The compound was large and chiefly empty, except for an open-sided
building like a fair pavilion at one end of it. There was no factory,
only the compound adjoining a landing field, outside the city. Large
crowds were gathered beyond the low walls, much like any crowd on
Earth, laughing, pushing, pointing at the ship, sending up an incessant
gabble of talk. But the compound had only a few dozen men in it. They
were inside the pavilion, waiting, and Trehearne was treated to the
unusual spectacle of the Vardda captain and his officers marching
humbly forward to ask permission to trade.
"Come a little closer," Yann whispered to him. "See those two tall men
in the dun-colored robes, sitting at the back? They're Hedarin. Watch."
The Vardda officers spoke to the two men, and received a brief answer.
"They give us two days," said Rohan. "Generous of them." Trehearne
looked longingly over the compound wall. There were clumps of trees out
there, and it must be coming on to fall, for the leaves were turning.
The sky was intensely blue, with a soft haze low on the horizon, and
the air was crisp. If you didn't look too closely it might be Ohio in
October, and he wanted to go somewhere and walk alone, remembering. He
didn't know why. Earth was behind him, and he did not regret it. But he
wanted to go and walk among the turning trees.
Instead he got out lists and manifests and stood by, while the trading
began. Goods and samples of goods, from trinkets to medicines and light
machinery were brought out of the ship, and the bringing was done by
the Vardda themselves. Trehearne helped, and all the cursing that was
done was done quietly. "Too goddam proud to supply porters," somebody
said. "The people wouldn't mind, but the Hedarin think it's debasing.
Not the physical labor, you understand, but even the appearance of
working for us. Me, I'd let 'em rot before I'd trade with them."
"The Old Man doesn't feel that way, so tail on, will you? This crate is
heavy."
In the pavilion, the business went briskly. Only the Hedarin, sitting
aloof, seemed unfriendly. Their faces gave Trehearne a peculiar
feeling. Rather too small for their massive heads, though not so much
as to be deformed, their features had a sort of iron strength that was
almost chilling, as though the mind behind them had overswayed all
the weaknesses of the flesh. Their eyes, deep set and light in color,
seemed to look inward, not in the usual foggy contemplative way of
people pondering over their thoughts, but as down a bright, clear vista
where nothing was dark or doubtful, where no trivia could exist, no
stirrings of emotion, no wayward impulse. They were splendid looking
men. He had to admire them. But there was no thought of liking them.
They watched the trading, and Trehearne began to notice that every item
was offered for their approval before any bargain was struck. Most
often it was granted, but now and then there would be a shake of the
head and the article was rejected. The merchants might look regretful,
but they did not protest.
"They swing an awful lot of weight," Trehearne said under his breath to
Yann.
The First Officer, a slightly greying man who knew the Cluster like his
own flower garden, was standing near and heard him. "So would you," he
said, "if you could look inside a man's head and see all his thoughts,
and into his body and trace the course of every gut, simply by using
the power of your own mind."
"Uncomfortable people to have for rulers."
"They don't rule, in that sense. They're the physicians, the judges,
the scientists--purely intellectual, a separate caste. They wouldn't
stoop to anything as physical as ruling. They live entirely in and for
the mind. In temporal matters they merely advise."
Remembering a certain Dr. Rhine, Trehearne asked, "Can they do
everything? I mean, teleportation, telekinesis, telepathy, all the
tricks?"
"They never discussed it with me, but I should think they could do all
that, and more."
"Insolent bastards," said young Perri, scowling. His Vardda pride was
hurt. Rohan kicked him. "Keep it to yourself. And don't even think too
loud." Trehearne fidgeted. For the moment there was nothing to do, and
he was standing with the others, six or seven of them, waiting. Finally
he whispered, "What do we get here that makes it worth while?"
"Gem-stones," said Yann. "Fabulous. And their lapidaries rank as
just about the best in the galaxy." He bent his head very close to
Trehearne's and whispered, "All the same, I agree with Perri. Look at
those merchants. Damned if I'd let anybody tell me what I could buy,
and what I couldn't."
The Hedarin were out of earshot, and no whisper could possibly have
carried to them over the buzz and chatter of the trading that was going
on in front of them. Yet all at once they turned their heads, and
Trehearne found himself looking straight into the glare of those clear
light eyes. He felt Yann start involuntarily, and then something passed
like a cold wind through his mind, touching every hidden corner of it
with a casual ease that horrified him, and dropping it immediately
after with an unmistakable contempt that enraged him. He shook his
head in a futile but instinctive attempt to clear it of the invading
presence and started forward in a blind temper, forgetting orders
completely. The First Officer grabbed him and whispered fiercely, "Shut
up!", though he hadn't said anything yet. The cold something winked out
of his mind like a light going off. Out of the corner of his eye he
saw the disturbed, astonished faces of his comrades, and he knew that
the same thing had happened to them. And then a sudden glance passed
between the Hedarin. They rose. One held up his arm and said, "The
trading is ended."
All sound ceased at once. The merchants stood, disappointed and
surprised, looking at the Hedarin, and then out of the uncomfortable
silence came the voice of the Vardda captain, held rigidly under
control. "But you gave us two days!"
"It is ended. Take up what is yours, and go."
The captain's voice was not now as polite. "I wish to know why. We've
kept all the conventions...."
"We gave permission. Now we revoke it."
They gestured to the merchants, busy middle-aged men who looked like
all the businessmen Trehearne had ever seen. Reluctant, but obedient,
they turned away and began to walk out of the pavilion. Somebody--it
sounded like the captain--said, "Of all the goddamned high-handed...."
And then some other Vardda voice shouted to the merchants, "What are
you, a bunch of children to be ordered around? Why don't you trade if
you want to?"