Inspector Caldwell draws herself up to her full five-foot-three. She
bristles.
I say quick, "This here is Inspector Caldwell that the _Palmyra_ dumped
off here today. Uh--Inspector, this is Brooks, the Head Trader."
They shake hands. He looks at her and says, "I'd lost hope my reports
would ever get any attention paid to them. You've come to check my
report that the trading post on Moklin has to be abandoned?"
"I have not!" says Inspector Caldwell, sharp. "That's absurd! This
planet has great potentialities, this post is profitable and the
natives are friendly, and the trade should continue to increase. The
Board is even considering the introduction of special crops."
That strikes me as a bright idea. I'd like to see what would happen if
Moklins started cultivating new kinds of plants! It would be a thing to
watch--with regular Moklin plants seeing strangers getting good growing
places and special attention! I can't even guess what'll happen, but I
want to watch!
"What I want to ask right off," says Inspector Caldwell, fierce, "is
why you have allowed a competitive trading post to be established,
why you did not report it sooner, and why you haven't identified the
company back of it?"
Brooks stares at her. He gets mad.
"Hell!" he says. "My reports cover all that! Haven't you read them?"
"Of course not," says Inspector Caldwell. "I was given an outline of
the situation here and told to investigate and correct it."
"Oh!" says Brooks. "That's it!"
Then he looks like he's swallowing naughty words. It is funny to see
them glare at each other, both of them looking like they are seeing
something that interests them plenty, but throwing off angry sparks
just the same.
"If you'll show me samples of their trade goods," says Inspector
Caldwell, arrogant, "and I hope you can do _that_ much, I'll identify
the trading company handling them!"
He grins at her without amusement and leads the way to the inside of
the trading post. We bring out the stuff we've had some of our Moklins
go over and buy for us. Brooks dumps the goods on a table and stands
back to see what she'll make of them, grinning with the same lack of
mirth. She picks up a visi-reel projector.
"Hmm," she says, scornful. "Not very good quality. It's...." Then she
stops. She picks up a forest knife. "This," she says, "is a product
of--" Then she stops again. She picks up some cloth and fingers it. She
really steams. "I see!" she says, angry. "Because we have been on this
planet so long and the Moklins are used to our goods, the people of the
other trading post _duplicate_ them! Do they cut prices?"
"Fifty per cent," says Brooks.
I chime in, "But we ain't lost much trade. Lots of Moklins still trade
with us, out of friendship. Friendly folks, these Moklins."
Just then Deeth comes in, looking just like Casey that used to be here
on Moklin. He grins at me.
"A girl just brought you a compliment," he lets me know.
"Shucks!" I says, embarrassed and pleased. "Send her in and get a
present for her."
Deeth goes out. Inspector Caldwell hasn't noticed. She's seething over
that other trading company copying our trade goods and underselling us
on a planet we're supposed to have exclusive. Brooks looks at her grim.
"I shall look over their post," she announces, fierce, "and if they
want a trade war, they'll get one! We can cut prices if we need to--we
have all the resources of the Company behind us!"
Brooks seems to be steaming on his own, maybe because she hasn't read
his reports. But just then a Moklin girl comes in. Not bad-looking,
either. You can see she is a Moklin--she ain't as convincing human as
Deeth is, say--but she looks pretty human, at that. She giggles at me.
"Compliment," she says, and shows me what she's carrying.
I look. It's a Moklin kid, a boy, just about brand-new. And it has my
shape ears, and its nose looks like somebody had stepped on it--my nose
is that way--and it looks like a very small-sized working model of me.
I chuck it under the chin and say, "Kitchy-coo!" It gurgles at me.
"What's your name?" I ask the girl.
She tells me. I don't remember it, and I don't remember ever seeing
her before, but she's paid me a compliment, all right--Moklin-style.
