Once more the head of He of Most Importance turned to Fifty Names and his lips moved.
[I who am Most Important among the Meda V'Dan know why you have come,] relayed the voice of Fifty Names. [It is a happy moment to see you here, amicably among us. The trade of humans is always welcome to the Meda V'Dan. But you need not have come just for that. Already we were prepared to visit you at Abruzzi Fourteen before long and trade for tools and hardware much demanded of us by other inferior races like yourselves.]
"It's not tools and hardware we're interested in trading," said Mark. He turned to Spal. "Let's have the box."
Spal unhooked from his belt the small leather box containing samples of colonist handicraft Jarl had earlier shown to Mark.
"Put it on the platform, there. Better open it too. They might not know how." Mark pointed to the platform vehicle that had carried them to the dais and still floated alongside it. Spal rose from his chair and knelt down at the edge of the dais to place the box gently on the platform, unlocked and opened.
The platform slid away with its load in the direction of the other dais, where Fifty Names picked it up, unpacked its three small artifacts from protective padding, and passed them one at a time into the long-fingered hands of the figure beside him. He of Most Importance examined them one by one as the platform floated back to the human dais.
"In the interest of setting up a new trade line with the Meda V'Dan," said Mark, "we're willing to trade the first shipment at a fraction of the price we'd have required from our own people back on the Earth-City. Five of your flame hand weapons for each work of art."
The fingers of Most Importance, holding up the small wooden carving of an elephant and turning it about to inspect it, halted for a fraction of a second at the sound of these words. Then, casually, the fingers began to turn the carving about again.
The procedure of inspection was repeated with each of the objects, and they were passed back into the hands of Fifty Names. Most Importance turned his head, and his lips moved.
[These are crude toys,] relayed the voice of Fifty Names. [A spaceship full of them would not be worth one flame hand weapon. They are of no interest to us of the Meda V'Dan.]
"Perhaps not to Meda V'Dan," said Mark. "But to a good many of the races farther in toward the centre of the galaxy with whom the Meda V'Dan trade, these rare art objects, each one hand-fashioned individually by one of our race are priceless. I'm surprised to hear you answer like that. If you don't want to handle them, we'll send ships in to these other races and take the extra profit of the trading ourselves."
For a moment after that statement, Most Importance did not move. He continued to sit absolutely still, staring at Mark. Then slowly his head turned to Fifty Names, his lips moved.
[I have never heard of a human that talked so wildly,] said the voice of Fifty Names. [Your little ships would not be able to make the trip down-galaxy to where the inner races begin to be found. Nor would you know where to find them. Only the Meda V'Dan know the skills of trading with many different races, and we know it because we are eternal and have lived so long that no people are strange to us. You are young and ignorant. If you try to trade with the inner races, you will only die in trying.]
"Want to bet?" said Mark. He got to his feet. "Sorry we couldn't agree. Possibly later on, after we've set up trade with the Unknown Races, we'll share some of it with you Meda V'Dan for a commission."
He looked at the others, who had imitated him automatically and were also on their feet.
"Come along," he said, and stepped toward the edge of the dais above the platform.
[Wait,] said Fifty Names. [You are leaving now?]
Mark stopped, and looked toward Most Importance.
The lips of the white-clad Meda V'Dan moved.
[Stay,] echoed the voice of Fifty Names. [We who achieve the position of Most Importance among the Meda V'Dan are more sensitive than ordinary individuals. I sense your deep disappointment, and I share the sorrow I feel in you that have come this distance only to fail. In charity, we will take a token consignment of sixty-seven of these primitive objects and in return, that the name of our goodwill to trade continue to be known, we will give you a dozen of our used flame hand weapons.]
Mark stepped back to his chair and sat down again, motioning the other three to follow suit.
"Thanks for your attempted kindness," he said. "But we wouldn't want to take advantage of you if you really don't realize the worth of these art pieces. Also, of course, valuable as they are, we couldn't consider giving them up for less than the price I mentioned. But, perhaps, just to show our goodwill in turn, I could add three pieces for no price at all. Merely as gifts."
There was a small sound from the direction of Paul's chair—something very like the noise of a choked-off snort of laughter. Mark glanced grimly at the other outposter, then back at Most Importance.
[The Meda V'Dan, in their wealth and power,] answered the voice of Fifty Names, [give gifts, but scorn to receive them. Possibly, in recognition of your faith in these small things, the dozen hand weapons we offer could be new, rather than used....]
The bargaining began in earnest.
Chapter Ten
"I'm sorry, Mark," said Paul, once they were safely back aboard their scout ship and both small vessels were back in space, "I didn't plan to laugh back there. But when you mentioned gifts, after what they've been doing with the Navy Base people, it got me. It wasn't so much what you said, it was watching those two Meda V'Dan have to sit there and take it with a straight face."
"That's all right," said Lily. "But can you be sure they'll stick to the price they agreed to if we meet them with the sixty-seven new pieces of handicraft?"
Mark nodded at three of the so-called flame weapons—actually nothing more than projectors of tiny incendiary slugs, but slugs capable of generating a heat explosion of close to a million degrees.
