"It's all right," said the boy.
Leaning down, Kirk put an arm tentatively around each of the children,
half-surprised at himself for the gesture. As he felt their small
bodies relax against his, it seemed as though some deep inner tension
began to flow out of him. He straightened up to find Nanae's glance on
him surprisingly warm, almost tender. The approval in her eyes filled
him with an unfamiliar kind of happiness.
* * * * *
"You mean Ross spent five years here!" Kirk stared in amazement at
Cortland, sitting beside him.
The older officer turned toward him, shifting his position on the
grassy ledge to which they had climbed for a look at the surrounding
countryside. "Yes, that's right. Ross was straight out of the Institute
then, had an A-1 record, and this place had just been discovered. They
thought then it might have all sorts of valuable minerals and things.
It seemed like a great chance." He shrugged. "As it turned out, of
course, there was nothing, but nobody could have known then."
"They know now," Kirk said shortly. He sat looking over the valleys
beneath them, silent for a moment. It was discouraging to learn Ross
had been here and had not turned up anything: Ross was capable,
whatever else he might be, and it would take luck as well as work to
succeed where he had failed. And his luck didn't seem to be working out
too well, he thought, unhappily.
But this might throw some new light on why he'd been sent here. Maybe
Ross's reason for sending the Institute's star pupil had been one he
could never have guessed at the time--a gesture of sentimentality.
Maybe he wanted to help these people with whom he had spent his first
years as an Administrator. Maybe he wanted to make up for his own
failure to help lift their living standards.
He turned toward the other man. "Cortland, you say you've done a lot of
traveling here. How about the rest of the planet? Are any of the other
villages more advanced; are the people any different?"
Cortland laughed shortly. "Thinking of hiring yourself a new native
staff? Your impatience about worn out bucking this one? Can't say
I blame you, but it's no go. All these villages are the same. One
outfit's as bad as the next. Oh, they go in for different things--one
will go all out for sculptures, one will be great on weaving, and
another one maybe will grow a special kind of fruit. But the people
are all alike--all equally charming and equally impossible. All
sweet and friendly on the surface and stubborn as mules underneath.
All acting like they know something they're not talking about, like
they've got some secret hidden behind those clear, guileless eyes of
theirs, some source of strength that makes them able to tell us to go
to hell--figuratively, of course--when they don't like our orders." He
leaned forward, intently. "I'd give a lot to find out what makes them
tick." A look of insecurity, almost of anxiety filled his eyes.
A sudden gust of wind blew a flurry of leaves against Kirk's face. He
brushed them away, feeling chilled.
Cortland blinked his eyes, and his face resumed its customary firm
look. "But to get back to your question--this village here is supposed
to be a center of government. When the Nemarians have to decide on
anything that affects the whole planet, the Council in this village
does it. The Council has nothing to do with the Galactic Union set-up,
of course. It's strictly local, was here before GU discovered this
place. You probably studied up on it before you came here."
Kirk nodded. Every planet with an indigenous population had its own
political set-up. It was GU policy not to interfere with them, unless
their interests clashed in some way.
Cortland went on. "Anyone who likes being in on that sort of thing
packs up and emigrates to this village. I don't know whether you've
noticed, but these people are pretty casual about moving from one
town to another. Anyway, when your would-be politician gets here, the
people take him in and watch him awhile, and then, if they like him all
right, he's put on the Council. What a system! The truth is, most of
the Nemarians consider political work something of a nuisance and would
just as soon somebody else did it. They don't care for power the way we
do. They look on it as just a heavy responsibility and a burden."
Kirk shifted his leg uncomfortably, feeling a bit self-conscious.
"By the way," Cortland added casually, "how are you getting on with
that girl?"
"What girl?"
"That beautiful creature who keeps house for you."
"Nanae?"
"Yes, Nanae. The beauty of the village, the girl who cooks breakfast
for you, the head of the Council--"
"What did you say? What was that about the Council?"
"She's head of the Council. Didn't you know?"
"How can she be? She's a maid, she--"
"They don't have maids here. She's being neighborly. And they have
sort of a "power corrupts" philosophy here. If you're in a position of
authority, you're sort of expected to go out and do humble tasks for
people once in awhile, so you won't get to feeling above them. These
people like to keep everyone on the same low--"
"But head of the Council!" Kirk broke in. "She's just a young girl!"
