The groundcar had left the plain and was entering a heavily wooded
section. For the first time, Kirk took a good look at his surroundings.
Some of the trees and plants were very like those he had seen in parks
at home. Still, there was a definitely alien feel to it all. The trees
were low and wide and had peculiar contours, different from those
of trees on Terra, and their flowering foliage came in odd sizes and
colors. The sky wasn't quite the blue he was used to, and the shapes
of the clouds were different. He noticed for the first time a heady,
pungent perfume carried on the breeze, that was both pleasant and
stimulating. It came, perhaps, from the wide-petaled flowers in oddly
shimmering colors that clustered thickly everywhere.
"Yes, it's beautiful," he agreed, "but--" The feeling of despair and
frustration welled up in him again. The warmth he sensed in Jerwyn made
him suddenly long to blurt out the whole story. He controlled himself
with difficulty, as he turned toward him. "It's pretty enough. It might
make a good vacation resort if it weren't on the edge of nowhere." His
pent-up emotion exploded as he spoke. "But five years in this hole! I'd
feel a hell of a lot better if I were looking at some rocky, barren
landscape with some mines on it--with _something_ of value on it--with
a name somebody'd heard of, where you could hope to get somewhere. I
don't want to waste five years here!" He paused for breath, staring
angrily at the lush landscape. "And for that matter, life on one of
those planets where you live under domes, with a sealed-in atmosphere,
is probably a lot more civilized and convenient than in this primitive
jungle."
Jerwyn nodded slowly, an unspoken compassion in his face. "I know how
you're feeling." He paused. "And it does seem pretty primitive here at
first--no automatic precipitrons for cleaning your clothes, natural
foods instead of synthetics, no aircars, no automatic dispensers for
food or drinks or clothes; none of a hundred things you take for
granted till you don't have them. But you get used to it. There are
things to make up--" He broke off as the car began to descend into a
valley. "Look!" His voice held an odd tone of affection. "There's your
new home."
Kirk gazed downward at the settlement nested in the valley below them.
He fished in his pocket for a magnascope to bring the view nearer and
stared curiously, as the lens adjusted to the distance. He picked out
groups of buildings, low units of some coarse, natural material, widely
spaced. This was the largest city on the planet, he knew, but it seemed
to be little more than a village. It was undoubtedly primitive--very
primitive. Remembering the magnificent high buildings of Terra, he was
filled with sudden homesickness for the speeding sidewalks crowded with
people, the skylanes humming with aircars.
Turning the magnascope here and there, he kept his gaze trained on the
town beneath him, studying it now in more detail. Slowly, some of his
depression began to leave him, and he felt a strange sense of warmth
begin to take its place. He stepped up the power of the glass till he
could see the inhabitants walking in the streets. Like the natives who
had met him at the landing ship, they walked with a beautiful, easy
grace, a sumptuous ease that seemed somehow almost a rebuke of his own
stiffly correct military posture. They gave an impression of combined
leisure and vitality.
Gradually, as he watched, an odd feeling of nostalgia began to stir in
him, an old, childish longing. He remembered suddenly a dream he had
had years ago, in which he had run laughing through green meadows with
a lovely girl. He had fought against waking from it and returning to
his desk piled high with books and his ascetically furnished room.
He blinked his eyes and put down the magnascope. "Rather attractive, in
a way," he said grudgingly to Jerwyn. He settled back slowly into his
seat.
"Just the same," he added, annoyed at himself for his sentimental
lapse, "how have you managed to stand it all this time? I still can't
figure how I came to get it in the neck like this." Abruptly, he
plunged into the words he had been holding back, telling the whole
story of his confusion to Jerwyn.
He rationalized to himself that perhaps Jerwyn could help him solve the
mystery. At least he might tell him how he himself came to be sent to
Nemar, without his having to ask directly; and this might give him a
clue.
"I've been over the whole business a million times, trying to figure
it out," he concluded. "Somebody with pull must have had it in for me.
