TWO

The Earthman called the town Hirlaj too, because the spaceport was

there. It was a new town, only a few months old, but the gleaming alloys

of the buildings were already coated with dirt and pitted by the

frequent dust storms that swept through. Garbage littered the alleys;

its odor was strange but still foul in the alien atmosphere. The small,

darting creatures were here too, foraging in the alleys and the

outskirts of the town, where the streets ended in garbage heaps and new

cemeteries or faded into the trackless flat where the spacers touched

down.

The Earthmen filled the streets ... drinking, fighting, laughing and

cursing, arguing over money or power or, sometimes, women. The women

here were hard and self-sufficient, following the path of Terran

expansion in the stars and taking what they felt was due them as women

or what they could get as men. Supply houses did a thriving business,

their prices high between shipments on the spacers from the inner

worlds; bars and gambling houses stayed open all night; rooming houses

and restaurants and laundries displayed crude handlettered signs along

the streets.

Rynason pushed his way through a jostling crowd outside the door of a

bar. He was supposed to meet the head of his Survey team here--Rice

Manning, who had been pushing the survey as hard as he could since the

day they'd set foot on Hirlaj. Manning was hard and ambitious--a leader

of men, Rynason thought sardonically as he surveyed the tables in the

dim interior. The floor of the bar was a dirty plastic-metal alloy,

already scuffed and in places bloodstained. The tables were of the

cheap, light metals so common on the spacer-supplied worlds of the Edge,

and they wobbled.

The low-ceilinged room was crowded with men. Rynason didn't know many of

them by name, but he recognized a lot of the faces. The men of the Edge,

though they lacked money, education, often brains and usually ethics, at

least had the quality of distinctiveness: they didn't fit the half-dozen

convenient molds which the highly developed culture of the inner worlds

fitted over the more civilized citizens of the Terran Federation. These

men were too self-interested to follow the group-thoughts which

controlled the centers of empire, and the seams and wrinkles of their

faces stamped a rough kind of individuality even more visually upon

them.

Of them all, the man who was instantly recognizable in any crowd like

this was Rene Malhomme; Rynason immediately saw the man in one corner of

the room. He stood six and a half feet tall, heavily muscled and a bit

wild-eyed; his greying hair fell in disorder over his dirty forehead and

sprayed out over his ears. He was surrounded by laughing and shouting

men; Rynason couldn't tell from this distance whether he was engaged in

one of his usual heated arguments on religion or in his other avocation

of recounting stories of the women he had "converted". He waved a

black-lettered sign saying REPENT! over his head--but then, he always

did.

Rynason found Manning in the back, sitting under a cheap print of a

Picasso nude with cold light trained on it in typically bad taste. He

had a woman with him. Rynason recognized her--Mara Stephens, in charge

of communications and supplies for the survey team. She was a strange

girl, aloof but not hard, and she carried herself with a quiet dignity.

What was she doing with Manning?

He passed a waiter on his way to the table and ordered a drink. Malhomme

saw him as he passed: "Lee Rynason! Come and join me in repentance! Give

your soul to God and your money to the barman, for as the prophet

sayeth, lo, I am dry! Join us!"

Rynason grinned and shook his head, walking past. He grabbed one of the

light-metal chairs and sat down next to Mara.

"You wanted to see me," he said to Manning.

Manning looked up at him to apparent surprise. "Lee! Yes, yes--sit down.

Wait, we'll get you a drink."

So he was in that kind of a mood. "I've got one coming," Rynason said.

"What's our problem today?"

Manning smiled broadly. "No problem, Lee; no problem at all. Not unless

you want to make one." He chuckled goodnaturedly, a tacit statement that

he was expecting no such thing. "I've got good news today, by god. You

tell him, Mara."

Rynason turned to the girl, who smiled briefly. "It just came over the

telecom," she said. "Manning has a good chance for the governorship

here. The Council is supposed to announce its decision in two weeks."

Rynason looked over at Manning, his face expressionless.

