I did not know enough about the economy here to have opinions—analogies from another planet ten universes away could only mislead me. Wait a half, old son—get your data first.
The brochures were as glowing as I expected—I have yet to see one for a tourist trip that was not. Sometimes they are truthful; there is no way to exaggerate the Taj Mahal, or Glacier Bay, or the glow worm caves in New Zealand. And Helium was indeed a city of wondrous beauty and beautiful wonders.
But I found myself feeling itchy at our Red hosts being described as “barbarians” and the green giants as “savages.” Tawm Takus was no savage; he was a gentleman of meticulous honor and fine courtesy. Kach Kachkan had a less civilized background … but the way he had lifted himself by his bootstraps was utterly admirable. Kach had not been “born a gentleman”—he simply was a gentleman, “sans peur et sans reproche.”
As for “bloodthirsty hordes,” Earth-Zero humans have a history as “bloodthirsty” as that of the green giants, and its last century had not been one whit better than earlier ones—worse, if anything. I knew nothing about Earth-Ten, as yet. Must find out ….
I sat in thought for a longish time … then repackaged everything, put the packages under my arm, picked up an escort at the door, and went looking for Cart. Whatever Earth-Ten was, it was not my planet, I owed it no loyalty—and did owe loyalty to Cart. I felt certain that he had never seen these brochures. If he had seen them, no harm done—if he had not, surely he was entitled to know how his realm was advertised to tourists.
He met me at the inner door of his apartments. “Zeb! I just sent a messenger to find you. Got news for you!”
“Good, I hope.”
“Some of both. First, please tell Deety that my spies dug out one thing she wanted to know … without troubling the minds of your green friends. Tawm Takus earns by the day tanpi two, Kach Kachkan’s daily wage is one and a half—that should let her judge how much to spend on presents for them.”
“Is that all they earn?”
“ ‘Is that all?’ Kach Kachkan commands twice the wage of a skilled stonecarver, Tawm Takus even more. Being a courier can’t be too difficult—it’s knowledge of English that puts them into a higher bracket.”
“What is the other news?”
“Oh. Bad news. The bids for those gyroscopes.”
He sent for them. We sat and I accepted wine and a tidbit while I checked them. Three bids had been forwarded—lowest from Japan, one slightly higher from Skoda, highest from Sperry.
“Cart, I recommend that you buy from Sperry.”
“Why Sperry? Not that it matters, I can’t afford even the low bid.”
“Because there is less than a five percent spread between lowest and highest. These other companies might do as well—they are both good firms—but we know that Sperry gyroscopes to these specs will do the job; Gay Deceiver is equipped with them.”
The prince looked sad. “I see your logic. I might as well pick the best—since I can’t have any of them.”
“Cart, how strongly do you want to make Helium—and Barsoom—independent of Earth in space travel? Never mind that Gay Deceiver can do other things: let’s speak just of trade. In the history of my own planet, any nation that became totally dependent on merchant ships of other nations was courting disaster. Different planets, different conditions—granted. But I doubt that the principle changes. I suspect that, in the long run, you can’t afford to allow Earthling ships to ground here … unless you can send ships of your own to Earth. These bids—you can bet that they have been greatly increased to cover shipping charges … yet gyroscopes aren’t all that heavy … and travel from Earth can’t be so terribly expensive or you wouldn’t have so many tourists. You’re paying through the nose because you are helpless. So pay—once! Buy two sets—one for your first ship, one for your most skilled technologists to study and duplicate. Then you can build ships that can move goods—or anything!—much faster and much cheaper than the ships that come here now.”
“Zeb, can’t you understand that I can’t buy even one set?”
“No, because I don’t believe it. The jewelry that your wife and your mother lavished on Deety and on Hilda would, if sold on Earth, buy a dozen sets of gyros. More likely a hundred.”
“Out of the question, Captain!”
“Let me talk. You said something about your mother having a trunkful of such jewelry that she never uses. Are there no circumstances under which such wealth can be used? I understand that Thuvia was once a captive, a slave—would your mother use those jewels to ransom her daughter-in-law, if that was what it took?”
