by Larry Niven
Glen glared. "It's bad for them too! They don't see any sapient creature outside their insular selves. It stunts their minds."
Harlow said, "They're inbred, too, but that is policy-"
"So, we know what we want," Jeremy said. "What if we don't get it?"
"Oh, we'll get it."
"That's good. Because we're here for two nights if we get it or not. Chugs can't forage in one place more than two nights running."
"The Spirals know it too," Glen said. "Remember, sell anything but speckles tomorrow." He crawled into the tent to sleep.
Jeremy kept walking, and Harlow followed.
Wagons were wide apart. Between tents they could not be overheard.
Jeremy said, "Thank you."
"It's a joy," she said, "watching you keep your mouth shut."
"You terrify me. Are you with Steban tonight?"
"Tanya snatched him as soon as he was on board. Don't you notice, Jeremy? Or was that a joke?"
"He'll have you both. If she's any good-?"
"Very. And beautiful. And already pregnant."
"He'll wonder what you've got to match her. Anyway, you're mine tonight, if I can get you relaxed. So what would that take?"
She was silent.
She was thinking about all the way back to Bloocher Farm, and watching him the way an armed yutz watches the sea.
Downslope to shore, then across the overgrown fence, then up.
Likely enough he'd be shot as a burglar.
Uphill would take him to the frost line. He'd crouch behind the brush like a nineteen-year-old, duckwalk past Mount Apollo and down into Spiral Town. The long way home, but Harlow couldn't guess who might give him refuge....
Or he could procure Spiral garb, recover his Spiral accent, and walk past the gate in a clump of shoppers.
"I've promised not to go home," he told her.
"Right."
"Harlow, do you think I'd leave these old birdfuckers alone to decide whether to turn us all into speckels-shies?"
Harlow put her fingertips over his mouth. Damn, he was getting too loud. She said, "Now who needs relaxing?"
"Me."
"Well, come back to the tent."
In the morning the chugs went into the sea again. Ten sharks followed them out. Three lay flopping when the rest fled.
"Six last night, then ten. They're getting smart," Angelo said.
"Smart?"
"For sharks. The first night, there's weed close to shore. Morning, the chugs have to go deeper for it. Next night, deeper yet. Next morning, even farther. The sharks get a better and better chance to catch a chug or two."
"They don't get smart, just hungry. The chugs are taking their food, Angelo."
Thousands of Spirals had come to watch the shark-shooting. Now they descended on the wagons.
Yutzes were sent to fetch the clocks, pottery, glassware, fruit, and vegetables piled beyond the gate. The prices for these had been agreed. They were told to leave the Begley cloth alone. By noon it was sparking and spitting lightning, not safe to touch.
The Spirals bought what the wagons sold, and couldn't believe that they couldn't buy speckles too. Jeremy gave away handfuls of festivity to all the children. He'd cut and roll more tonight.
Merchants were expected to wear eccentric dress. Pockets were always in fashion. Jeremy had built a big pocket over his belly and lined it, and he kept a generous handful of extra seeds inside to keep the jelly candies from sticking. It gave him a lumpy-rotund look.
Come evening, the Hearsts geared up for Warkan's Tavern. As they laid out cookware and the yutzes dug their pits, Jeremy found himself crouching down behind his persona. The last time he'd seen Warkan's Tavern, he'd killed a man.
Here came a forest of black devilhair and a row of chugs pushing it. Time to board the roofs.
Far up the Road, two electric wagons approached Warkan's Tavern.
Maybe Spiral Town only had two; in Jeremy's youth they'd had four. These were empty but for five men.
They stopped at the gate. Five soberly dressed Spiral Town men went into the tavern and emerged on the second-floor balcony.
The chugs left off burrowing in the black weed, and moved uphill.
Sharks zipped up the sand. Bullets spattered them; two fled, seven burrowed into the weed, four sped after the chugs. A hail of bullets stopped those.
"Smarter," Angelo grunted, and relaxed.
Seven sharks zipped out of the weed all at once, into the waves before anyone could quite react.
Harlow asked, "What would it cost to wipe out lungsharks?"
