Blynn laughed until the tears dampened his dark cheeks. "Spano's only
Head of Intelligence. She's his Mistress."
"Of course--_mistress_, feminine of _master_! I should have realized
that before." Then Clarey laughed, too. "I'm a real all-round alien. I
can't even understand my own language."
On the way back home he couldn't help thinking that Han Vollard might
be right. It could be the best thing for him to disappear now; the best
thing for himself, the best thing for Embelsira. He could pretend to
desert her--better yet, Blynn could fake some kind of accident, so her
feelings wouldn't be hurt. A pension of some kind would be arranged.
She could marry again, have the children she wanted so much. If he
waited the full ten years, she might never be able to have them. He had
no idea at what age Damorlant females ceased to be fertile.
But she wasn't just a Damorlant female--she was his wife. He didn't
want to leave her. Maybe he never would have to. Hadn't Spano said that
when his term was over he could pick his planet? He would pick Damorlan.
* * * * *
When Clarey came home from Barshwat, Embelsira said nothing more about
her suspicions, but greeted him affectionately and prepared a special
supper for him. Afterward, he wondered if making love to an Earth girl
could be as pleasant. He wondered how it would be to make love to Han
Vollard.
The days passed and he forgot about Han Vollard. After much persuasion,
he agreed to give a series of concerts at Zrig, but only on condition
that Rini played with him and had one solo each performance. He was
embarrassed at having so far outstripped his teacher, but Rini seemed
unperturbed.
"My technique's still better than yours will ever be," he said. "It's
this new style of yours that gets 'em. I understand it's spreading;
it's reached as far as Barshwat. You should see the angry letters Irik
writes about it!" Rini chuckled. "And he hasn't the least idea it
started right here in his own home village that he's always sneered at
for being so backward!"
Clarey smiled and clapped the boy on the neck. If it made Rini feel
better to think Clarey had a new style rather than that Clarey played
better than he did, Clarey had no objection.
Clarey was offered the post of head librarian at Zrig, but Embelsira
didn't want to leave Katund, and, when he thought about it, he really
didn't want to either. So he refused the job and didn't bother
mentioning the matter to Headquarters.
As he grew more sure of himself and his position, he allowed his wealth
to show. He and Embelsira moved into a larger dome. Instead of sending
to Zrig or even Barshwat for the furnishings, they hired local talent.
Tavan, the carpenter, made them some exquisite blackwood pieces inlaid
with opalescent stone that everyone said was the equal of anything
in Barshwat. A talented nephew of Hanxi's painted glowing murals;
Embelsira's mother wove rugs and draperies in muted water-tones. The
dome became the district showplace. Clarey realized he now had
a position to keep up, but sometimes it annoyed him when perfect
strangers asked to see the place.
He was invited to run against Malesor as headman but declined. He
didn't want to be brought into undue prominence. Trouble was, as he
became popular, he also aroused animosity. There were the girls who
felt he should have married them instead of Embelsira, and their
mothers and subsequent husbands. A lot of people resented Clarey
because they felt he should have decorated his house differently,
dressed differently, spent his money differently.
A man can live ignored by everyone, he discovered, but he can't be
liked by some without finding himself disliked by others.
* * * * *
Matters came to a head in his fourth spring there. He thought of it as
spring, although on Damorlan the seasons had no separate identities;
they blended into one another, without its ever being very hot or very
cold, very rainy or very dry. The reason he called this time of the
year spring was that it seemed closest to perfection.
It was less perfect that year. Because it was then that Rini's brother
Irik came back from Barshwat, after a six years' absence. He was very
much the city man, far more so than anyone Clarey had seen in Barshwat
itself. His tunics were shorter than his fellow villagers', and his
cloaks iridesced restlessly from one vivid color to another. He wore a
great deal of jewelry and perfume, neither of the best quality, and the
toes of his boots were divided.
Clarey described this in detail to Embelsira the night Irik put in
his first appearance at the Furbush. "You should have seen the little
horror!"
"That's the way city men dress," Embelsira told him. "It's fashionable."
"But, dear, I've been to Barshwat."
"You don't have an eye for clothes. You never notice when I put on
anything new. And I think it's unfair to take a dislike to Irik just
because you don't care for the way he dresses."