"Congratulations. How did this happen?"

"I've got an inside track; friend of mine knows several of the big guys.

Throws parties, things like that. He's been putting in a word for me,

here and there."

"Isn't this a bit out of your line?" Rynason said.

Manning sat back, a large man with close-cropped dark hair and heavy

features. His beard was trimmed to a thin line along the ridge of his

jaw--a style that was popular on the inner worlds, but rarely seen here

on the Edge. "This _is_ my line," he said. "God, this is what I was

after when I took this damned job. Survey teams are a dime a dozen out

here, Lee; it's no job for a man."

"We've got sort of a special case here," Rynason said evenly, glancing

at Mara. She smiled at him. "We haven't run into any alien races before

that were intelligent."

Manning laughed, and took a long swallow of his drink. "Twenty-six lousy

horsefaces--now there's an important discovery for you. No, Lee, this is

peanuts. For that matter, they may be running into intelligent aliens

all over the Edge by now--communication isn't so reliable out here that

we'd necessarily know about it. What we've found here isn't any more

important than all the rubble and trash the Outsiders left behind."

"Still, it _is_ unique so far," Mara said.

"I'll tell you exactly how unique it is," Manning said, leaning forward

and setting down his glass with a bang. "It's just unique enough that I

can make it sound important in my report to the Council. I can make

myself sound a little impressive. That's how important it is; no more

than that."

Rynason pursed his lips, but didn't say anything. The waiter arrived

with his drink; he threw a green coin onto the table which was scooped

up before it had finished ringing to a stop, and sat back with the glass

in his hand.

"Is that your pitch to the Council?" he asked. "You're telling them that

Hirlaj is an important archaeological area and that's why you should get

the governorship?"

"Something like that," Manning nodded. "That, and my friend at

Seventeenth Cluster headquarters. Incidentally, he's an idiot and a

slob--turns on quadsense telemuse instead of working, drinks hopsbrau

from his own sector. I can't stand him. But I did him a few favors, just

in case, and they're paying off."

"I think it's marvelous the way our frontier policy caters to the

colonists," Mara said quietly. She was still smiling, but it was an

ironic smile which suddenly struck Rynason as characteristic of her.

He knew exactly what she meant. Manning's little push for power was

nothing new or shocking in Terran frontier politics. With the rapid

expansion of the Edge through the centuries, the frontier policy of the

Confederation had had to adapt itself to comparatively slipshod methods

of setting up governments in the newly-opened areas. Back in the early

days they'd tried sending out trained men from each Cluster

headquarters, but that had been foredoomed to failure: travel between

the stars was slow, and too often the governors had arrived after local

officialdoms had already been established, and there had been clashes.

The colonists had almost always backed the local governments, and there

were a few full-scale revolts when the system had been backed too

militantly by Cluster headquarters.

So the Local Autonomy System had been sanctioned. The colonists would

always support their own men, who at least knew conditions in the areas

they were to govern. But since this necessarily limited the choice of

Edge governorships to the roustabouts and drifters who wandered the

outworlds, the resulting administrations were probably even more corrupt

than they had been under the old system of what had amounted to

centralized graft. The Cluster Councils retained the power of appointing

the local governors, but aside from that the newly-opened worlds of the

Edge were completely under their own rule. Some of the more vocal

critics of the Local Autonomy System had dubbed it instead the

Indigenous Corruption System; it was by now a fairly standard nickname

in the outworlds.

The system made for a wide-open frontier--bustling, wild, hectic, and

rich. For the worlds of the Edge were untamed worlds, raw and

forbidding, and the policy of the Councils was calculated to attract the

kind of men who not only could but would open these frontiers. The

roustabouts, the low drifters of the spaceways ... men who were hard and

strong from repeated knocks, who were looking for a way to work or fight

their way up. The lean and hungry of the outworlds.

