“Native affairs, you mentioned?” Trell looked at Ethan.
He rose. “We spent quite a number of months among them, sir.” Pacing the plushly carpeted room, he felt himself relax. As always, he was most at ease when punching a product he believed in. He believed in the Tran.
“Environment and ecology have conspired against the natives, sir. They’re widely dispersed, forced to cling to scattered, often barely accessible islands for survival. While they’ve adapted well to this harsh climate, their numbers don’t seem to be great. I don’t know why, but they aren’t as numerous as they should be. That also works to their disadvantage.
“And yet,” he continued enthusiastically, “Considering their extreme climate they’ve not only staved off extinction, but have advanced to a fair level of civilization. Their technology is unusually advanced in certain areas, such as iceship building and cold weather farming. Races inhabiting more pleasant worlds have not done as well.”
“I agree with you.” Ethan stopped pacing, astonished. First Trell described the Tran as having more muscle than brains, and now he was all but concurring with Ethan’s optimistic assessment of their accomplishments.
“Well then?”
“Well then what, Mr. Fortune?” Trell was watching him closely.
Ethan was forced to discard all the arguments he had mustered mentally to build a case for the Tran’s abilities and jump ahead. “If you agree with my assessment, sir, consider the benefits to this world of associate Commonwealth membership. They could send delegates to Council as observers. They’d learn a great deal and would be eligible for all kinds of government assistance for which they presently can’t qualify. That would raise the planetary standard of living, which in turn would…”
Trell raised a hand, and Ethan stopped short. “Please, Mr. Fortune.” The Commissioner’s gaze switched from Ethan to September, then back again. “Don’t you two realize that I would have been working for that very thing myself? Despite the natives’ obvious drawbacks, I admire them very much.” He gestured at his office.
“Look around you. I work here, relax here. Every item in this room not of an electronic nature is of local manufacture. The couches and chairs you rest upon, the decorative arts on walls and tables, everything. Personally I would enjoy nothing better than nominating my charges here for associate status. But,” and he shook an admonishing finger at Ethan, “though I agree with you where the locals’ scientific and artistic progress is concerned, let us objectively consider their handicaps. Social progress has lagged far, far behind everything else here.” He stood, unconsciously exchanging pacing territory with Ethan, who resumed his seat. Except that Trell moved straight to the nearest window-wall and stared out over town and harbor.
“You wish the Tran to have associate Commonwealth status. I wish them to have it.” He glanced back over a shoulder. “Which Tran, Mr. Fortune, do you refer to?”
Ethan started to reply, found his thoughts tangled by facts, and said nothing. September stared at him, silent and unhelpful…
III
“I SEE THE PROBLEM has struck home.” Trell turned from the window and the view beyond. “Arsudun was chosen to be the site of the Commonwealth outpost here because it was one of the larger islands located by first survey, and because it has a protected harbor which helps shield us here from the stronger winds off the ice ocean. However, further surveys could, I am certain, turn up forty other locations of equivalent suitability for Brass Monkey. Arsudun was lucky, not superior.
“Tell me… would it be fair to your friends from…?”
“From Sofold,” September told him.
“From Sofold. Would it be fair to them if all the delegates from Tran-ky-ky to Council were to be elected or appointed from Arsudun?”
“Of course not,” Ethan put in immediately. “All would vote and…” His voice trailed off.
Trell slumped back into his couch across from them. “Vote, Mr. Fortune? I don’t know if there’s a word in the Tran dialects for voting.”
“They elect Landgraves from time to time,” Ethan countered.
“Yes. When the offspring of former rulers are unacceptable. But you have a point, if what you say is true. I myself have never ventured from Arsudun. But if the sociologists who go out with the scouting parties are agreed on anything, it’s the Tran’s unwavering suspicion of his neighbor. They are belligerent and jingoistic.” He shook his head slowly.
