Cortland smiled. "Good." Their eyes met, with understanding.
"And I'm very happy to have a man of your caliber with me," Kirk said
quietly.
Cortland gave him a long look. "Maybe you've got what it takes. Maybe
you have." He nodded slowly. "I should have told you I don't entirely
blame the men. This planet's a tough nut to crack." His voice was grim.
Kirk felt a vague uneasiness, but his look stayed determined. "We'll
crack it."
"We've been here forty years, and we haven't made a dent. They're funny
people, these Nemarians. They're really alien. I've been here fifteen
years, and I don't understand them any better than when I came."
"That's quite a statement."
"They're very appealing. Naive. Childlike. The soul of courtesy--on
the surface. But it's deceptive. And you could spend a lifetime trying
to find out what's underneath."
A young boy of about twelve came up as he spoke, setting a large gourd
full of steaming liquid down beside them with lithe grace, filling
smaller cups from it as he did so. Cortland nodded at him, turning
again to Kirk as the boy walked away. "Even their children aren't
really childlike. Did you see his eyes--makes you damned uncomfortable."
As Kirk started to answer, drum-beats began to fill the air, first
softly, then louder. Strange sounds from unfamiliar instruments began
to mingle with them, and a clear, high instrument added a melody. The
whole effect had an alien, discordant quality for Kirk, but as he
listened further he grew intrigued and began to enjoy it; a mood--happy
and romantic and energetic, all at once--came through to him from the
music.
"The dancing's beginning," Cortland informed him.
Kirk saw young men and women rise by ones and two's and begin swaying
and turning their bodies to the music. They all seemed to be doing
different things, and yet somehow it made an integrated pattern. To his
surprise older people and even young children gradually joined in, and
managed not to look inappropriate, although the dance movements were
rapid and strenuous.
He noticed a sweet, pungent odor filling his nostrils and realized
it came from the steaming bowl beside them. He picked up one of the
filled cups and tried it cautiously. It was delightful. He emptied it
and poured another.
He felt Cortland's hand on his arm, and looked up to find him grinning
at him. "Hey, take it easy with that stuff. That's fermented kara
root--the local variety of booze. They can drink quarts of the stuff
and be all right; I've never seen one of them really drunk. But you'd
better not try it."