"How come our anthropologist on Tunpesh didn't come across with more
information?"
A drowsy mumble from the other cot: "He wasn't there long enough. He
committed suicide not long after landing."
The room was a whirling pool of blackness into which his mind was
slowly slipping. Takeoff was only seconds away.
_Why do people commit suicide?_
* * * * *
"It's a nice day, isn't it, Ted?" Eckert took a deep and pleasurable
breath. "It's the type of day that makes you feel good just to be
alive."
Warm breezes rustled through Eckert's graying hair and tugged gently
at his tunic. The air smelled as if it had been washed and faintly
perfumed with the balsamy scent of something very much like pine. A
few hundred yards away, a forest towered straight and slim and coolly
inviting, and brilliantly colored birds whirled and fluttered in the
foliage.
The rocketport, where they were standing surrounded by their luggage,
was a grassy valley where the all too infrequent ships could land and
discharge cargo or make repairs. There was a blackened patch on it now,
with little blast-ignited flames dying out around the edges. _It won't
be long before it will be green again_, he thought. The grass looked
as though it grew fast--it would certainly have plenty of time to grow
before the next ship landed.
He looked at the slim, dwindling shape that was the rocket, and was
suddenly, acutely aware that he and Templin would be stranded for six
months on a foreign and very possibly dangerous planet. And there would
be no way of calling for help or of leaving before the six months were
up.
He stood there for a moment, drinking in the fresh air and feeling the
warmth of the sun against his face. It might be a pleasant six months
at that, away from the din and the hustle and confusion, spending the
time in a place where the sun was warm and inviting.
_I must be getting old_, he thought, _thinking about the warmth and
comfort. Like old dogs and octogenarians._
Templin was looking at the scenery with a disappointed expression on
his face. Eckert stole a side glance at him and for a fleeting moment
felt vaguely concerned. "Don't be disappointed if it doesn't look like
cloak-and-dagger right off, Ray. What seems innocent enough on the
surface can prove to be quite dangerous underneath."
"It's rather hard to think of danger in a setting like this."
Eckert nodded agreement. "It wouldn't fit, would it? It would be like a
famous singer suddenly doing a jazz number in an opera, or having the
princess in a fairy tale turn out to be ugly." He gestured toward the
village. "You could hardly class that as dangerous from its outward
appearance, could you?"
The rocketport was in a small valley, surrounded by low, wooded hills.
The village started where the port left off and crawled and wound over
the wooded ridges. Small houses of sun-baked, white-washed mud crouched
in the shadow of huge trees and hugged the banks of a small stream.
It looked fairly primitive, Eckert thought, and yet it didn't have the
earmarks, the characteristics of most primitive villages. It didn't
seem cluttered or dirty and you didn't feel like beating a hasty
retreat when the wind was blowing toward you.
A few adults were watching them curiously and the usual bunch of
kids that always congregated around rocketports quickly gathered.
Eckert stared at them for a moment, wondering what it was that seemed
odd about them, and they stared back with all the alert dignity of
childhood. They finally came out on the field and clustered around him
and Templin.
Templin studied them warily. "Better watch them, Ted. Even kids can be
dangerous."
_It's because you never suspect kids_, Eckert thought, _you never think
they'll do any harm. But they can be taught. They could do as much
damage with a knife as a man could, for instance. And they might have
other weapons._
But the idea still didn't go with the warm sun and the blue sky and the
piny scent of the trees.
One of the adults of the village started to walk toward them.
"The reception committee," Templin said tightly. His hand went inside
his tunic.
He couldn't be blamed for being jumpy, Eckert realized. This was his
first time out, his first mission like this. And, of course, Pendleton
had been a pretty good friend of his.
"I'd be very careful what I did," Eckert said softly. "I would hate to
start something merely because I misunderstood their intentions."