But who? And why? I never had any real run-ins with Ross. In fact,
I'd always thought he liked me." He scowled. "Of course, he gives
practically everybody that impression. Maybe he's just a professional
glad-hander, though he certainly doesn't seem like it." He shook his
head. "Maybe that's the secret of his success; I never could figure
out how he got where he is. He certainly doesn't seem typical of the
command. Oh, he's brilliant enough, but there's a quality about him I'd
almost call--weak, I guess. Unsuitable for his post, anyway. He treats
the janitor the same as--"
Kirk stopped abruptly. He suddenly had the answer to the question that
had been nagging at the edge of his mind: it was Ross that Jerwyn
reminded him of.
Trying to cover up his confusion, he went on rapidly, hoping Jerwyn
would not notice. "Anyway, whatever his reasons were, he's played me
a dirty trick, and if there's ever any way I can pay him back for it,
I'll do it. I'll have five years to think about it. Me! The fair-haired
boy of the Institute! On my way to the top!" His face flushed with
resentment. "Sent to sweat out five years in this Godforsaken place
with a bunch of savages hardly evolved out of the jungle!" He passed
his hand over his forehead, wiping off sweat, feeling the full force of
his pent-up anguish and rage flood through him.
Jerwyn spoke very quickly. "I felt pretty much the same way when I was
sent here. But I feel differently now. I could try to explain. But I
don't think it's a good idea. I don't think anyone could have explained
to me. This is a place you've got to live in; you can't be told about
it." He shifted in his seat as a small group of buildings came into
view. "As for Ross--well, he was responsible for my being sent here,
too, and I spent some time when I first came, thinking of ways to cut
his body in little pieces and throw them in a garbage pulverizer--but I
wouldn't waste my time if I were you. I know now he had his reasons."
As he spoke the car pulled to a stop. "Well, here we are. This is where
you'll be living and working."
Jerwyn stayed with Kirk while he was shown through various buildings.
He found most of the office buildings full of bright murals and
little watered patios, but lacking the simplest devices for working
efficiency. He was introduced to various officials, Terran and
Nemarian. Some of the latter, to his surprise, were women--a rare
phenomenon for a primitive planet, he remembered from his classes.
By the time the touring was over and he had said goodbye to Jerwyn, he
was too tired to do more than glance briefly at the quarters to which
he was shown. Left alone in his rooms, he took a quick, awkward bath,
too weary to feel more than a brief annoyance at the lack of automatic
buttons for temperature controls, soaping, and drying, and fell
exhausted on the low bed.
* * * * *
For a moment, as he woke, Kirk could not remember where he was.
Drowsiness mingled with a sense of eeriness at the sound of long
bird-calls unlike any on Terra and the unfamiliar rustling of leaves;
the rays from the late afternoon sun seemed too crimson.
Then, as sleep fell from his eyes, he remembered. He glanced at the
window above his bed from which the orange light filtered into the room
and saw it was completely open to the outside air. Something would have
to done about that, he thought grimly, or he'd never be able to sleep
with an easy mind. There were always people, sooner or later, who hated
you if you had power; or if they didn't hate you, they at least wanted
you out of commission for one reason or another.
He sat up to take a better look at the room he had been too tired to
investigate before. There were mats of woven reeds, and low carved
chests, and flowers; the walls were clean and glimmering, and bare
except for a single picture of two young native children. He got up
and walked over to look at it more closely. A boy of about seven was
holding his arm out to a girl, slightly younger, to help her on to
the low, swaying branch on which he was sitting. The picture was full
of sunshine and green leaves and happiness, and you could feel the
trusting softness of her arms reaching up to him. An odd picture, Kirk
thought. The children looked childlike enough, but the emotions looked
adult.
As he looked at it, he heard a soft, swishing sound in the next room,
and stiffened. There was no lock on the door, he noticed. Well, it was
time to get up, anyway. He dressed hurriedly, trying to remember the
layout of his rooms. Except for the bathroom, he recalled only one
other room, a sort of arbored porch, one side completely open to the
air, with a low table and some cooking equipment at one end.
As he opened the door, a faint whisk of something made of reeds went
out of sight. A primitive broom, he thought, with a faint sense
of relief. Some servant was tidying the house. He opened the door
further--and stared.
A native girl was standing before him. She was extraordinarily lovely.