The prince chewed his lip. “We’d go to war.”
“Cart, I meant ‘if paying that jewelry for ransom was the only possible way to free your wife!’ Don’t tell me that the men of Helium would die for the princess; I know that. My own sword is at Thuvia’s feet—and you know it. Answer the question the way I put it: no other choices.”
“Issus! Mother would pay ransoms.”
“How many bodies did the black chariots clear out of your streets this dawn?”
“I don’t know. If you have reason for wanting to know, I will find out.”
“The exact number I don’t need to know. What I do wonder is this: how long can the prince regent of a great city-state allow his people to freeze or starve before it penetrates his skull that it might be better to change an age-old custom than to let them go on dying?”
“Captain, you go too far!”
I stood up. “I have no wish to offend the prince regent. I stated a question, but the prince owes me no answer. He owes the answer to himself. My family and I will leave your roof as quickly as I can locate them. Within the hour, if possible. Please extend my apologies to the jeddara and to the Princess Thuvia for not saying farewell in person … and please tell my cousin John, the Warlord, that I regret that my unseemly words have made it impossible for me to remain to see him.”
“Damn it, Zeb! Sit down!”
I remained standing. “Highness, I can’t be ‘Zeb’ one moment and ‘Captain’ the next, then ‘Zeb’ again … then ‘Captain.’ It makes me dizzy and I don’t know where I stand. I am not your subject, I am not a citizen of Helium. I can no longer be your guest. Will His Imperial Highness either allow me to leave in peace—or make me his prisoner?”
Cart looked as if I had slapped him. I had—verbally. He got himself under control, then said slowly and in lower tones: “Zeb … would you have my mother refusing to see me? My wife closing her door to me? My father—your cousin—black angry with me? Would you do that to me? Zeb, Zeb—I was wrong! Forgive me—if you can.” Suddenly he was reaching for his sword—I started to reach for mine.
His hand never touched the grip. He unhooked it with his leather and it lay at my feet, hilt toward me.
It was quicker for me to unhook my belt. My sword lay by his, hilt toward him.
Then we were pounding each other on the back in a tight embrace. Cart was almost sobbing and I think I felt a tear against my neck—and I didn’t feel any too steady myself. Shock treatment can hurt the one who gives it almost as much as the one on the receiving end. I was shaking.
We both sat down again, sprawled; Cart made a slight gesture, goblets of wine were in our hands at once. It occurred to me that at least as many guards must be watching as female slaves. If I had touched the hilt of my sword, how long would I have lived?
We didn’t toast each other; we simply had a drink as medicine while our nerves stopped twanging. Presently, Cart sighed. “Zeb, I was never cut out to be a monarch. I do the best I can because I must. I’ll have to talk this over with Mother … and with her grandfather when he returns … and with my father, your cousin—if possible. Damn! I wish I knew where he is; I’d send my fastest flier. For this won’t be easy; I’ll need his backing. But Helium must have spaceships.”
I thought of other angles without mentioning them aloud. I could buy those damn gyros … if I dared to return to my home planet. As a
bachelor, I would have risked it—I thought. But a married man and prospective father finds himself with a brand-new set of values. I was still breaking them in, like a new pair of shoes—they pinched a bit, but I must wear them. Helium was not my responsibility—Deety was.
Cart was having “new shoes” trouble, too. But we each had to break in our own pair. Did we dare go to Earth-Ten? Plenty of obstetricians there, that seemed certain, and apparently Earth-Ten’s analog of Sperry Division could sell me gyroscopes—without horrendous delivery charges tacked on—and I could give Cart those gyros; he would accept a gift. But not money. But would something so silly as a missing letter from the alphabet trip me up? It need not be a missing letter; it could be anything. Or many things. Mars-Ten, known as Barsoom, was very different from Mars-Zero of my universe—Earth-Ten might be just as different … and I might wind up in the calaboose when Deety needed me most through something as silly as stepping on a taboo crack. Must talk it over with Jake.