The committee of one was a middle-aged man dressed in a simple strip of
white cloth twisted about his waist and allowed to hang freely to his
knees. When he got closer, Eckert became less sure of his age. He had
the firm, tanned musculature of a much younger man, though a slightly
seamed face and white hair aged him somewhat. Eckert still had the
feeling that if you wanted to know his exact age, you'd have to look
at his teeth or know something about his epiphyseal closures.
"You are _menshars_ from Earth?" The voice was husky and pleasant and
the pronunciation was very clear. Eckert regarded him thoughtfully
and made a few mental notes. He wasn't bowing and scraping like most
natives who weren't too familiar with visitors from the sky, and yet he
was hardly either friendly or hostile.
"You learned our language from Pendleton and Reynolds?" Reynolds had
been the anthropologist.
"We have had visitors from Earth before." He hesitated a moment
and then offered his hand, somewhat shyly, Eckert thought, in the
Terrestrial sign of greeting. "You may call me _Jathong_ if you wish."
He paused a moment to say something in his native tongue to the kids
who were around. They promptly scattered and picked up the luggage.
"While you are here, you will need a place to stay. There is one ready,
if you will follow me."
He was polite, Eckert thought. He didn't ask what they were there
for or how long they were going to stay. But then again, perhaps the
natives were a better judge of that than he and Templin.
The town was larger than he had thought at first, stretching over a
wide expanse of the countryside. There wasn't, so far as he could see,
much manufacturing above the level of handicrafts and simple weaving.
Colored patches on far hillsides indicated the presence of farms, and
practically every house in the village had its small garden.
What manufacturing there was seemed to be carried on in the central
square of the town, where a few adults and children squatted in the
warm afternoon sun and worked industriously at potter's wheels and
weaver's looms. The other part of the square was given over to the
native bazaar where pots and bolts of cloth were for sale, and where
numerous stalls were loaded with dried fruits and vegetables and the
cleaned and plucked carcasses of the local variety of fowl.
It was late afternoon when they followed Jathong into a small,
white-washed house midway up a hill.
"You are free to use this while you are here," he said.
Eckert and Templin took a quick tour of the few rooms. They were well
furnished, in a rustic sort of way, and what modern conveniences they
didn't have they could easily do without. The youngsters who had
carried their luggage left it outside and quietly faded away. It was
getting dark; Eckert opened one of the boxes they had brought along,
took out an electric lantern and lighted it. He turned to Jathong.
"You've been very kind to us and we would like to repay you. You may
take what you wish of anything within this box." He opened another of
the boxes and displayed the usual trade goods--brightly colored cloth
and finely worked jewelry and a few mechanical contrivances that Eckert
knew usually appealed to the primitive imagination.
Jathong ran his hand over the cloth and held some of the jewelry up to
the light. Eckert knew by the way he looked at it that he wasn't at all
impressed. "I am grateful," he said finally, "but there is nothing I
want." He turned and walked away into the gathering darkness.
"The incorruptible native." Templin laughed sarcastically.
Eckert shrugged. "That's one of the things you do out of habit, try
and buy some of the natives so you'll have friends in case you need
them." He stopped for a moment, thinking. "Did you notice the context?
He didn't say he didn't want what we showed him. He said there was
_nothing_ that he wanted. Implying that everything he wanted, he
already had."
"That's not very typical of a primitive society, is it?"
"No, I'm afraid it's not." Eckert started unpacking some of the boxes.
"You know, Ray, I got a kick out of the kids. They're a healthy-looking
lot, aren't they?"
"Too healthy," Templin said. "There didn't seem to be any sick ones or
ones with runny noses or cuts or black eyes or bruises. It doesn't seem
natural."
"They're probably just well brought-up kids," Eckert said sharply.
"Maybe they've been taught not to get in fights or play around in the
mud on the way home from school." He felt faintly irritated, annoyed at
the way Templin had put it, as if any deviation from an Earth norm was
potentially dangerous.
"Ted." Templin's voice was strained. "This could be a trap, you know."
"In what way?"