Rynason glanced across the table at Manning. He was neither lean nor

hungry, but he had that look in his eyes. Rynason had been around the

Edge for years--his father had travelled the spacers in the commercial

lines--and he had seen that look on many men, in the fields and mines,

in the spaceports, in the quickly-tarnished prefab towns that sprang up

almost overnight when a planetfall was made. He could recognize it on

Manning despite the man's casual, self-satisfied expression.

"You don't have to worry about the colonists here," Manning was saying

to the girl. "I'll treat 'em decently. There'll be money to be made

here, and I can make it without stepping on too many toes."

Mara seemed amused. "And what would happen if you _had_ to step on them

to make your money? What if Hirlaj doesn't turn out to have any natural

resources worth exploiting--a whole civilization has been here for

thousands of years? What if the colony here starts to falter, and the

men move on?"

Manning frowned at her for a moment, then gave a grunting laugh. "No

chance of that. It's like Lee was just saying--this planet is an

important discovery--we've got tame aliens here, intelligent horsefaces

that you can lead around with a rope on their necks. That alone will

draw tourists. Maybe we'll set up an official Restricted Ground, a sort

of reservation."

"A zoo, you mean," Rynason interrupted.

Manning raised an amused eyebrow at him. "A reservation, I said. You

know what reservations are like, Lee."

Rynason glared at the heavier man, then subsided. There was no point in

getting into a fight over if's and maybe's; in the outworlds you learned

quickly to confine your clashes to tangibles. "Why did you want to see

me?" he said.

"I want your preliminary report completed," Manning said. "I've got to

have my complete report collated and transmitted within the week, if

it's to have any effect on the Council. Most of the boys have got them

in already; Breune and Larsborg have promised theirs within four days.

But you're still holding me up."

Rynason took a long swallow of his drink and put it down empty. The

noise and smell of the bar seemed to grow around him, washing over him.

It might have been the effects of the tarpaq in the drink, but he felt

his stomach tighten and turn slightly when he thought of how Earth's

culture presented itself, warped itself, here on the frontier Edge. Was

this land of mercenary, slipshod rush really what had carried Earthmen

to the stars?

"I don't know if I'll have much to report for at least a week," he said

shortly.

"Then give me a report on what you've got!" Manning snapped. "If nothing

else, turn in your transcripts and I'll do the report myself; I can

handle it. What the hell do you mean, you won't have much to report?"

"Larsborg said the same thing," Mara interjected.

"Larsborg said he'd have his report ready in a couple of days anyway!"

"I'll give you what I've got as soon as I can," Rynason said. "But

things are just beginning to break for me--did you see my note this

afternoon?"

"Yes, of course. The part about this Tedron or whatever his name was?"

"Tebron Marl. He's the link between their barbaric and civilized

periods. I've only begun to get into it."

Manning was waving for more drinks; he caught a waiter's eye and then

turned back to Rynason. "What's this nonsense about some damned block

you ran into? Have you got a crazy horse on your hands?"

"There's something strange there," Rynason said. "He tells me this

Tebron was actually supposed to have communicated with their god, or

whatever he was. It sounds crazy, all right. But there's more to it than

that, I'm sure of it. I wanted time to go into it further before I made

my report."

"I think you've got a nut alien there, boy. Don't let him foul you up;

you're one of my best men."

Rynason almost sneered, but he managed to bring it out as a grin. The

role of protective father did not sit well on Manning's shoulders.

"We're dealing here with a remarkably sane race," he pointed out. "The

very fact that they have total recall argues against any insanity in

them. There've been experiments on the inner worlds for over a century

now, trying to bring out total recall in us, and not much luck so far.

We're a sick, hung-up race."

Manning slapped his hand down on the table. "What the hell are you

trying to do, Lee? Are you trying to measure these aliens by our

standards? I thought you had better sense. Total recall doesn't

necessarily mean a damn thing in them--but when they start telling you

straightforward and cold that they've talked with some god, and then

they throw what sounds like an anxiety fit right in front of you....

Well, what does it sound like to you?"