"It's more than that, Belsira." And yet how could he explain to her
what he couldn't quite understand himself, that Irik was vain, stupid,
hostile; hence, dangerous?
"I swear to you, Balt," Embelsira said demurely, "that whatever there
was between me and Irik, it all ended six years ago."
Clarey gave a start and then held back a smile. "I believe you, dear."
And he kissed her nose.
* * * * *
Irik held forth in the Furbush every evening of his stay in Katund. He
had grievances and he aired them generously. He hated everything--the
government, taxes, modern music, and Earthmen, whom he seemed to
consider in some way responsible for the modern music, or at least its
popularization. "Barbarians--slept completely through my concerts."
"But people are always falling asleep during concerts, Irik," Malesor
pointed out reasonably. "And how could you expect barbarians to
appreciate good music? What do you care for Earthmen's opinions as long
as your own people like your music?"
Irik hesitated. "But the Earthmen have taken up the new kind of music;
they stay awake during that. And--a lot of people seem to think that
whatever's strange is good, so whatever the Earthmen like eventually
becomes fashionable."
Hanxi wiggled his ears. "Fashions change. Well, who's ready to have his
mug refilled?"
"But the Earthmen will keep on setting the fashions," Irik snarled.
"Many people think the Earthmen know everything, just because they're
aloof and have sky cars."
"Well," Malesor said, "the sky cars certainly prove they know
something we don't. Better stick to your music, boy."
The smoky little bar-parlor resounded with laughter and Irik's face
turned a nasty red. "They don't know anything about music and they
don't know everything about machinery. We might surprise them yet. A
friend of mine knows Guhak, the fellow who invented that new brake for
the track car a few years ago."
"We know about that brake," Piq observed. "It stops a car so good, the
chains are twice as late nowadays as they used to be, and you couldn't
strictly say they were ever on time."
Everybody laughed again. Irik quivered with anger. "Guhak has invented
a car that doesn't need to go on tracks. It can run _whenever_ it wants
_wherever_ it wants. And one car will be able to go faster than three
hax teams."
"That I'll believe when I've ridden on it," Kuqal grinned. "Even
the chains aren't that fast." The others bit their thumbs and
nodded--except Clarey, who was rigidly keeping out of the conversation.
He forced squfur down his tightening throat and said nothing.
"You're backward clods!" Irik raged. "If the Earthmen can have cars
that go through the sky without tracks why shouldn't we have cars that
run on the ground the same way? Have we tried?"
"Doesn't seem to me it's worth the effort," Malesor said. "Our cars can
get us where we're going as fast as we need to go already, why bother?"
"Whatever an Earthman can do, we can do better! Soon Guhak will get his
ground cars on the road. After that, it'll only be a short step to cars
that go in the sky. Then we'll find out where the Earthmen come from
and why they're here. We'll be as powerful as they are. We'll get rid
of them and their rotten music."
The bar parlor was silent, except for the clink as Clarey put his mug
on the table. If he held it an instant longer, he was afraid he would
spill it. One or two of the men looked at him uneasily out of the
corners of their eyes. Malesor spoke: "In the first place, you don't
know how powerful Earthmen are. In the second place, who wants to be
powerful, anyway? The Earthmen haven't done us any harm and they're a
good thing for the economy. My cousin in Zrig tells me one of 'em come
into his store a coupla months ago and bought out his whole stock,
every bolt of cloth. Paid twice what it was worth, too. Live and let
live, I say."
The others murmured restlessly.
"If there are ways of doing things better," Rini suggested, "why
shouldn't we have them, too?" His eyes darted quickly toward Clarey's
and then as quickly away.
Irik turned his head and looked directly at Clarey for the first time.
"You're silent, stranger. What do _you_ think of the Earthmen?"
* * * * *
Clarey picked up his drink, finished the squfur and set the mug back
down on the table. "I don't know much about Earthmen. An ugly-looking
lot, true, but there doesn't seem to be any harm in them. Of course,
living in Barshwat, you probably know a lot more about them than I do."
"I doubt that," Irik said. "You have an aunt in Barshwat."
Clarey allowed himself to look surprised before he said courteously,
"I'm glad you find me and my family so interesting. Yes, it so happens
I do have an aunt there, but she's rather advanced in years and doesn't
enjoy hanging around the starship field the way the children do."