Inferno: A Chronicle of a Distant World (The Galactic Comedy)

by Mike Resnick

  Before long they found themselves in waist-high grass, and Tubito moved in front of her and began walking very slowly, his keen eyes scanning the area.

  "What's the matter?" asked Beddoes.

  "This is the domain of the Plainstalker, which can kill an animal four times its own size. It is much the same color as the grass, and strikes swiftly and silently. Probably there are none nearby, for otherwise our penned animals would have scented them and become uneasy, but one cannot take chances with Plainstalkers." He paused and turned to her. "Perhaps you would rather return to the city?"

  To continue virtually unarmed in these surroundings would have verged on the suicidal, and while Beddoes carried a molecular imploder that could turn any carnivore to jelly in a fraction of a second, she had no desire to show off the state of her weaponry, so she nodded her acquiescence.

  "Perhaps if you stay long enough, you can watch our young warriors embark on a Plainstalker hunt," suggested Tubito.

  "Do you hunt them to protect your stock animals?" she asked.

  Tubito shook his head. "No male can become an adult without killing a Plainstalker in physical combat."

  "I think I might enjoy watching such a hunt," she said. "Speaking of animals, on my walk from my ship to your city, I passed some huge herbivores, standing twice as tall as an Enkoti at the shoulder. I'm surprised they haven't eaten the vegetation down."

  "Often they do," answered Tubito. "But then it rains, and everything grows again."

  "How often does it rain?"

  "Almost every afternoon."

  They made their way back to the village through a profusion of flowers, shrubbery and fruit trees. Beddoes stopped twice to admire the colorful avians that flew overhead, and once to examine a small ten-legged purple-and-white insect that Tubito caught for her.

  "Thank you," she said as he handed it to her.

  "The sitate says you are interested in insects. I am happy to help."

  "That was very thoughtful of you."

  "I do the sitate's bidding," he answered. "Though I am glad that it makes you happy."

  "Tell me about him."

  "The sitate?"

  "Yes," said Beddoes.

  "He has been a good ruler," replied Tubito. "He is firm but compassionate, and the justice he metes out is swift and fair. Under Disanko our kingdom has prospered, and he has actually fought very few wars with our neighbors, preferring to negotiate."

  "From a position of strength, of course."

  "One cannot negotiate from a position of weakness," said Tubito.

  They found Disanko waiting for them, and she was immediately ushered into his dwelling, a multi-chambered structure that seemed to go on forever. Just when she was wondering where the dining room was, they emerged into a courtyard that was surrounded by thorn fencing, with warriors standing guard every ten feet, and she realized that the tour of the "palace" had been performed simply to impress her.

  She was led to one side of a low, hand-carved wooden table, while Disanko stood opposite her.

  "Wilson McConnell ate our meat animals when he was here, and suffered no ill effects," announced the sitate. "Therefore, I assume they will not harm you." He clapped his hands, and two females staggered in bearing a huge tray containing more meat than Beddoes could have eaten in a month. "Please sit down."

  Beddoes seated herself on a small stool, much lower than Disanko's, as the females bowed and left.

  "You seem uncomfortable," he noted.

  "I am," she admitted.

  "You may sit on the floor, if you prefer." He paused. "I know you would prefer a higher stool, but there is only one sitate's chair, and no one else may sit upon it."

  She considered her options and lowered herself to the floor. Before either she or Disanko could take a bite of anything, one of the warriors stepped forward, pulled out his dagger, and cut off a piece of meat. He chewed it thoroughly, swallowed it, and stepped back to his position against the thorn wall. Then another warrior approached and ate a small purple fruit. This went on until every variety of food had been tasted by one of the warriors.

  "A precaution," explained Disanko. "I am not without my enemies, those who wish to become sitate and those who simply wish for any sitate other than myself. I may someday be killed in battle, but at least I know I will not be poisoned."

  A colorful avian, about the size of a large crow, flew down from an overhanging branch and perched on the corner of the table. Disanko flipped a piece of fruit onto the ground, and the avian swooped down, grabbed it in its claws, and, screeching happily, flew back to its perch in the tree.

  If Beddoes expected to speak to Disanko about her mission or anything else, she was disappointed, for the sitate began eating and never said a word or looked up until he was finished. When he had finished, the tray was taken away, and a lovely young female, just approaching maturity, entered the area and began grooming Disanko's furry face with her fingers. She left a moment later, Disanko stood up, and Beddoes got to her feet.