"Mighty nice," I say. "Cute as all get-out. I hope he grows up to have
more sense than I got, though." Then Deeth comes in with a armload
of trade stuff like Old Man Bland gave to the first Moklin kid that
was born with long whiskers like his, and I say, "Thanks for the
compliment. I am greatly honored."
She takes the stuff and giggles again, and goes out. The kid beams at
me over her shoulder and waves its fist. Mighty humanlike. A right cute
kid, any way you look at it.
Then I hear a noise. Inspector Caldwell is regarding me with loathing
in her eyes.
"Did you say they were friendly creatures?" she asks, bitter. "I think
affectionate would be a better word!" Her voice shakes. "You are going
to be transferred out of here the instant the _Palmyra_ gets back!"
"What's the matter?" I ask, surprised. "She paid me a compliment and
I gave her a present. It's a custom. She's satisfied. I never see her
before that I remember."
"You _don't_?" she says. "The--the _callousness_! You're revolting!"
Brooks begins to sputter, then he snickers, and all of a sudden he's
howling with laughter. He is laughing at Inspector Caldwell. Then I get
it, and I snort. Then I hoot and holler. It gets funnier when she gets
madder still. She near blows up from being mad!
We must look crazy, the two of us there in the post, just hollering
with laughter while she gets furiouser and furiouser. Finally I have to
lay down on the floor to laugh more comfortable. You see, she doesn't
get a bit of what I've told her about there being a special kind of
evolution on Moklin. The more disgusted and furious she looks at me,
the harder I have to laugh. I can't help it.
* * * * *
When we set out for the other trading post next day, the atmosphere
ain't what you'd call exactly cordial. There is just the Inspector and
me, with Deeth and a couple of other Moklins for the look of things.
She has on a green forest suit, and with her red hair she sure looks
good! But she looks at me cold when Brooks says I'll take her over to
the other post, and she doesn't say a word the first mile or two.
We trudge on, and presently Deeth and the others get ahead so they
can't hear what she says. And she remarks indignant, "I must say Mr.
Brooks isn't very cooperative. Why didn't he come with me? Is he
afraid of the men at the other post?"
"Not him," I says. "He's a good guy. But you got authority over him and
you ain't read his reports."
"If I have authority," she says, sharp, "I assure you it's because I'm
competent!"
"I don't doubt it," I says. "If you wasn't cute, he wouldn't care. But
a man don't want a good-looking girl giving him orders. He wants to
give them to her. A homely woman, it don't matter."
* * * * *
She tosses her head, but it don't displease her. Then she says, "What's
in the reports that I should have read?"
"I don't know," I admit. "But he's been sweating over them. It makes
him mad that nobody bothered to read 'em."
"Maybe," she guesses, "it was what I need to know about this other
trading post. What do you know about it, Mr. Brinkley?"
I tell her what Deeth has told Brooks. Brooks found out about it
because one day some Moklins come in to trade and ask friendly why we
charge so much for this and that. Deeth told them we'd always charged
that, and they say the other trading post sells things cheaper, and
Deeth says what trading post? So they up and tell him there's another
post that sells the same kind of things we do, only cheaper. But
that's all they'll say.
So Brooks tells Deeth to find out, and he scouts around and comes
back. There is another trading post only fifteen miles away, and it is
selling stuff just like ours. And it charges only half price. Deeth
didn't see the men--just the Moklin clerks. We ain't been able to see
the men either.
"Why haven't you seen the men?"
"Every time Brooks or me go over," I explain, "the Moklins they got
working for them say the other men are off somewhere. Maybe they're
starting some more posts. We wrote 'em a note, asking what the hell
they mean, but they never answered it. Of course, we ain't seen their
books or their living quarters--"
"You could find out plenty by a glimpse at their books!" she snaps.
"Why haven't you just marched in and made the Moklins show you what you
want to know, since the men were away?"
"Because," I says, patient, "Moklins imitate humans. If we start
trouble, they'll start it too. We can't set a example of rough stuff
like burglary, mayhem, breaking and entering, manslaughter, or bigamy,
or those Moklins will do just like us."