"They paid for the three samples," he answered. "And to get them to part with arms of any kind is a victory. There wouldn't have been any sort of trade if they hadn't decided at first glance they could make a profit on the pieces. Jarl was right."
A wave of exhaustion swept through him. He was suddenly weary with a dead weariness that turned even his victory into a drab accomplishment. He took a hard grip on his thoughts.
"I'm going to get all our reactions down on tape while they're fresh," he said. "Spal, Lily, I want to check out with you anything you saw or figured out about the Meda V'Dan from seeing them close up like this—"
He paused, and blinked to clear his vision. A pearly mist was beginning to obscure things around him, and his balance was suddenly unsure. He put out an arm to steady himself against a bulkhead ... and the next thing he remembered, Paul was helping him into a chair in his cabin.
A hand appeared with a glass partly full of a dark liquid, holding it to his lips. Automatically he drank, and the fire of unmixed liquor seared his throat and gullet. He choked, sputtering and pushing the glass away.
"What the hell's this—"
"It's our own whiskey. Drink it," said Paul, holding the unfinished liquor to Mark's lips in spite of Mark's efforts to brush it away. "Then you can get some sleep."
Mark gave up and drank what was left in a single fiery and effortful gulp.
He sighed with relief, leaning back in his chair. The shock of the whiskey had burned his vision clear again. He saw the furnishings of his cabin and Paul standing over him, Spal over near the door.
"I'm all right," he said.
"Sure," said Paul. "Just out on your feet. Sit there a minute until that hits bottom, and then we'll be able to trust you not to think of something to do instead of sleeping."
"Don't worry about it," said Mark. "I know when I have to quit."
"Sure," said Paul. "How do you feel now?"
Mark considered himself. He felt no reaction from the whiskey at all, only a sense of pleasant lassitude that was beginning to nibble at him.
/> "Better," he said. "You're right. I need a few hours. Don't worry, I'll turn in."
"All right, then," said Paul. He went out, Spal with him. Mark continued to sit where he was, feeling the lassitude grow and spread comfortably within him. He ran his mind over the events in the Meda V'Dan city. Much of it would need thought and discussion. The interesting part was the great power units he had seen through the conveyor-belt lift hole in the floor of the warehouse section ...
The door to his cabin clicked shut. He had not heard it open. He looked over to see Lily coming toward him, carrying in both hands a double-sized white coffee mug. She had changed from the ship's coveralls she had worn to visit the Meda V'Dan into a pink garment that looked like a pyjama-robe combination. It must have been something she had brought from Earth. Possibly, he thought a little fuzzily—the whiskey was, he recognized, beginning to take hold after all—she too had decided to turn in. She looked like a living Dresden miniature of a woman, carrying the large cup to him. She put it into his hands.
"What's this?" he asked. The cup was hot.
"Soup," she said. "You've got to eat something, sometime. Don't argue. Here, hold it." She let go of the cup and deftly climbed up to sit on the arm of his chair, then took the cup back again and held it to his lips. "Drink it."
He tasted the steaming liquid cautiously. But its temperature was bearable. It was a thick, meaty soup of some sort, and after the first swallow or two, he found he was ravenous.
"I can hold it myself," he said. He took the cup from her and drank in small mouthfuls.
"You're strange," she said. He could smell the hint of some light, flowery perfume, from her, and almost feel the warmth of her small body against his left arm and shoulder. A little fuzzy from the whiskey, he enjoyed it. "You're very strange. You drive yourself like somebody twice your age and with twice your responsibilities."
"Duties," he answered.
"Duties?"
He leaned against the back of his chair to ease the weight of his head on wobbly neck muscles.
"Duties," he said, hearing the word sound a little blurred on his tongue. "Everyone's got duties. Mine began a long time ago—a long, long time ago."
"To your parents," she said softly. Her small hand pushed back the dark hair that had fallen forward on his forehead.
"No," he said. "To a race of fools."
Her fingers rubbed soothingly across his forehead.
"They aren't all fools."
"No," he said, half lost in his own memories and thoughts. "If they were, I could let it all smash up and forget it. But there've been a few good people, like my father and mother ... like Brot... and my duty's to them."
"And not to us colonists?"
"Colonists!" He growled. "Oh, nothing against you personally, Ulla—"
Her fingers stopped moving on his forehead.
"Who?" she asked.
"Lily," he said. "Lily. Got mixed up, with all those l's. Women with l's in their names. Anyway, the point is it's not just colonists. There were two thousand colonists watching the night the Meda V'Dan burned our station and killed my parents, and not one of them did a thing. Against maybe fifty of the aliens."
"What could they have done?" Her fingers were again moving rhythmically back and forth across his forehead.
"Anything," he said, "but nothing. That's why it's not just my parents. It's not just the outposters or the colonists, it's all of them. The whole race of damn fools—and nobody to save them from their own mess but me."
He twisted his head a little awkwardly to look up into her face. Somehow, while he had been talking, she had slid off the arm of the chair until she lay with the light weight of her body pressing against him. He was suddenly conscious of the womanness of it. He tried to focus on her face, but she was too close. All that he could bring into focus were her two blue eyes, which were watching him solemnly from inches away.