(I knew of one important difference: Earth-Ten had space travel far in advance of the primitive aerospace vehicles I was familiar with. Its tourists dressed oddly, but tourists always dress oddly, everywhere. Those brochures didn’t indicate any difference—but they described Barsoom, not Earth-Ten. All they showed was a tendency toward legal larceny, “all the traffic will bear”—a trait commonplace on Earth-Zero.) “Cart?”
“Eh? Sorry, I was thinking. What, Zeb?”
“I was thinking, too. Helium is very short on gold—gold as money, I mean.”
“Quite. So short that most transactions are by draft, with settlements made at intervals.”
“I had that figured from two things. Three. A very low wage scale. Lots of jewelry based on gold. And most of the jewelry quite old. Cart, Helium—and Barsoom in general—has been tying up its gold in jewelry, freezing it, for thousands of cycles. Hasn’t it?”
“Longer than that, Zeb. Yes, there are no longer rich gold mines—there hasn’t been a rich lode discovered since I was hatched. We’ve quit making gold coins—just copper and some silver. I don’t recall ever seeing a one—tanpi gold coin—too small; they’ve disappeared. Fifty or a hundred tanpi coins are more convenient for making settlements—but most business is done by personal draft. Checks?—I think that might be the idiomatic word.”
“ ‘Checks,’ yes. Cart, this planet reminds me of India—a very poor country with nobody-knows-how-many billions of dollars in coins or jewelry hidden away, buried, or otherwise out of circulation. Very little gold for use in trade with other countries.”
The prince gave a wry, one-sided smile. “It does not parallel. It didn’t seem to matter until we started trading with Earth. I thought tourists would bring in gold, make it possible to buy form Earth. And they do—but not what I expected.”
“Take a look at these.” I handed him the packages I had fetched.
He thumbed through them, said, “These are things for tourists. Why should I look at them?”
“Read them. Read all of them.”
“Must I, Zeb? My mind is on other things.”
“Cart, I think they are important. I ask it as a favor.”
“Very well.” Reluctantly, he started reading. The tariffs I had placed on top. Shortly, he looked up. “This can’t be right. Some clerk has miscopied. Tanpi fifty per day must be tanpi five. Or do I misread your conventional way of expressing money?”
“Go ahead reading. Then we’ll discuss it.”
“Zeb, you’re as stubborn as Thuv.” He went on reading, stopped, re-read—thumbed through, read other bits—while his face turned very dark, deep mahogany, and his features set in grim lines. He looked up. “Guard!”
“Wait a half!” I said urgently. “If I tell you why you’ve called the guard, will you listen?”
A dozen guards were already in the chamber, their officer waiting at salute. “Speak,” he conceded.
“You were about to send for the managers of Thomas Cook and American Express.”
“Essentially correct. I was about to have them arrested and fetched here.”
“I don’t question your decision, I do question its timing. Finish reading, then let’s discuss it. Cart, you need more data.”
Cart hesitated, then said, “Return to your posts.” They vanished.
I asked, “Any chance that they will talk? When you do act, it should be a surprise.”
“Zeb, those are my most trusted men—they keep me from being assassinated. However … Office of the Guard.”
“Highness.”
“Rog Retnor, keep all men who were in here on duty until I send for you—a special job later. And be certain they talk with no one. No one. Servants, other guardsmen, even members of my own family. Until I send for you. I have spoken.”
The officer saluted and left.
“Now finish reading, Cart.”
“I will. But this word ‘barbarian’ …. My father uses it in a derogatory sense.”
“My cousin uses it correctly.”
“And ‘savage’?”
“Even worse.”
“Hmm …. It would be well were the general-in-chief, Tars Tarkas, never to see this. Perhaps it is well that he speaks little English, reads it not at all.”
“Cart, from his reputation, if Tars Tarkas understood that piece of paper, there would be bloodshed.”
“Hmm … I can’t imagine Tawm Takus reading it without anger … yet Tawm Takus is slow to anger.”
