitting in front of their smooth-domed mud huts, the Vanek women, almost identical to the men in appearance, prepared the coming meal or mended clothes; the men whittled their statuettes and tableaux as they had no doubt done for centuries; the children romped as all children have romped for eons. A timeless scene at first glance. Then one noticed that the pump over the well in the center of the village was of Terran design and powered by solar batteries. A closer look and one noticed that fine strands of insulated wire ran from hut to hut. And filtering through the primitive background noise of the village in its natural surroundings was the hum of a modern generator. The Vanek had looked upon electric lighting and had seen that it was good… at least in this particular village.
Rmrl left Junior standing by an odd-looking contraption while he went to confer with the elders. It was a series of intricately carved gearlike wheels suspended on axles set at crazy angles. Junior touched one of the smaller wheels and it began to rotate; he gave it a push to move it faster and suddenly all the wheel
s were turning. The rates and angles were all different, but all were turning.
He returned his attention to Rmrl, who was approaching a large hut that stood apart from the others. The mud on the walls had been etched with countless, intricate gyrating designs.
The young Vanek was met at the door by a wizened figure. As their conversation grew animated, other figures appeared in the doorway. Fingers pointed, hands gestured back and forth, a confusion of high-pitched voices drifted toward Junior as he watched with interest. Finally, Rmrl turned away. The door closed behind him.
“They do not wish to listen,” he said with an expressionless face as he returned to Junior’s side. “I’m sorry, bendreth.”
“There’s hardly any need to apologize to me,” Junior grunted. “I’m not the one on the dirty end of the stick.”
“Pardon, bendreth?”
“Nothing. Just an expression.”
He watched the rotating wheels and pondered the situation. His first inclination was to drop the whole matter and continue his hike through the region. If they were content with the situation, then let it be. He had always despised people who thought they knew what was best for others, and feared that he might be falling prey to that very same attitude in regard to the Vanek.
If they don’t want my help, then why should I even bother? They could be right… bringing things to a head may not be the best answer. And if they don’t want to move, why should I push them?
Then he caught the expression on Rmrl’s face – the tiniest glimmer of unhoped-for hope had been doused. Hidden, but it was there.
Junior found himself striding toward the Elder Hut.
“Bendreth!” Rmrl cried. “Come back! It will do no good! They will refuse to listen!”
Ignoring him, Junior pushed through the door and entered the hut.
The only illumination within came from a single dusty incandescent bulb, primitive in design and low in wattage, hanging lonely and naked from the ceiling. A dank, musty odor tanged the air, but what he could see was reasonably clean.
Seven scrawny, robed figures started up from the floor at Junior’s precipitous entrance. He noted their frightened expressions and quickly held out his empty palms.
“I mean you no harm. I only wish to speak to you.”
Rmrl came up behind him and stood in the doorway, watching.
“We know what you wish to say,” replied one of the elders, the most wizened of the lot. “You wish us to take action to influence the Great Wheel. We will not. It is forbidden and it is unnecessary. The Great Wheel has a wisdom of its own, indecipherable in mortal terms, and brings all things ’round in good time. We will do nothing to alter its course, bendreth.”
“But I’m not going to ask you to do anything,” Junior said quickly. “I want you to try and not do something.”
The seven muttered among themselves at this. If this is what you have to go through to get anything moving in this place, Junior thought, small wonder they still live in mud huts!
The same elder turned to him again. He was apparently the chief or something. “We have decided that under those circumstances it would not be unorthodox to listen to you, bendreth.”
Junior shot a quick glance at Rmrl and then seated himself on the hard-packed earth of the floor. The elders did likewise. It was as he had expected: the elders, and probably most other Vanek, were dogmatists. Not doing something, according to the letter of their creed, was quite different from doing something.
“What we are dealing with here,” Junior began, “is really a very simple problem. On one hand we have Bill Jeffers, a man who is quite willing to sell you food, clothing, and fuel for your generator, but is loath to let you eat in the store where you buy all these things. Now is neither the time nor the place to make a moral judgment on the rightness or wrongness of this policy. He owns his store and what he wants to do with it is his business. It’s just a fact we have to deal with.
“Just as it is a fact that you Vanek do not like this policy.”
The elders glanced warily at each other as Junior said this, but he hurried on with his speech.
“It is another fact that you Vanek make up a good part of Jeffers’ business. You earn your money, and where and how you spend it is your business. You have something Jeffers wants – money. And in return for spending your money in his store you would like to be treated with the same respect he accords his Terran customers.”
The chief elder opened his mouth to speak but Junior cut him off: “Don’t deny it. You hide it well, but it gnaws at you.”