"We almost have," Glen Hearst said. "There used to be more. It's a bad idea, though. Without sharks we'd pay less attention to shark guns.
Locals tend to be respectful if they've seen shark guns in action.
Bandits too."
Tanya asked, "Harlow, don't you like shooting sharks?"
"I really do not." Tanya laughed.
Miller wagon was cooking dinner tonight, though Hearst wagon had helped set up. Jeremy and Harlow waited for Glen. The elders seemed to be waiting for. . . what? But a third of the caravan walked toward Warkan's Tavern, a growing crowd that included Angelo, Tanya, and Steban.
They stopped, milling a bit, when the dignitaries came out of Warkan's Tavern and walked toward the caravan.
Glen Hearst said, "I think that's my dinner."
Jemmy Bloocher's father had been of the Council, and the Council did usually take several wagonmasters to dinner. In his youth the caravans had come as far as the Hub. Later. . . but was it nonnal for the Council to come this far?
The Councilors were picking up elders from the wagons, not all, just some. Nobody from Krupp wagon, #2. Nine men re~ched Hearst wagon.
One man took Glen Hearst aside and spoke to him, a casual and genial tone, words half-heard. "-Harry's Bar-"
Pat the special pocket: half-full. Pit chef Jeremy: obsequious, a bit effusive. First sight of Spiral Town: gape a little. Even Warkan 's Tavern is impressive. Damn, you can see buildings poking up in clusters a klick away! He felt himself wanting to overdo it.
"-And you must meet our pit chef from the finest restaurant on the Road, Jeremy Winslow."
Not much interested, Chairman Greegry Bloocher stepped forward to shake the cook's hand.
'Jeremy, some of us have been invited to dinner by these good people, and I mentioned your dessert-"
"A recent invention, sir." Spiral Town accentanda complacent smile.
Jeremy handed his brother a thumb of festivity candy. He watched Greegiy's appreciation, and offered a handful to the rest. Harlow was watching him like a magician's hat.
"Why don't you come to dinner with us," Glen Hearst asked, "and bring some along?"
*35*
Spiral Town
Most cultures have understood that some are more equal than others. There were those ~h0 would not go to the stars, and there were those we not take.
-Captain Arnold Cohen aboard Argos, during negotiation Electric wagons brought them back to the light and noise at Warkan's Tavern. Jeremy walked in behind Govert Miller. Harlow was with six other women on the women's side of the room. She saw him; he smiled; she dove back into animated conversation.
Jeremy looked around for company. He'd completely forgotten that he couldn't just sit down with his wife.
"There, Jeremy." Govert Miller meant a table of merchants, all men in their twenties, with one empty chair. Jeremy fielded one from another table and they sat.
Jeremy flagged a waiter and ordered drinks for the table, far too skillfully. The waiter was puzzled. Nobody else noticed. The elder Miller began an animated description of events at dinner for merchants from Miller and Hearst. Jeremy listened, picking up more than he'd been able to witness.
The Council had capitulated. They'd kept some tattered shreds of dignity, kept some surface concessions. Some had to be silent for the depth of their fury.
The caravans would roll into Spiral Town tomorrow. Begley cloth
would be loaded. Speckles would be delivered to the Hub and sold to Spiral women. The gate? That was being dealt with.
Drinks appeared. Jeremy paid, fumbling a bit with the coins. He sipped vodka and grapefruit, being cautious with it.
"You're quiet," Govert said.
Jeremy jumped. He said, "I was wondering. We set things back the way they were. . . when? Twenty years ago? Two hundred and twenty years ago the caravans were a going concern. Already self-supporting, weren't they?"
Heads nodded, don't really know, and Glen Hearst at another table barked, "Right!"
"Self-supporting, and they carry the speckles, and even the Otterfolk get what they want out of it. That's what everyone hoped for in the first place. Isn't it about time we dismantled the Overview Bureau?"
The table burst into laughter. Jeremy looked down at his empty glass. No birdfucking- Angelo Hearst said, "And we could raise the price of speckles through the roofi"
Govert Miller reproved him, elder to youth. "Angelo, each wagon puts its own price-"
"Couldn't we all set one price? Or, wait, let's say eleven wagons up our prices and only Miller wagon stays low? Govert, you'd sell all your speckles before we got to the Shire. After that they'd pay whatever the rest of us want."