  "You may spend the night in your ship," he announced.

  "I thought you wanted me here," she said.

  "I did, but the affairs of state intervene. My ambassador has returned from the land of the Traja, and I must confer with him. You will return in the morning, and then we will negotiate for my people's services. Tubito will accompany you."

  "I will be happy to have Tubito's company, but if you require him for any other duties, I am quite capable of making my way to my ship on my own."

  "When you are in the country of the Enkoti, you are under my protection," said Disanko. "Tubito will accompany you."

  The sitate's manner said that the meal and interview were both over, and Beddoes merely bowed and waited for him to leave. Then she stepped outside, where she found Tubito waiting for her.

  The trek to her ship took a little more than two hours. They passed numerous herds of herbivores, some huge and ponderous, some small and swift, and once he grabbed her by the shoulder and pointed to a tree limb about a quarter of a mile distant. She saw a flicker of motion, a flash of crimson skin and brilliant white teeth, and then nothing, as the creature vanished behind some foliage that she would have sworn couldn't have hidden half of it from view.

  They crossed the same three streams she had crossed in the morning, each lined with bushes laden with scarlet-and-gold berries, passed a grove of flowering trees, and finally arrived at the ship.

  "Will you be going home now?" asked Beddoes.

  He shook his head. "I will sleep outside your ship."

  "What will you eat?"

  He reached into a pouch that was suspended from his waist and pulled out a piece of dried meat, holding it up for her to see.

  "If it rains, just open the hatch and make yourself at home."

  "That is very kind of you," he replied, "but I am used to rain."

  "There's no need to be uncomfortable."

  "I appreciate your offer, Susan Beddoes, but I serve the sitate, and the sitate has ordered me to protect you. If danger threatens, it will not come from within your ship."

  She entered her ship, going straight to the cargo area to select the gifts and trade items she would bring with her tomorrow. After sorting through them and packing them neatly, she went into the galley, ordered it to prepare dinner for her, and sat down to record her day's activities in her log.

  A few hours later, as she prepared to go to sleep in her cabin, the computer informed her that a message was coming in over the subspace radio. She had it transferred to the cabin and sat up.

  "Attention, Crystal Wing, do you read?" said a masculine voice, crackling with static. "Attention, Crystal Wing, do you read?"

  "This is the Crystal Wing, Susan Beddoes commanding, 9 days out of Amazonia, currently at rest on Brazzi II, local name Faligor."

  "Good evening, Susan." There was a brief pause. "At least, according to my charts, I think it's evening where you are."

  "It is, Arthur."

  "Well?" asked Arthur Cartr
ight, Assistant Secretary of the Republic's Department of Cartography, which was located on the distant world of Caliban. "What's your first impression?"

  "McConnell was right: it's a beautiful world. Temperate, fertile, unpolluted. You get the feeling that you could toss a packet of seeds—any kind of seeds—out the hatch, and by tomorrow morning there'd be a garden in full bloom."

  "And the natives?"

  "I'd say they're a bit more sophisticated than your run-of-the-mill aboriginals—they're working with metals, and they seem to possess a complex social structure—but technologically they're quite primitive."

  "Friendly?"

  "They seem to be."

  "Better and better," said Cartright. "Any military capability?"

  "None that I could see," replied Beddoes. "Of course, we're going under that assumption that the Enkoti are the most advanced of the various tribes, and McConnell could be wrong about that—but they do rule a vast amount of land, and no one seems to be threatening to take it away from them. In fact, the ruler made some reference to meeting his ambassador to some other kingdom."

  "Ambassador, eh? They are a little more advanced than McConnell's reports would indicate." Cartright cleared his throat. "So much the better. It looks like we chose the right world."

  "That's my initial impression," agreed Beddoes. "Of course, we'll need a few more months to be sure."

  "We don't have that luxury," replied Cartright. "We're operating on a very tight schedule. I don't know how much longer Breshinsky can hold on to her job at the Department of Alien Affairs, and if Nkomo succeeds her, as seems likely, we're not going to have much time before he decides to call in the Navy. We've opened six mining worlds near Faligor; the Republic desperately needs an agricultural world to supply them. Also, while McConnell's analysis wasn't as thorough as we might have wished, it looks like Faligor has more than its share of gold, silver and fissionable materials, especially in that mountain range to the west of you."

  "I thought they were going to let us open this world our way," said Beddoes.