The words came out slowly. "The people are too casual, as though
they're playing a rehearsed part. Here we are, from an entirely
different solar system, landed in what must be to them an unusual
manner. They couldn't have seen rockets more than three or four
times before. It should still be a novelty to them. And yet how much
curiosity did they show? Hardly any. Was there any fear? No. And the
cute, harmless little kids." He looked at Eckert. "Maybe that's what
we're supposed to think--just an idyllic, harmless society. Maybe
that's what Pendleton thought, right to the very end."
He was keyed up, jumpy, Eckert realized. He would probably be seeing
things in every shadow and imagining danger to be lurking around every
corner.
"It hasn't been established yet that Pendleton was killed, Ray. Let's
keep an open mind until we know for certain."
He flicked out the light and lay back on the cool bed, letting his
body relax completely. The cool night wind blew lazily through the
wood slat blinds, carrying the fragrance of the trees and the grass,
and he inhaled deeply and let his thoughts wander for a moment. It was
going to be pleasant to live on Tunpesh for six months--even if the six
months were all they had to live. The climate was superb and the people
seemed a cut above the usual primitive culture. If he ever retired some
day, he thought suddenly, he would have to remember Tunpesh. It would
be pleasant to spend his old age here. And the fishing was probably
excellent....
He turned his head a little to watch Templin get ready for bed. There
were advantages in taking him along that Templin probably didn't
even realize. He wondered what Templin would do if he ever found out
that the actual reason he had been chosen to go was that his own
psychological chart was very close to Pendleton's. Pendleton's own
feelings and emotions would almost exactly be duplicated in Templin's.
A few stray wisps of starlight pierced through the blinds and sparkled
for an instant on a small metal box strapped to Templin's waist. A
power pack, Eckert saw grimly, probably leading to the buttons on his
tunic. A very convenient, portable, and hard to detect weapon.
There were disadvantages in taking Templin, too.
* * * * *
"Just how primitive do you think the society is, Ted?"
Eckert put down the chain he had been whittling and reached for his
pipe and tobacco.
"I don't think it's primitive at all. There are too many disparities.
Their knowledge of a lot of things is a little more than empirical
knowledge; they associate the growth of crops with fertilizer and
nitrogen in the soil as well as sunlight, rather than the blessings of
some native god. And they differ a lot in other respects. Their art and
their music are advanced. Free art exists along with purely decorative
art, and their techniques are finely developed."
"I'm glad you agree, then. Take a look at this." Templin threw a shiny
bit of metal on the rough-hewn table. Eckert picked it up and inspected
it. It was heavy and one side of it was extremely sharp.
"What's it for?"
"They've got a hospital set up here. Not a hospital like any we know,
of course, but a hospital nonetheless. It's not used very much;
apparently the natives don't get sick here. But occasionally there are
hunting accidents and injuries that require surgery. The strip of metal
there is a scalpel." He laughed shortly. "Primitive little gadget, but
it works well--as well as any of ours."
Eckert hefted it in his palm. "The most important thing is that they
have the knowledge to use it. Surgery isn't a simple science."
"Well, what do you think about it?"
"The obvious. They evidently have as much technology as they want, at
least in fields where they have to have it."
"How come they haven't gone any further?"
"Why should they? You can live without skycars and rocket ships, you
know."
"Did you ever wonder what kind of weapons they might have?"
"The important thing," Eckert mused, "is not if they have them, but if
they'd use them. And I rather doubt that they would. We've been here
for two weeks now and they've been very kind to us, seeing that we've
had food and water and what fuel we need."
"It's known in the livestock trade as being fattened up for the
slaughter," Templeton said.
Eckert sighed and watched a fat bug waddle across a small patch of
sunlight on the wooden floor. It was bad enough drawing an assignment
in a totally foreign culture, even if the natives were humanoid. It
complicated things beyond all measure when your partner in the project
seemed likely to turn into a vendettist. It meant that Eckert would
have to split his energies. He'd have to do what investigating he could
among the Tunpeshans, and he'd have to watch Templin to see that he
didn't go off half-cocked and spoil everything.
"You're convinced that Pendleton was murdered, aren't you?"