Govert laughed. 'Jeremy, he's got a point."
On another night they might have argued. How would Destiny Town cope if the Road communities knew the truth? Tonight wasn't that kind of night. Jeremy said, "Angelo, you win. I never thought of that at all!"
He saw the merchant women's table breaking up. He made his excuses and left in a cluster of elders.
Harlow saw him and waited. When he'd caught up she said, "I wondered if I'd see you again."
"You know why I couldn't get you in on this. Ever. Harry's Bar is men only. Remember the gate guard?"
She was ticked, that was sure. "Do women have places too?"
"Now, how on birdfucking Earth will I ever know that? You've been surrounded by Spiral woman all night! You'll he selling them speckles tomorrow. Ask. Then lie to me if you like!"
"What a concept."
"Fair's fair."
'Selling speckles?"
"Yes, the old ones came to some kind of agreement. I was too far to hear details."
"You enjoyed yourself?"
"Oh, yes. I took a whole big pouch of festivity, right? For sixteen of us and the chefs at Harry's Bar. Impressed hell out of them, and we spent some time talking shop. Pit chef Jeremy. They sat me at the far end from Greegiy-"
"Greegry?"
"My younger brother, Greegry Bloocher, the Council Chairman. The tall guy-"
Harlow started to laugh. Then she said, "No offense, dear, but why did the Spiral Council wantJeremy Winslow?"
"They didn't! They held their tempers, but it was pretty plain."
She waited.
"Like making them come all the way out here with wagons. The caravans are playing mind games. Table for fifteen, we'll all sit down and pretend we're equals and talk business, only they've got to ride out here and get us, and then Glen Hearst rings in a loose cook! Now the table's a little crowded, and there are things no cook should hear-"
"What is this all about?"
"I was as far from the action as they could get me, and that suited me just fine. But the new gate is too much. They're tearing it down. The elders are talking like the Council rolled belly-up."
"Good."
"And I've been invited to visit the graveyard tomorrow. I can take my wife."
He felt her freeze under his hand. "Why did you-? Jeremy, I'm being obtuse, you must have people buried there. No, how can I come? Both of us can't be gone when the caravan leaves tomorrow! You'll. . . have to catch up later."
He saw in her eyes: You've escaped.
The burly Councilman was chewing a barely conceale4 rage. He couldn't make hi mself talk to the caravan elders. At least the chef could be kept occupied. He was Gwillam Doakes, and he didn't recognize Jemmy Bloocher.
Jeremy leaned on his Destiny Town accent. "You have a Carolyn Hope Hearst buried in your graveyard, William. I was a Hearst before I married. I want to visit my ancestor's grave."
Gwillam Doakes dithered, then called down the table to Greegiy Bloocher. Greegiy's downsweeping hand chopped off the request. "Yes, yes.
Give my name to the gatekeeper. Get directions from him if you need them."
* * *
"No, dear, the caravan's going in tomorrow. Not very far, just around the first turn as far as the Outer Circle. The chugs can get down to the beach between the Tucker and Coffey holdings, along the runoff strip. The caravans used it for access when I was young. We'll let the chugs clear away some of their devilhair weed while they're there."
She relaxed: softened under his hand.
He said, "I'll go visit the graveyard afterward. Come or don't."
A breathy sigh. "Yes, of course, of course I'll come. Merchants never used to miss the Destiny Town graveyard. They say nothing grows there but Earthlife-"
"Right."
Neither of them slept well that night.
At dawn, before even the yutzes were up, there was a chattering sound from up the Road, like an enraged squirrel as big as a building. Jeremy lay in the tent, listening, trying to recall- "Air hammer," Harlow said.
They got up and joined the caravaners on the roofs. Seven lungsharks tried their luck. Tents were stowed, chugs were hooked up, wagons were set moving, the sales windows were opened to throngs of Spirals who had come to buy. Jeremy and Harlow drove.
The gate wasn't gone. It lay fiat in the Road, in a V-shaped recess cut into the old lava by an air hammer. Now it was hinged at the base.