"Bigamy!" She grabs on that sardonic. "If you're trying to make me
think you've got enough moral sense--"
I get a little mad. Brooks and me, we've explained to her, careful, how
it is admiration _and_ the way evolution works on Moklin that makes
Moklin kids get born with long whiskers and that the compliment the
Moklin girl has paid me is just exactly that. But she hasn't listened
to a word.
"Miss Caldwell," I says, "Brooks and me told you the facts. We tried to
tell them delicate, to spare your feelings. Now if you'll try to spare
mine, I'll thank you."
"If you mean your finer feelings," she says, sarcastic, "I'll spare
them as soon as I find some!"
So I shut up. There's no use trying to argue with a woman. We tramp on
through the forest without a word. Presently we come on a nest-bush.
It's a pretty big one. There are a couple dozen nests on it, from the
little-bitty bud ones no bigger than your fist, to the big ripe ones
lined with soft stuff that have busted open and have got cacklebirds
housekeeping in them now.
There are two cacklebirds sitting on a branch by the nest that is
big enough to open up and have eggs laid in it, only it ain't. The
cacklebirds are making noises like they are cussing it and telling it
to hurry up and open, because they are in a hurry.
"That's a nest-bush," I says. "It grows nests for the cacklebirds. The
birds--uh--fertilize the ground around it. They're sloppy feeders and
drop a lot of stuff that rots and is fertilizer too. The nest-bush and
the cacklebirds kind of cooperate. That's the way evolution works on
Moklin, like Brooks and me told you."
She tosses that red head of hers and stamps on, not saying a word.
So we get to the other trading post. And there she gets one of these
slow-burning, long-lasting mads on that fill a guy like me with awe.
There's only Moklins at the other trading post, as usual. They say the
humans are off somewhere. They look at her admiring and polite. They
show her their stock. It is practically identical with ours--only they
admit that they've sold out of some items because their prices are low.
They act most respectful and pleased to see her.
But she don't learn a thing about where their stuff comes from or what
company is horning in on Moklin trade. And she looks at their head
clerk and she burns and burns.
* * * * *
When we get back, Brooks is sweating over memorandums he has made,
getting another report ready for the next Company ship. Inspector
Caldwell marches into the trade room and gives orders in a controlled,
venomous voice. Then she marches right in on Brooks.
"I have just ordered the Moklin sales force to cut the price on all
items on sale by seventy-five per cent," she says, her voice trembling
a little with fury. "I have also ordered the credit given for Moklin
trade goods to be doubled. They want a trade war? They'll get it!"
* * * * *
She is a lot madder than business would account for. Brooks says,
tired, "I'd like to show you some facts. I've been over every inch of
territory in thirty miles, looking for a place where a ship could land
for that other post. There isn't any. Does that mean anything to you?"
"The post is there, isn't it?" she says. "And they have trade goods,
haven't they? And we have exclusive trading rights on Moklin, haven't
we? That's enough for me. Our job is to drive them out of business!"
But she is a lot madder than business would account for. Brooks says,
very weary, "There's nearly a whole planet where they could have
put another trading post. They could have set up shop on the other
hemisphere and charged any price they pleased. But they set up shop
right next to us! Does _that_ make sense?"
"Setting up close," she says, "would furnish them with customers
already used to human trade goods. And it furnished them with Moklins
trained to be interpreters and clerks! And--" Then it come out, what
she's raging, boiling, steaming, burning up about. "And," she says,
furious, "it furnished them with a Moklin head-clerk who is a very
handsome young man, Mr. Brooks! He not only resembles you in every
feature, but he even has a good many of your mannerisms. You should be
very proud!"
With this she slams out of the room. Brooks blinks.
"She won't believe anything," he says, sour, "except only that man is
vile. Is that true about a Moklin who looks like me?"