"So what? You're just a young man."
"But--"
"Sorry for the levity. But they let women do everything here. They've
got equality of the sexes, old man. They--"
"We'd better be starting back," Kirk broke in. He rose to his feet.
He walked silently down the hill beside Cortland, his head whirling.
* * * * *
When they reached the village, he left Cortland as quickly as he
could and hurried in the direction of his house, incoherent thoughts
tumbling over each other in his mind. His face burned as he remembered
his condescension, the way he had fought his desire for her by holding
her off with curt remarks, indicating with raised eyebrows that he
wished no personal conversation. He thought of the occasional glint of
amusement he had seen breaking through her serene courtesy.
Why had she kept coming, he wondered.
He saw, with a start, that he was nearly to his house, and he realized
he had been hoping Nanae would be there. He had to talk to her, though
he had no idea what he would say. As he drew closer, he saw a flicker
of motion inside the porch.
He walked forward quietly, and then stood a moment watching her,
silently. She had her back to him and was sweeping, as she had been
that first time he saw her. Her thighs were wrapped in soft, violet
cloth, and a cascade of violet flowers jeweled the lovely hair which
rippled and swirled down her back and shoulders. Not a wasted motion,
he thought, not a gesture that isn't beautiful. He wondered why he had
ever felt sweeping a floor was a menial task. She moved like a great
dancer.
She turned as he watched and saw him. "Hello." She smiled, and he felt
himself tremble a little.
"I just heard about you--about your being head of the Council," he
blurted out. "I want to apologize; I didn't know, I--"
"What difference does it make?" She looked genuinely puzzled.
"I thought you were a maid, a ... a sort of person who waits on other
people, on Terra," he tried to explain. "I didn't know you were just
doing this to be kind. I've been very rude. I--I hardly know what to
say...."
Her eyes widened. "Do you treat people who clean your houses on Terra
one way and officials another? You are funny, you Terrans."
"Yes, I guess we are funny." He searched for words. "This is the first
time I've really talked to you, isn't it?"
She smiled. "We've just been people in the same room." She spoke
gently. "I've seen you were unhappy and confused under that proud
manner. I wanted to help, but you weren't ready to let anyone help."
"Why did you keep coming?" He waited anxiously for her answer.
"I liked you." Her glance was half-tender and a little amused. "And I
knew you wanted me here, even though you tried not to show it." She
paused. "There was another reason, too."
"What was it?"
"You know Marlin Ross lived here once?" He nodded. "Well, there was
a note from him on the spaceship you came on. It was addressed to my
father, asking him to take care of you. He and Ross were good friends.
But my father is dead now, and so the letter was given to me."
"And so you've been taking care of me."
"Yes."
"But I'm sure he didn't mean it literally--taking care of my house and
fixing my food and--"
"No, of course not. He just meant to take care of you, give you what
you needed. But you needed this. You needed to be waited on a little."
"I guess I did." He could find nothing adequate to say. "Thank you."
There was a moment of silence.
She put aside the broom, which was still poised in one hand. "Let me
make you some _jen_. You look tired."
"Thank you." Kirk sat down, with a deep sigh, and leaned back, watching
her precise, exquisite movements, as she prepared the hot liquid. He
found himself longing to touch her, to reach out and feel the soft,
supple flesh, the rippling hair. The sight of her beautiful, firm
breasts moving as she worked tortured him. The low necklace that
signified they were covered didn't work very well for him, he thought.
The flowers twined into it kept falling aside as she bent and turned,
tantalizing him more. He pulled his eyes away, and forced himself to
think of other things.
She had been very kind, he realized.
She hadn't made him feel like a fool.
* * * * *
He stood waiting for the last of the staff to assemble, letting the
feel of triumph course through his body. He felt heady, exultant, a
little drunk with joy. This was his moment. This made it all worth
while--the long hours, the sleepless nights, the relentless work, the
struggle. They would see. They would see he hadn't been driving himself
and them for nothing.
He stared down for a moment at the piece of ore which he had brought to
show them. It contained unpolished zenites.