“No. I’m sorry, Mr. Fortune. If the Tran are to claim associate status in the Commonwealth, they must present such a claim in some united fashion. There is no planetary government to deal with here. In fact,” he leaned forward, spoke with seeming excitement, “I won’t even require that. A dominant regional government would be sufficient, one comprised of a fairly diverse population and reasonable number of city-states. If that existed, then many of these other futile feudal states would fall into line. But you’re not going to find any such organization on this world. You’re just not.
“Hostility is a way of life on Tran-ky-ky. Not only don’t the inhabitants of one state care a k’nith’s hindquarters for their neighbors, what about these nomadic warrior groups?”
“We know about them,” Ethan admitted, thinking back to the siege of Sofold by the horde of Sagyanak the Death in which he and September and the others had participated in the destruction of that ancient enemy of Hunnar’s people.
“They’re entitled by the Commonwealth charter to fair representation also.” Trell stared expectantly at Ethan, as if the outcome of the discussion had already been decided. “Can you see the island dwellers allying themselves politically and culturally with those blood-hungry migratory bandits?” He shook his head again.
“No, I’m afraid not, gentlesirs. In a few thousand years, maybe even in a few hundred, they might mature enough to exchange breath with all their neighbors. But not now.” He threw up both hands in an unnecessarily melodramatic gesture.
“As things stand now there is no way I in my position as Resident Commissioner can recommend them for associate membership. Or even for wardship. They are too independent and advanced to qualify as charity cases. A large regional government even—but these bellicose little island states, no. It’s not workable or fair.” He rose. Ethan and September did likewise.
“I thank you for your interest, gentlesirs. I think that on reflection you’ll have to admit that personal emotion has played some part in your reasoning.” He was chiding them gently. “You’ve spent considerable time among these people. It’s only natural you’d want to help them. First, however, they must help them selves.
“Your ship will insert orbit in a couple of days, I believe. I’ll be at the port to see you off personally. If there’s anything I can do for you in the meantime, any service I can perform, please don’t hesitate to call on me.”
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Commissioner.” Ethan didn’t try to hide his disappointment. They shook hands all around once more.
Trell spoke as they were halfway out the door. “You’ll stay in the Administrator’s quarters, of course. At government expense.”
“That’s right kind of you, sir.” September smiled back at him. “Considerin’ the distance and dangers our hosts have brought us through, however, I think they’d be downright insulted if we didn’t spend our last few days with them. You understand.”
“Of course.” Ethan couldn’t tell if Trell was displeased by this announcement or not. “Anytime you change your minds, want to switch from the barbaric to the civilized, your accommodations will be waiting for you.”
“Thank you again,” Ethan said, closing the door behind them.
Jobius Trell watched the door for a minute, then resumed his seat on the couch. Fur tickled the back of his neck and he shifted his position slightly. His mind was occupied by something other than the room’s decor. Eventually he touched a nearby control, spoke into the room.
“Note: discuss visitor’s psychoverbal orientation with compudex file. Compare int
ensity gradient with recording of conversation with portmaster Xenaxis. Request computation of likely action tendencies, based on available data.”
Trell felt better after that, well enough to return to his real work. Always better to keep up with what he was supposed to be doing, so he could enjoy his apolitical machinations to the fullest.
Though the breeze off the harbor was comparatively mild, Ethan felt chilled through the artificial skin of his survival suit. Several local Tran sped past on the icepath they were paralleling. None turned to gawk. Humans were an accepted sight here on Arsudun.
“I guess that’s that, Skua. Give him his due, his arguments against granting status to Tran-ky-ky were strong.”
“They sure were, feller-me-lad. For instance, he was right when he said we were emotionally involved in this matter. What he didn’t add was that he’s equally involved. More than emotionally, I’ll wager. He said so with his face and his modukeys.”
“Modukeys?”