The gold-green hair of her race rippled and flowed in waves over her
bare back and shoulders down to the circlet of vermilion cloth girdling
her thighs. The band of small shells that circled her throat was netted
with wide orange and red flowers that half-hid, half-disclosed the
firm naked breasts. The light brown, gold-flecked eyes beneath the
gold-green eyebrows were soft; so was the tender mouth, rose-colored
against the flawless skin, with its undertones of faint green. Her
body, too, looked soft and yielding, but was borne with imperious grace
that somehow dignified even the broom held loosely now in one delicate
hand.
Kirk stared at this vision of beauty, taken by surprise, and found
himself caught up in sudden desire. She was like something out of a
dream. He tried to get hold of himself.
You're just not used to half-nude women, he told himself. You're used
to girls in uniforms, crisp, businesslike uniforms. A wild suspicion
caught at the edge of his mind. He didn't know anything about this
planet, really--except that there was something he didn't know. Maybe
they made a practice of diverting their rulers with beautiful women.
She certainly didn't look like a servant. He smiled at the thought
that came to him: this servant was the first indication of the luxury
befitting a Planetary Administrator. The thought enabled him to gain
control of himself again. He regained a semblance of his customary
reserved look.
"Good afternoon," he said, in the native language.
She smiled and held out her hand.
He hesitated, then held out his own awkwardly. Did one shake hands with
one's servants here? He wished he'd asked Jerwyn for more advice about
protocol.
She took his hand and pressed it lightly for a moment. "I am Nanae."
Her voice was low and musical. "I am going to clean and take care of
your house."
She turned and with exquisite precision gestured toward the low table
and cooking equipment at the end of the room. "I thought you would be
waking soon. I have prepared some _jen_ for you."
_Jen?_ he thought. Oh, yes, a very light stimulant--the local variety
of tea. He walked over to the low table and sat down, fighting the
impulse to enter into conversation with her. He watched her as she
poured the hot liquid into wide cups of polished gourd, her hair
radiant about her shoulders. A stab of longing shot through him. The
long years of training in the Institute paraded through his mind, the
years of strict routine, hard work, ascetic, bare rooms, with women
considered playthings that took too much time from needed study; the
only beauty was the dream of power among the glittering stars.
Well, he wasn't going to give up and forget the dream, he told
himself--and he wasn't going to be led astray by any pretty girls,
particularly a maid. Hell, he thought suddenly, maybe Ross is testing
me. Maybe he picked the worst planet in the whole damn galaxy to find
out if I could do something with it. It's obvious if I can get this
place on the trademaps, I can handle anything.
He looked speculatively at the girl as she pushed the cup toward him.
He wondered how she came by her job. Did they hold beauty contests
here for the honor of being cleaning woman in the PA's household? He
realized he was feeling more cheerful. The _jen_ and the soothing
quietness of the girl's presence were doing him good. He felt a
resurgence of his old energy and ambition that the interview with Ross
had quelled for so long.
"Did you work for Jerwyn, too?" he asked. Yes, his voice was just
right, courteous, but not too friendly, he thought.
"No, but I knew him." She looked at him with an odd smile. "He became
one of our best dancers."
"Dancers!" Kirk stared at her in amazement. He started to open his
mouth, then stopped. He'd better not ask any more questions till he'd
had a chance to talk to some Terrans. Apparently, Jerwyn had gone
native. Maybe it was his way of rebelling against being sent here in
the first place--and he'd let himself go so far that he'd skipped his
chance of reassignment at the end of the first five years, afraid of
the problems of a new post after being a beachcomber for so long. That
would account for the curious lack of deference he'd found in all these
people. They were friendly enough, but they lacked proper respect for
his position. You weren't supposed to be friendly to a PA; you were
supposed to be humbly polite. He recalled the respect and awe he'd
received on the ship.
As he finished his cup, he realized he was very hungry. He looked
around instinctively for food. He had enough synthetics in his bags
to do him for awhile, but he might as well make the plunge and start
eating the native foods right away. No use coddling himself.
The girl noticed the look. "I didn't prepare food for you because
dinner will be served in just a little while. We eat all together, down
by the river. You will hear drums to announce when the meal is ready,
and you get there by walking to the end of that path." She pointed a
delicate finger at a small foot-path winding by a few yards from where
he sat.
* * * * *
Coming out of the little forest at the end of the path, Kirk paused
to take in the scene. Between him and the river was a wild jumble of
men and women, laughing and talking, children running and stumbling
over small pet animals, piles of nuts and fruits and hot foods heaped
together beside small fires. Some of the people sat on straw mats, but
most, simply on the ground. There were neither tables nor chairs. To
Kirk it looked like utter confusion.