Nemar possessed zenites, the fabulous gems valued all over the galaxy
for their shimmering, glowing beauty of changing color. Infinitely more
precious and rare than diamonds, they served often as a galactic medium
of exchange, where weight was important. A handful of them could be
worth the whole cargo of a trading ship.
He was not surprised that no one had found the ore deposits before.
They were the products of immense and peculiar pressures and no
appreciable amount of the ore was ever found except very deep
underground. He was very glad now he had specialized in geology and
mineralogy instead of social structure and alien psychology. Otherwise,
the geologic reports he had received of the area would have seemed
perfectly routine and ordinary. The nagging feeling that there was
something a little unusual about the soil analysis would never have
come into consciousness as a definite, tremulous hunch.
He could have sent Cortland or one of the others out there with the
tools and instruments to dig and make test after test, searching
several feet under the surface for the elusive end-trail of a lode. But
he had wanted to go himself. He had packed and prepared for the two-day
trip, steeling himself against the disappointment he was almost sure to
receive.
He looked at the faces of his staff members, all present now, thinking
of that first meeting with them and the peculiar reception his plans
had received. Now it would be different; now everything he had asked of
them was justified.
Drawing a long breath, he began to tell them what had happened.
As he went on, his fiery enthusiasm began to waver. His voice boomed
too loudly in the quiet room. Once or twice his words faltered, as
he glanced at the dispassionate face of a native. As he finished, he
looked around, a sense of dismay and fear creeping into his feeling of
triumph.
They had listened too quietly. Only Cortland and a few other Terrans
had shown any indication of the excitement and jubilation he expected.
The others seemed unimpressed and undisturbed. With a sinking feeling
in the pit of his stomach, he called for discussion.
There was a pause. Finally, one of the older Nemarians spoke. "This is
a very important matter. If these mines are put into operation, it will
affect the lives of everyone on Nemar. I must ask that you give us a
little time to think over the implications."
He spoke courteously, but Kirk knew the request would have to be
respected. He wanted to shout at them, to ask them to understand this
wonderful thing that had happened, to tell them they were going to be
rich! But this was the way they did things, and this was the way it
would have to be done. He pushed down the impatience burning in him.
"Will a day do?"
The Nemarian hesitated a moment, then nodded. "Very well. A day should
be enough."
Kirk watched them file out a few minutes later. He wondered where his
sense of elation had gone.
* * * * *
Apprehension filled him again as he watched the staff assemble the next
morning. The faces of the Nemarian members increased his discomfort.
Why didn't they look happier, more excited? Why should they look at him
with that unspoken sympathy in their eyes. He was afraid to hear what
they had to say.
The native who had spoken the day before moved forward a little.
"We're very sorry," he said gently. Kirk felt his heart sinking. "We
realize that you have worked very hard in what you consider to be our
interests. We hoped you would come up with something more acceptable
than these mines. But we cannot put the plans for mining these gems
of yours into operation. We are very sorry," he said again, "but the
Council has voted against it."
"The Council!" Kirk stared at him. He fought to control his voice.
"You know perfectly well that the power of my command is supreme over
any local councils of whatever nature." He stiffened. "But that isn't
the point. I guess I haven't made things clear to you somehow. These
gems--which you refer to as if they were a child's baubles--can make
this insignificant planet a power in the galaxy. They can make the name
of Nemar respected throughout the whole Galactic Union. You can trade
them." He spoke each word slowly and carefully as if he were explaining
to a child. "I'm not having expensive machinery constructed and sending
you down hundreds of feet into the ground so that your women can
_wear_ these jewels. They're extremely pretty, but you probably feel
the flowers the girls pluck and put in their hair do just as well for
ornaments, and perhaps you're right."
He paused, trying to hold on to his temper. "It will be dark and dusty
and uncomfortable down in those mines, as I told you yesterday when
you asked about it. It will be hard work, and I know you're not fond
of hard work." He could not keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "But
I assure you, it will be worth it. A really good specimen of one of
these little _gems_ (he underlined the word) can buy half the cargo of
a spaceship. These jewels can make it worthwhile for the great trading
ships to swarm through space out to this isolated fragment of the
cosmos. You can acquire the technologies of other planets with them.
The evolution of this planet can be speeded up a dozen times. You can
become of importance in the scheme of things, leave this backward,
primitive way of life behind you."