The old Vanek hesitated, then gave him an almost imperceptible nod. This pushy Terran had suddenly risen in the elders’ collective estimation.
“Okay. Now, the next step is to bring this point home to Jeffers. To accomplish this, all you’ve got to do is stay away from his store until he gets the message that unless he bends a little, his gross income from now on will be a lot less than what he’s used to. And don’t worry about him getting the message; he’s a businessman and you’ll be speaking his language.”
The elders stared at Junior in open-mouthed wonder. They had little knowledge of the economic forces at work around them. The general store was a tremendous convenience to them. No longer did they have to till the fields in the hot sun, no longer did the fullness of their bellies depend on the success of the harvest. Let the Great Wheel bring whatever weather it may, as long as the Terran curio dealers bought the statuettes and carvings, the Vanek would never go hungry.
So, since the day of its construction, the general store had been looked upon as a boon from the Great Wheel. But now this Terran was revealing that their relationship with the proprietor of the store was one of interdependence. It was all so obvious! Why hadn’t they seen it before?
“You are very wise, bendreth,” the chief elder said.
“Hardly. It’s all common sense. What’s your decision on the matter?”
Muttering and mumbling, the elders grouped into a knot on the far side of the hut. A few seemed to be opposed to the idea – it would influence the Great Wheel. Others contended that they had managed without Jeffers and his store in the past and certainly it would not be unorthodox to get along without him now. The latter argument prevailed.
The chief elder turned to Junior. “We have agreed to your plan, bendreth. The word shall be passed to our brother Vanek in this region that we no longer buy from Jeffers.” He hesitated. “We still find it hard to believe that such action on our part will have any effect.”
“Don’t worry,” Junior reassured him. “He takes you all for granted now; but he’ll change his tune once the receipts start to dwindle. You’ll all suddenly become very important to Bill Jeffers. Wait and see.”
The elder nodded absently, still not quite believing. The meek had been told they had power, yet they were unsure of its use, unsure that it really existed.
Junior left the hut in high spirits. It was all so simple when you used your head. In a few days Jeffers would start to wonder why he hadn’t seen any Vanek around his store lately. He would get his answer and the choice would be his. Junior had little doubt as to what that choice would be.
He felt good. He was doing something worthwhile and doing it on his own. No one was paving the way for him. He was breaking his own ground.
The sun was down behind the trees as he unrolled his sleeping bag in the middle of a small clearing somewhere between the Vanek village and Danzer. He’d sleep well tonight, better than he had in many years.
DAWN BROKE CHILLY AND DAMP. Reaching into his sack, Junior brought out a container of breakfast rations and activated the heating strip. Two minutes later he was downing a hot meal.
The sun was up and chasing the ground fog as he moved toward Danzer at a brisk pace. His plan was to go to town and hang around Jeffers’ store to watch how things developed as the day wore on. And should the shopkeeper begin to wonder where all the Vanek were keeping themselves, Junior would be sure to offer his opinion.
; Yes, he was thinking, today ought to prove very interesting.
Jeffers was on a short ladder, stocking one of the shelves, when Junior walked in.
“G’morning, Finch,” he said with a glance over his shoulder. Junior was surprised that he remembered his name. “Cooled off from yesterday?”
“Entirely.”
“Good. Looking for breakfast?”
“Had some already out in the field. But I’ll take some coffee if you’ve got it.”
Jeffers smiled as he poured two cups at the counter. “Ever had Jebinose coffee before?”
Junior shook his head.
“Then this one’s on the house. Our coffee takes some getting used to and you may not want to finish your first cup.”
Junior hesitantly nodded his thanks. Try as he might, he could not work up a personal dislike for Jeffers. He sampled the coffee; it had a strong, bitter-sour taste to it and Jeffers’ grin broadened as he watched Junior add a few spoonfuls of sugar. He tried it again and it was a little more palatable now.
After a pause, Junior asked, “Just what is it you have against the Vanek, Bill? It’s none of my business, I know, but I’m interested.”
“You’re right about it being none of your business,” Jeffers said curtly, then shrugged. “But I’ll tell you this much: I don’t have anything in particular against them. It’s just that they strike me as weird. They get on my nerves with all that talk about wheels and such and, frankly, I just don’t like to have them sitting around.”
Junior nodded absently. Jeffers was rationalizing and they both knew it.
“What time do they usually start showing up here?” he asked.
“They’re usually my first customers of the day.”
“But not today, eh?” Junior remarked confidently.
“You didn’t beat them in, if that’s what you mean. Two of them left just a few minutes before you arrived… bought some food.” He stared at Junior curiously. “Something wrong?”
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