With a sense of gratitude, he saw a tall, uniformed figure coming up
to him, with a brisk, definite stride. The Terran's face was lined and
firm, the kind of face Kirk was familiar with. The man with this face
would be a man who stood for no nonsense, a man who was a little tough,
but also fair and capable. He recognized him as he came closer.
"Hello, sir. I'm Matt Cortland, your second in command," he said
brusquely. "I met you this afternoon, but you met so many people then
it must have been just a blur of names and faces."
Kirk greeted him, feeling a sense of satisfaction that this man would
be his chief assistant. He looked efficient; he should be able to help
him learn the ropes and get a program of action started.
"No chairs," Cortland said laconically, as they walked toward the
gathering. He chose a soft spot of lavender-tinted moss near a pile of
hot food and sat down, cross-legged. Awkwardly, Kirk sat down beside
him, folding his legs under him stiffly. "You can be served in your
rooms, of course, if you like," Cortland went on, turning to him.
"These people are very obliging. Very obliging." He reached for two
of the leaf-wrapped, steaming objects, handing one to Kirk. "But you
probably have a better chance of influencing them if you eat among
them. If they can be influenced." He opened the leaf and bit into the
yellow vegetable inside.
Kirk looked dubiously at the object in his hand. He hoped it wouldn't
make him sick. Pushing back his sense of disgust, he bit into it
carefully. The bland, sweetish flavor filled him with delightful
surprise. It was rather like a mixture of sweet potato, carrot, and
peach synthetics--but the texture and flavor were new and wonderful.
Maybe civilization had lost something good when it gave up natural
foods. Though, of course, their preparation was time-wasting and
inefficient, he reminded himself; and swallowing synthetics required
only a momentary break in your work when you were pressed for time. He
looked up and found Cortland watching him.
"Pretty different from the food at home, eh?" He had slipped into the
Terran language. "Good food and pretty girls." He gestured toward the
graceful, half-nude women scattered along the mossy bank. "Everything
for the lotus-eaters."
The phrase meant nothing to Kirk.
One of the girls came over to them with a large gourd full of fruit and
nuts, and another on which she heaped hot foods from the piles on the
ground as she passed. She placed them on the ground beside the two men.
"Yes, everything for the lotus-eaters," Cortland repeated.
"Incidentally, I hope you're not under the impression that that girl is
naked from the waist up."
Kirk looked at him questioningly.
"Oh, no. She's completely covered. They have taboos about naked
breasts, just like we do." He laughed at Kirk's look of mystification.
"You notice those strands of shells or woven reeds they wear around
their necks?"
Kirk looked around. They all wore them.
"Well, that signifies they are dressed. If you ever see a native girl
without one, she'll be terribly embarrassed." He stuck his hand out
toward the bowl of hot food. "After you've been here long enough you'll
think they're dressed, too."
He laughed, then looked more serious.
"I've been here a long time, getting nowhere," he said, in a different
tone. "There are a lot of things that could be done here. I've spent
a lot of time thinking about it. But Jerwyn--" He hesitated. "I hope
_you_ intend to make the name of the Galactic Union mean something
here."
Kirk nodded, and Cortland went on. "Jerwyn tried when he first came.
But after awhile he seemed to just give up. I couldn't do anything
without him backing me, I don't have enough authority." He looked grim
as he spoke. "And besides that, it takes more than one good man. Oh,
the other GU men here are capable enough--" He glanced toward a group
of Terrans sitting nearby. "They'll be over in a little while to speak
to you, incidentally; I asked them to hold off for a little, while I
briefed you a bit--no sense deluging you with new people while you're
trying to eat."
"But to get back," he went on, "they're capable enough, or they were
once, anyway, but none of them has the drive and brains it takes to
push through a project to develop this planet. They've pretty well
given up. Some of them like it here and some of them don't, but they've
all stopped trying." A look of contempt crossed his face. "They
go through the motions of doing some work to earn their salaries,
knock off at noon, and spend their time lying around on the beaches
with Nemarian girls. I've done what I could to keep a semblance of
discipline, but it's uphill work."