"An excellent sign," Kron replied. "You are nearly cured. Soon you will
be able to finish this trek."
"Incidentally," Lanceford said, "for the first time since I have been
out on this showerbath world of yours, you're cooking something that
smells fit to eat. I think I'd like to try it."
Kron's eyebrows rose and he hummed softly under his breath. This was
something entirely unexpected--an added delight, like the flavor of
komal in a sorat stew. He savored it slowly, enjoying its implications.
"What is it?" Lanceford persisted.
"A dish called akef," Kron said. The name was as good as any and
certainly described the effect well enough.
* * * * *
The last hundred miles had been a breeze. Lanceford stood at the
edge of the clearing, looking across the planed-off landscape to the
shimmering hemispherical bulk of Base Alpha, glistening like a giant
cabochon jewel under Niobe's dark sky. Without the protection suit to
slow him down and hamper his movements, what would have been a week's
trip had been shortened to four days.
In a few minutes, he would be back among his own kind--and he wasn't
sure whether he was glad or sorry. Of course, there was a certain
satisfaction in bringing back a first-class discovery--perhaps the
greatest in the short history of Niobian exploration--but there was a
stigma attached to the way it had been found. It wouldn't be easy to
confess that it had practically been forced upon him, but it would have
to be done. It would have been much nicer to have found the answer by
using his head. There would have been some really deserved prestige in
that.
* * * * *
He sighed and turned to Kron. "Farewell, friend," he said soberly, "and
thanks."
"We are even," Kron replied. "You saved my life from a roka and I saved
yours from the sith. The scales are balanced."
Lanceford blinked. He had forgotten that incident where he had shot the
big catlike animal shortly after the 'copter had dropped them for the
start of their journey back to Base. Apparently it was after Kron--or
at least the native had thought so. Lanceford grinned ruefully. Score
another point for blind luck.
"But, Kron, it's not that easy. You have given me a secret of your
people and I shall have to tell it to mine."
"I expected that you would. Besides, it is no secret. Even our children
know its composition and how to make it. We have never held it from
you. You simply wouldn't accept it. But it is about time, friend
Lanceford, that your race began learning something of Niobe if they
wish to remain here--and it is about time that we began learning
something about you. I think that there will be some rather marked
changes in the future. And in that regard, I leave you with the
question of whether a civilization should be judged entirely upon its
apparent technological achievements."
"I--" Lanceford began.
"You have learned how we avoid the insects," Kron continued,
maneuvering past the abortive interruption, "and perhaps someday you
will know the full answer to my question. But in the meantime, you and
your kind will be free to move through our world, to learn our ways,
and to teach us yours. It should be a fair exchange."
"Thanks to akef," Lanceford said fervently, "we should be able to do
just that."
* * * * *
Kron smiled. "You have used the drug enough to have overcome the mental
block that prevented you from naming it before. The word I coined from
your own language of science is no longer necessary."
"I suppose not, but it's pleasanter to think of it that way."
"You Earthmen! Sometimes I wonder how you ever managed to achieve a
civilization with your strange attitudes toward unpleasant facts." Kron
smiled broadly, relishing the memory of his deception and Lanceford's
shocked awakening to the truth. "I hope," he continued, "that you
have forgiven my little deceit and the destruction of your protective
clothing."
"Of course. How could I do otherwise? It's so nice to be rid of that
sweatbox that I'd forgive anything." Lanceford frowned. "But there's
one thing that puzzles me. How did you disguise the stuff?"
"I didn't," Kron replied cryptically. "You did." He turned away and,
with characteristic Niobian abruptness, walked off into the jungle. His
job was done and natives were never ones to dally with leavetaking,
although their greetings were invariably ceremonious.
Lanceford watched until the native was out of sight and then walked
slowly across the clearing toward the dome. He had learned a lot these
past few days, enough to make him realize that his basic training had
been so inadequate as to be almost criminal. It was lacking in many of
the essentials for survival and, moreover, was slanted entirely wrong
from a psychological point of view.
Sure, it was good enough to enable a man to get along, but it seemed to
be particularly designed to deny the fact that the natives obviously
possessed a first-rate culture of their own. It didn't say so directly,
but the implications were there. And that was wrong. The natives
possessed a civilization that was probably quite as high as the one
Terra possessed. It was simply oriented differently. One thing was
certain--the Confederation wasn't going to expropriate or exploit
_this_ planet without the natives' consent. It would be suicide if they
tried.
He grinned. Actually there would be no reason for such action. It
was always easier to deal with advanced races than to try to conquer
or educate primitive ones. Kron had the right idea--understanding,
exchange, appreciation--Confederation culture for Niobian. It would
make a good and productive synthesis.
Still grinning, Lanceford opened the airlock and stepped inside,
ignoring the pop-eyed guard who eyed his shorts and sandals with an
expression of incredulous disbelief.
* * * * *
Alvord Sims, Regional Director, Niobe Division BEE, looked up from his
desk and smiled. The smile became a nose-wrinkling grimace as Lanceford
swung the pack from his shoulders and set it carefully on the floor.
"Glad to see that you made it, Lanceford," Sims said. "But what's that
awful smell? You should have done something about it. You stink like a
native."
"All the baths in the world won't help, sir," Lanceford said woodenly.
He was tired of the stares and the sniffs he had encountered since he
had entered the base. In his present condition, a fellow-human smelled
as bad to him as he did to them, but he didn't complain about it and he
saw no reason why they should. Humanity should apply more courtesy and
consideration to members of their own species.
"It's inside me," he explained. "My metabolism's changed. And
incidentally, sir, you don't smell so sweet yourself."
Sims sputtered for a moment and then shrugged. "Perhaps not,"
he admitted. "One can't help sweating in this climate even with
air-conditioning."
"It's the change inside me," Lanceford said. "I suppose it'll wear off
in time, once I've been on a normal diet. But I didn't think that was
too important in view of the information I have. I've learned something
vital, something that you should know at once. That's why I'm here."
"That's decent of you," Sims replied, "but an interoffice memo would
have served just as well as a personal visit. My stomach isn't as good
as it once was. Ulcers, you know."
"The executive's disease," Lanceford commented.