Rynason accepted one of the drinks that the waiter banged down on the

table and took a sip. He felt lightheaded. "It would have been an

anxiety fit if Horng had been human," he said. "But you're right, I do

know better than to judge him by our standards. No, it was something

else."

"What, then?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. That's the point--I can't give you a

decent report until I find out."

"Then, dammit, give me an _indecent_ report! Fill it out with some very

learned speculations, you know the type...." Manning stopped, and

grinned. "Speaking of indecent reports, what have we turned up on their

sex lives?"

"Marc Stoworth covered that in his report yesterday," Mara said.

"They're unisexual, and their sex life is singularly boring, if you'll

pardon the expression. At least, Stoworth says so. If it weren't I'm

sure he'd tell us all about it."

Manning chuckled. "Yes, I imagine you're right; Marc is a good boy. Well

look, Lee, I've told you the position I'm in. Now I'm counting on you to

get me out of this spot. I've _got to_ transmit my report to Council

within a week. I don't want to pressure you, but you know I'm in a

position to do it if I have to. Dammit, give me a report."

"I'll turn something in in a few days," Rynason said vaguely. His brain

was definitely fuzzy now from the tarpaq.

Manning stood up. "All right, don't forget it. Trick it out with some

high-sounding guesses if you have to, like I said. Right now I've got to

see a man about a woman." He paused, glancing at Mara. "You're busy?"

"I'm busy, yes." Her face was studiedly expressionless.

He shrugged briefly and went out, pushing and weaving his way through

the hubbub that filled the bar. It was dark outside; Rynason caught a

glimpse of the dark street as Manning went through the door. Night fell

quickly on Hirlaj, with the suddenness of age.

Rynason turned back to the table, and Mara. He looked at her curiously.

"What were you doing with him, anyway? You usually keep to yourself."

The girl smiled wryly. She had deep black hair which fell to her

shoulders in soft waves. Most of the women here grew their hair down to

their waists, in exaggerated imitation of inner-world styles, but Mara

had more taste than that. Her eyes were a clear brown, and they met his

directly. "He was in a sharp mood, so I came along as peacemaker. You

don't seem to have needed me."

"You helped, at that; thanks. Was that true about the governorship?"

"Of course. Manning seldom brags, you should know that. He's a very

capable man, in some ways."

Rynason frowned. "He could be a lot more useful on this survey if he'd

use his talents on tightening up the survey itself. He's forcing a

premature report, and it isn't going to be worth much."

"Is that what's really bothering you?" she asked.

He tried to focus on her through the haze of the noisy bar. "Of course

it is. That, and his whole attitude toward these people."

"The Hirlaji? Are they people to you?"

He shrugged. "What are people? Humans? Or reasoning beings you can talk

to, communicate with?"

"I should think people would be reasoning beings you could relate to,"

she said softly. "Not just intellectually, but emotionally too. You have

to be able to understand them to communicate that way--that's what makes

people."

Rynason was silent, trying to integrate that into the fog in his head.

The raucous noise of the bar had faded into an underwater murmur around

him, lost somewhere where he could not see.

Finally, he said, "That's the trouble with them, the Hirlaji. I can't

really understand them. It's like there's really no contact, not even

through the interpreter." He stared into his drink. "I wish to hell we

had some straight telepathers here; they might work with the Hirlaji,

since they're telepathic anyway. I'd like to make a direct link myself."

After a moment he felt Mara's hand on his arm, and realized that he had

almost fallen asleep on the table.

"You'd better go on back to your quarters," she said.

He sat up, shaking his head to clear it. "No, but really--what do you

think of that idea? What if I had a telepather, and I could link minds

with Horng? Straight linkage, no interpreter in the middle. I could get

right at that race memory myself!"

"I think you need some sleep," she said. She seemed worried. "You're

getting too wrapped up in this thing. And forget about the telepathers."

Rynason looked at her and grinned. "Why?" he said quietly. "There's no

harm in wishing."

"Because," she said, "we've got three telepathers coming in the day

after tomorrow."