As he paused for breath, one of the Nemarians spoke quietly. "We don't
want to push ahead that fast." He looked at Kirk serenely. "We are
interested in improving conditions here, of course. We want to acquire
things that will make our lives more pleasant and luxurious. Some day
we wish to become a highly developed society, technologically. We wish
growth and change--but only very slowly, very carefully. We want to be
very, very sure we do not bring in pain when we bring in new pleasures.
We need to study each new change to see what it might mean." He paused.
"In this case, it took very little study. This mining project would
mean the young men would be put to backbreaking labor in underground,
unhealthy conditions. There might be circumstances which could justify
such a thing. But not for jewels which are intrinsically worthless."
"Worthless! I just told you--"
"I mean they are not valuable in themselves. You can make cheap,
synthetic jewels that are almost as beautiful, can't you?"
"Yes, of course, but--"
"So they are only valuable because they are rare, because you _call_
them valuable, because they show the people who buy them have enough
money to buy them. Wearing them is really a way of saying, I'm rich, to
everyone who sees you." He shrugged. "We don't care about that sort of
thing here."
Kirk clenched his fists in frustration. Maybe he should have
specialized in alien psychology. He made another try. "I know you
don't. That's not the point. The point is that you can trade them for
other things, for--"
The older native who had announced the Council decision broke in again.
"As you said, the mining is very hard, disagreeable work. We feel
that when you begin to do disagreeable things for an end that is not
valuable in itself, you are beginning to tread a dangerous path. There
is no telling where it will end. One such situation leads to another.
We might end up cooped up in a room all day, shut away from the sun
and air, turning bolts on an assembly line to make machines, as we
have heard often happens on Terra." He looked slightly shocked at the
picture. "Being surrounded by technical conveniences isn't worth that."
He looked at Kirk patiently, as though this should be self-evident.
"On Terra and on most of the other planets we have had word of, people
seem to spend their time making all kinds of things that have no value
in themselves, because they can be sold or traded. Other people spend
their time trying to persuade people to buy these useless things.
Still other people spend all day making records of how many of these
things have been sold. No! This path is not for us." He shook his head.
"We don't know how it came about that all these people spend their time
at these unpleasant, useless things. They can't have wanted it that
way. No human being could want to spend his time doing silly, pointless
things. How could you believe in yourself? How could you walk proudly?
How could you explain it to your children? We must be careful not to
make the mistake of taking the first step in that direction."
Kirk felt hopelessly confused. The reasoning was all wrong, but how
could he explain it to them?
He began slowly, from another angle....
* * * * *
He stood there for a long time after they had left, trying to control
his rage. He had tried everything he could think of. He had argued,
reasoned, pleaded with them. He had raged at them, threatened them.
Nothing had worked.
The threats had not disturbed them.
He thought of sending out an emergency beam for help. But what would he
say when the ship arrived: put these people under martial law--force
them to work--it's for their own good? He'd like to see if they could
do it, he thought. He'd be betting they couldn't.
He paced up and down, clenching his fists.
He could have all the council members jailed, he thought. Only there
weren't any jails on Nemar.
Resentment burned in him. They'd let him work and struggle and slave
day and night--for this. He swung his fist into the wall suddenly, with
all his might. The pain stung, but he felt a little better.
He looked at the bruised hand, wondering what to do. He was too
restless to go home and stay by himself, burning up with unspent rage;
and he certainly couldn't go and sit among the natives, listening to
them chatter and laugh.
He decided to take a walk.
He heard a rustle of leaves after he had gone a little way and saw a
pair of feminine legs through the underbrush. He tried to turn aside.
He didn't feel like talking to Jeannette now.
But she had already seen him. "Hello, there," she said, pushing aside a
branch from where she was sitting. "Are you taking a walk, too? Thought
you were always sticking to the old grindstone this time of day."
"Hello, Jeannette."
"Sit down and rest for a minute. I need some company."
He hesitated, then sat down reluctantly.
"You don't look too cheerful," she said, looking at him. "Something
eating you?"
"Just this place," he said wearily. "And the people."
"Yes, it gets you after a while, doesn't it? It's pretty hard to take."
He leaned against a tree and tried to relax.
"It's hard to live with," she went on, "the constant sense of
inferiority...."