“Cart, I doubt that couriers ever see this garbage. They are probably given their orders orally. As for tourists, anyone who has ever herded tourists learns to ignore their silly chatter. Regards them as children, to be protected, but not taken seriously.”
“Hmm ….” He went on reading. At last he said, “Very well, I have read all of it. You have something to say?—before I put those two into the dungeons while I decide what the charges are?”
“I wouldn’t mind seeing one of them spend a night in jail; I’ve heard how he talks to my friend Tawm Takus. But if you jail those two, you won’t get at the source. Cart, what landing fee do you charge Earthling ships? And how much per head do you charge tourists to come here?”
“Landing fee? Do you mean payment for grounding here? Why should I charge anything? That spaceport land has no value, it can’t be irrigated. Strictly speaking, it is not part of Helium—although all worthless land near us is under my control, when necessary. I mean that I would not let an unfriendly army or a Green Horde not allied with us to approach that closely. What’s this about charging tourists? We want tourists; we need gold.”
“But you aren’t getting it. Cart, Deety and Hilda were in the museum recently. ‘Palace of Memories’ I think it is called. I feel sure they did not pay to get in; they carry no money. What do tourists pay?”
“Zeb, the Palace of Memories is open to everyone; it is a cultural treasure.”
“What payments do you receive from Hilton and American Express and Thomas Cook for their franchises?”
“Fran-chise-ess? That phrase is new to me?”
“Those three have a monopoly on your tourist trade—only it’s not your tourist trade; it’s theirs. Cart, all those tourists are wealthy, or they could not afford a trip to Barsoom. Look at those schedules of prices! Wealthy, or they would not come here. But, while they bring much gold to Barsoom, that gold does not stay on Barsoom. All but a dribble goes back to Earth. You have been supplying the attractions—great and wonderful attractions! Tourists are willing to pay to see the beauties and the strange—strange to them—wonders of your world. I am sure they go home and boast about it the rest of their lives. But while Helium supplies the attractions, the profits—all but a tiny dribble—return to Earth.”
“Zeb, you never talk idly ….”
“The devil I don’t.”
“… on serious matters. You have some solution in mind?”
“The prime solution is to own your own ships. But there are things to do in the meantime. Why should two companies from Ea
rth—or one, as I suspect that, on Barsoom, American Express and Thomas Cook are two sides of the same coin—why give them a monopoly? Why can’t the people of Helium, say under the sign of your Greater Helium Chamber of Commerce, open their own tourist bureau? Charge less for tours, pay more to couriers, use advertising that doesn’t insult your citizens and your green allies—and still make a fat profit and keep all of the gold on Barsoom?”
Cart looked pleased at the thought … then shook his head. “The tourists wouldn’t come to us, Zeb. The ships and that inn of theirs, the Hilton Interplanetary, arrange everything. You see, we had some trouble at first. The tourists don’t understand our ways and some of my citizens are hot-tempered. So now all tourists are taken under guard from ship to inn. These tourist companies sell their tours at the inn … and their couriers pick them up there and return them there.”
“Cart, do you play cards?”
“ ‘Cards.’ Earthling games played with colored squares of parchment?”
“Yes.”
“Your cousin, my father, knows card games and taught some to my mother and my sister and to Thuv. They tried to teach me but it seemed a waste of time; I dropped it. Why?”
“Do you understand the idiom ‘To hold all the trumps’?”
“ ‘Trumps ….’ Doesn’t that mean the tactical situation in which one player has all the winning squares of parchment? Or is it the reverse?”
“You had it right the first time. Cart, you hold all the trumps. All but one: they own the ships. But you hold all the others. Never mind that you will have ships, too, someday; you can win now. They have to hire local guards or they are not in business. In effect, they must hire guards from you.”
“Issus! That’s true … but we agreed to let them hire guards from us, after that initial trouble. Zeb, we don’t go back on our word.”
The Pursuit of the Pankera: A Parallel Novel About Parallel Universes Page 31