"Lily ..." He reached across with his right hand to lift her back up onto the arm of the chair, but at the touch of his hand, the thing she was wearing fell open down the front as if it had never been fastened, and the naked skin of his wrist and forearm pressed against her skin.
The contact was like an explosion in him— an explosion of everything in him that was young and had been long under pressure. But then, even in the second in which he picked her up and got to his feet, the tidal wave of all he had worked and lived with as long as he could remember came pouring back into that area the explosion had temporarily blasted empty.
He looked down at her savagely, thinking how easy it would be to give in now—to the first small break in his purpose that would lead to further cracking and final disintegration. From here he could slip back into the captured mass of humanity, accept the letters waiting for him on the community chain, and sink out of sight among the rest of those helpless in the grip of their historic time. He could, but he would not, and for a moment he stood feeling the bitterness of his purpose and equal bitterness at what it denied him.
He put her gently on her feet on the ground, and automatically she gathered her clothing about her. Her face was pale now.
"I'm human," she said.
Fury boiled up in him.
"I'm not!" he said. "What's the matter with you? Don't you know what you are?"
She twitched as if he had hit her. Her eyes closed.
"I know," she whispered. "A midget... a freak."
"What?" he snapped at her. "What're you talking about? You're a colonist—that's what you are. Do you think I can be different with one colonist from what I am with the others? If I am, the whole thing breaks down."
His voice lowered on the last words.
"Get out of here," he said grimly. "I've got to get some sleep."
The colour had come back into her face. She smiled at him, and her eyes were almost luminous.
"Yes," she said softly, "you sleep now." She backed to the entrance of his cabin and then she was gone.
He stood looking at the door that had closed behind her. The adrenalin of his explosion had all drained away now. His head was no longer fuzzy from the whiskey, but he felt numb all over, heavy as a dead man in all his body and limbs. He turned, sat down on the side of his bunk, and pulled off his boots. Falling back on the bunk, he pulled its single cover up over him and fell asleep instantly.
He woke from heavy, prolonged slumber just as the scout ships were setting down from orbit around Garnera VI. There was no time to debrief Lily or Spal now on what they might have learned respectively about the Meda D'Van philosophy or military potential during the visit just past. He went out and took command of the ships during the landing.
There was a Navy courier ship—not much smaller than one qf the heavy scout ships— already on the field before the station when they landed. Mark glanced at it briefly as the jar of landing went through the vessel he was in, but his mind was elsewhere now. He put in a call to the Residence building before leaving the scout ship.
Race's lean brown face appeared in the screen.
"Go well, Mark?" he asked.
"I think so," Mark said. "Want to get all the outposters—and Jarl, too, come to think of it —in the conference room at the Residence? I'll be there in a few minutes."
"They're already here," Race said.
"Fine. How's Brot?"
"Better," Race said. "He'll be there, too."
"Good." Mark broke the connection.
By the time he left the scout ship, Paul and the others had already gone, but an empty ground car had been waiting for him. He got in it and drove up to the Residence.
When he stepped at last into the conference room with its ring-shaped table, he found there not only the other outposters and Jarl Rakkal, but Ulla Showell. When she saw him, she got quickly to her feet from the chair where she had been sitting next to Jarl.
"Excuse me," she said. "I'll step out. I just dropped in on your station to see how Jarl was doing."
He looked at her grimly.
"You chose a bad time for it," he said.
Her face tightened.
"A bad time?" she echoed. "Why?"
"Because the Meda V'Dan will be hitting this section in about three days, unless I'm badly mistaken," he replied. He looked about the room at the faces of the others as they reacted to his words. "That means we haven't much time to get ready to fight them off."
Chapter Eleven
There was no sound or movement in the room. They were all looking at him.
"Mark," said Paul, after a moment, "are you sure? I mean you didn't mention anything about this—"
"I meant to as soon as we were back aboard," said Mark. "But it seems I ended up taking a small nap and not having the chance."
He turned to look directly at Ulla, who stared back at him, then started as if just wakened from an involuntary trance.
"Excuse me," she said again. She crossed the room and went out.
"But what makes you think they'd attack?" Paul said as the door closed behind her.
"I made the trip deliberately to stir them into doing just that—among other reasons for going," said Mark. "And I'm pretty sure the trip did it. Let's sit down."
They moved to the circular table and took seats around its outer rim. Brot, now in a mobile power chair, was slid into the gap in the ring shape that gave access to the open space in its centre.
"Paul," said Mark, when they were all seated, "have you had a chance to tell them about the trip itself?"
"I covered the gist of it," said Paul.
"All right, then I won't waste time doing the same thing," Mark said. He looked around at the other faces. "We got safely into the Meda V'Dan space area and city and out again because the aliens couldn't be sure of whether we were putting on an act or not. I behaved as if we had authority and importance, and the fact we showed up in a couple of Navy-type vessels but without any uniforms on our leaders made them cautious about calling any bluff I might be making. Then, it turned out we really had something they could use in trade—"
He broke off, looking at the big colonist.
The Outposter Page 10