The wagon wheels bumped over it and rolled past.
"I just remembered," Jeremy told Harlow, "one of the reasons we closed Spiral Town to the caravans. The Road isn't wide enough for a wagon and team to turn around."
"That's going to be fun."
"No, that's why we go to the Outer Circle. It's where Columbiad landed when the landers were still unloading from Argos. They always came down on the same spot. Plenty of room there."
They rolled past houses Jeremy had known from his birth. "Warkan Harness. . . Doakes.
"Shut up," she suggested.
A quarter-turn around, ten klicks, brought them to another guard...
the same guard. The wagons eased to a halt a little too bunched up, but that wouldn't matter today.
Inward, the shallow pool of refrozen rock was tangent to two loops of the Road. It was considerably larger than similar craters found along the Road. Cavorite and Columbiad had landed always within a centimeter of the same spot, guided down by settler magic.
Below was Columbiad 's runoff stream, a strip of bare rock that nobody had tried to farm in two hundred years. It ran a klick and a half to the sea. The sea was black with devilhair. The chugs would feed very well today.
Then again-"Today I think we'll get sharks," Jeremy said.
The chugs didn't mind stopping early. Through the long afternoon they ambled on down into the waves, rolled a black forest out, and began to feast. Not a child in Spiral Town had ever seen wagons this far into town, and they crowded round to watch.
The chugs left their dinner and started uphill just ahead of a wave of sharks. Jeremy heard startled laughter and nervous chatter over the rattle of gunfire. Damn fools. They could lose a few chugs here. He emptied his gun and reloaded in haste.
The guns left twenty-odd sharks on the rocky beach, and an awed silence among the watching Spirals.
Then Harlow may have misread Jeremy's triumphant near-snarl. Or not. Jeremy had never been sure of Harlow. She made some minor changes in her dress-still in the vivid style of a merchant woman, but not so apt for shooting sharks-while he~ filled his lined pocket with seeds and festivity candy.
Once there had been a hydraulic empire in miniature: the mainland's stranglehold on speckles.
No more. The next time a caravan tried such extortion as they'd used the
se past few days, they'd find fertile speckles growing over every garbage heap, every manure pit, every graveyard along the Crab. Where there was potassium, speckles would grow.
Argos had robbed Crab and mainland alike. Destiny Town had only Cavorite, Spiral Town had only Columbiad; neither could reach farther than synchronous orbit. Spiral Town had all the knowledge that Cavorite had taken for Terminus and Destiny Town, and the equivalent in settlermagic tools.
Destiny Town had built shuttles that would reach orbit. That was the first step, had always been the first step to the stars. Spiral Town could have taken that step, and had not. Speckles-shy for a year or less, they'd recovered; but they'd never reached farther.
No more whining about birthrights, then, or what the mainland owed to the towns along the Crab.
Jemmy Bloocher would steal the stars.
When children passed them on the Road, Jeremy gave them festivity. A growing entourage of children followed them through Spiral Town.
"One each," he told them. They didn't believe him. Maybe they just liked following a man and a woman walking together. It might have struck them-it would have struck young Jemmy Bloocher-as just a bit obscene.
At the gate that led to the graveyard, the children stopped. He gave them another piece each and escorted Harlow through the wroughtiron gate.
He saw newer graves marked not with holograms but with blocks of carved stone. The marker gun must have failed.
"People are staring at us," Harlow said. "Isn't that dangerous?"
"Nobody's ever going to recognize Jemmy Bloocher talking with a lovely woman."
"They might tumble if you don't stop acting like you've seen it all before!"
"I'll gawk a little then. How's this?"
He could guess where Carolyn Hope Hearst must be, from the date she'd died. Yes: here she was in the pecan grove, with a fading hologram to mark the trunk.
"Poor woman. The whole train was sick from malnutrition, and she was the one who died. The crops hadn't grown in yet, I guess."Jeremy pulled two thumbs of festivity out of his special pocket along with a smattering of seeds, and offered one to Harlow.
She said, "Is this respectful?"
"Sure. Collect some nuts too. There are lifegivers under those fruit trees: see the girls eating plums?"