“Every word can be pronounced a lot of ways, lad. Each way carries an emotional key. I can recognize a few of ’em. Enough to tell me our friend Trell wouldn’t be too disappointed if the Tran stay just as divided and combative as they are now.” He had the facemask of his suit up. September liked to have freedom to grimace. He did so now.
“Tell me, lad. Who would stand most to profit from the present situation, from keeping Tran-ky-ky backward and unrepresented in Council? Who could keep a nice, private eye on every bit of off-planet trade and regulate it to suit his own personal accounts?”
“I didn’t get that impression from Trell at all, Skua.” Ethan kicked at the icepath, sent a few pale splinters flying. “That’s a strong accusation to make against a Resident Commissioner.”
“There’s an informal law, lad, about political appointees. The smaller the post, the less often they’re inspected, and the more opportunity there is for foolin’ around with the books.” He clapped Ethan on the back, nearly knocking him down. “Wouldn’t be the first time good manners have shielded a larcenous heart.” He frowned. “Course, he’s right about this feudal setup. We’ll have to do something about that.”
Ethan stopped, the snow swirling around him trying to find a way to penetrate his survival suit. “Do something about it? We can’t do anything about it. What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking, young feller-me-lad, that we’ve several days left to think about it…”
“Three there are it is not possible to do.” Sir Hunnar Redbeard spoke with conviction as he gazed at humans and Tran seated around the long galley table of the Slanderscree.
“It is not possible to kill a stavanzer. It is not possible to stand against a westwind Rif. And it is not possible to keep the Tran from warring among themselves.” He turned his feline stare on Ethan. His voice was as cold and assured as the slight storm howling outside the ship, making squeaking sounds in the cracks between rafters and planks.
“What you propose, friend Ethan, cannot be imagined, far less can it be done. A union of islands, a confederation of states? A council of Landgraves?” His triangular ears switched nervously. “More likely it would be for water to run freely across the seas.”
“It has to be done, Hunnar.” Ethan was half pleading with the assembled knights. “Don’t you understand how things have been set up here? The people of Arsudun and more importantly, their leaders, have a monopoly on all off-world trade and information. They profit tremendously, unfairly from it. It should be shared equally among all the Tran.”
“Aye, the metal,” a gruff voice added. Eyes turned in its direction.
Balavere Longax was Sofold’s most respected living warrior. An older, stockier version of Hunnar, his gray fur turning to white in patches, he commanded silence on the rare occasions when he chose to speak. Though less excited than those of his colleagues, his words carried considerably more weight.
“The metal. Never have I seen so much metal as the people of Arsudun possess. Nor do they seem deserving of it.” That brought irritated murmurs of agreement from several other members of the crew. “Not only their weapons, my friends, but yea too their household implements, water pots, and others are pure metal.”
Ethan nodded enthusiastically. “And they’re still being cheated, I think. Stelamic is cheaper than duralloy.”
September pushed back his chair, making the floorboards creak. “Hunnar, if the Tran will spill blood for metal, why are you so damned sure they won’t cooperate to get it?”
“It is considered degrading to cooperate with people from a less noble state,” the knight replied, as if that explained everything. “Do you remember when Sagyanak’s Horde assaulted Wannome? The she-devil’s tribe was a threat to all states. How much help was volunteered to us? How much aid did our neighbors provide to help fight the common enemy?” He sat down, mumbled, “Profit is not sufficient reason for forgetting old hatreds and suspicions. Your own Commonwealth-thing, there is no word for it in our language. The closest I can come is family.”
“That’s just how you have to start thinking of all Tran,” Ethan interrupted excitedly. “You’re a family. That’s all any race is, an extended family. Like it or not, Tran-ky-ky is destined to take its place as a member of the Commonwealth. You can’t go back to Wannome and look up at the night sky from your homes without realizing you’re a part of something much bigger and grander than Sofold. You might as well gain the advantages that are yours by right, now.” A little out of breath and a bit embarrassed at the strength of his unexpected polemic, Ethan sat back down.
“Advantages which should be spread among all Tran,” September added more quietly, but just as emphatically.
“My good friends with whom I share my warmth, I recognize the truth of your words.” Hunnar looked despondent. “Would that I could will the spirit of this world otherwise. But the Tran are good at arguing with knives, not with words.”
“Then you must achieve the same end with knives.” Colette du Kane entered the room. She waddled gracefully to the far end of the long wooden table, placed both hands on it and leaned forward. “If reason and logic aren’t enough to cement this confederation you must make, then do it with knives. The end is justified by what you will gain.” She threw Ethan and September a rather disdainful look.
“Only profits have so far been mentioned, material things. Commonwealth membership will force you to mature as a people. Soon you won’t need knives to discuss with. But if you fail,” and she paused for emphasis, “you’ll remain just as you are, frozen in ability and evolution as well as in daily life. You’ll stay ignorant farmers and fighters and your cubs will grow up just as inefficient and deprived as you all are.”
Wind hammered insistently at doorways and portholes, the only sound in the room.
Eventually Hunnar spoke, choosing his words carefully. “You have ventured enough insults to result in a shortened tongue, woman. Yet you did so, I believe, in the hope of benefiting us. What you say is truthspeak.” Several of the other nobles now looked askance at Hunnar, then at one another. There were some unhappy mutterings and a few threatening looks in Colette’s direction.
“Listen to you all.” Ethan thought he had seen someone else behind Colette when she stepped through the cabin portal. Now that other person also entered.
Elfa Kurdagh-Vlata looked like a bewhiskered amazon in cloak and light robe. Her translucent dan caught the back light of oil lamps beyond and turned to curved sheets of orange flame when she raised her arms.
“You confirm what the human woman says every time you speak. She calls you ignorant and in response to her reasoning words you make stupid threatening sounds, like mewling cubs caught stealing vegetables.”
“We grant the wisdom of her speaking,” grumbled one of the other nobles at the table. “It was the manner of such speaking.” While Elfa was the inheritor of the Landgrave’s title, the noble had used no honorific in addressing her, Ethan noted. Such informality between rulers and ruled was one of the Tran’s most hearte
ning characteristics.
“But would Phulos-Tervo or any of our other border rulers do likewise?” the noble finished bluntly. There was murmur of agreement from around the table.
“Perhaps not.” Elfa conceded the point readily. “But a total stranger might. Phulos-Tervo would be suspicious of anything my father might agree to. A stranger would know him not.” She gestured at the humans in the room, pointing at each in turn.
“Here are our offworld friends, proof of the truths we will seek to convince others of. No one can dispute their existence. Therefore it may be that others will accept their words as have we.”
“That is possible,” agreed a swaggering knight named Heso-idn. “If they will come with us.” He eyed Ethan expectantly.
“Oh, I’ll be staying.” Milliken Williams sounded surprised that any other possibility could be seriously considered. The ancient Tran seated next to him spoke through a white beard.
“Sir Williams and I still have much to discourse upon to one another. He could not leave now.”
“Of course I couldn’t.” Williams’ guileless enthusiasm did much to boost the confidence of the assembled Tran as he gazed blithely around the table. “You’re much more interesting than any of my old pupils, and there’s more here for me to learn. I couldn’t possibly leave.”
“You must realize, all of you, that as an educated citizen of fair achievement, citizen Williams is giving up a vote.” September sounded as solemn as he could. “That is something no qualified inhabitant of the Commonwealth does lightly, I can assure you.”
“What of you, friend September?” asked Hunnar.
“Oh, I guess I’ll hang around a while yet.” He picked at his teeth with a triangular fork left from the last meal. “Can’t say much for your climate, but the food’s good, the liquor is first class, and the company’s agreeable. Can’t ask for much more than that. Besides, nobody asks me too many questions.” He turned to his right. “What about you, young feller-me-lad?”
The Icerigger Trilogy Page 38