  "Half the politicians on Deluros don't understand what our function really is," said Cartright, frustration creeping into his voice. "To them, the Department of Cartography is just some huge, overfunded mapmaking institute. They still don't realize that we're the ones who determine how and where Man is to expand in the galaxy, who tell the Navy where to set up its lines of supply and defense. They're already resentful that we determine which planets the Republic assimilates; and now that we're also trying to show them how, they're up in arms."

  "You'd think after all the messes that Alien Affairs has had to clean up, they'd be thrilled to have someone besides the military open up some worlds."

  "I wish it was that simple, but we're invading their turf, so to speak, and when you deal with power brokers of this magnitude there are always problems," said Cartright.

  "So what happens next?"

  "We speed up our schedule."

  "But we'd planned each step so carefully," protested Beddoes.

  "Susan, we no longer have the luxury of being as careful as we'd like. I'd hoped to spend ten years carefully assimilating Faligor into the Republic, but I'd say we have three at the outside."

  "So it's gone from being our best hope to our last one, right?" said Beddoes bitterly.

  "Let's not be negative, Susan. We've learned from our mistakes on Peponi and Lodin XI and Rockgarden. If we didn't think we could do a better job of it, we wouldn't have lobbied for permission." He sighed deeply. "There are two million oxygen worlds yet to be opened up in the galaxy. Our computers tell us that from ten to twelve thousand of them will possess sentient life. If we can make Faligor a model of how to assimilate such worlds, maybe we can save some of them—and ourselves—the problems we've caused elsewhere."

  "All right," said Beddoes. "What do we do next?"

  "I'm dispatching a contact team of two hundred Men to Faligor the day after tomorrow. It will contain the usual—doctors, agricultural experts, geologists, aquaculturalists, everything except military advisors. They'll arrive about ten days from now."

  "And what do you want me to do in the meantime?" asked Beddoes.

  "Nothing special," replied Cartright. "Learn what you can about their society. Prepare them for our arrival, and see if you can get them to look forward to it with some enthusiasm. Tell them about the wonderful inventions and medicines we're bringing them. In short," he concluded wryly, "just be an exemplary representative of your race. Hell, you can even continue to go around collecting bugs of you want; after all, that's your specialty."

  "What do I tell them about the farmland?"

  "I don't quite follow you."

  "You need a farming planet," Beddoes pointed out. "How much of their land are you going to appropriate?"

  "We're not going to appropriate anything. If we have to, we'll find some land no one is living on or working—but I'd much rather try to introduce a monied economy to Faligor and let the inhabitants sell their produce to the mining worlds." He paused again, then said passionately: "Just this once, we're going to do it right. Man has enough subjects; he needs some partners."

  "Will you be coming yourself?" asked Beddoes.

  "As soon as I can," answered Cartright. "We're currently engaged in military actions in six different sectors, and the Department of Energy is in urgent need of another dozen mining worlds, and we're only halfway done charting the Albion Cluster. If I'm lucky, I might make it there in about three Standard months. Probably four—and that's if nothing else crops up."

  "Do you want me to make daily reports until your team arrives?"

  "No, I only want you to do it when it's convenient. The last thing we want them to think is that you're sneaking off to the ship each night to plot an invasion. Anything you don't tell me you can tell the team leader."

  "All right," said Beddoes. "Is there anything else?"

  "No, just do a good job," said Cartright. "There aren't that many Edens in the galaxy, and we've destroyed quite enough of them. It's time we left one intact."

  He broke the connection.

  2.

  The contact team landed on schedule. Within a week a vaccination clinic had been set up for the Enkoti, and in a month's time there were more than two dozen other clinics in operation among the Rizzali, the Traja, the Bolimbo, and all the other tribes.

  The land proved as fertile as Susan Beddoes had hoped, and the team appropriated some 30,000 square miles of untilled soil for human farmers. When some of the sitates objected, emissaries were dispatched to make restitution; the Traja and Bolimbo accepted tractors and mutated seeds, but Disanko, who had been studying Men as closely as they had been studying him, insisted upon currency.

  Within three months there were tarmac roads connecting the capitals of the major tribes, and some two hundred human teachers were imported to teach both the children and the adults the rudiments of science, mathematics and the Terran language, which was the official language of the Republic and was fast becoming the lingua franca of the galaxy.

  Then, six months after Beddoes had first landed, a discovery was made that brought Arthur Cartright to Faligor ahead of schedule. He landed at the temporary spaceport, got right into a small airplane, and took off. He returned that evening and immediately summoned a dozen of his most trusted aides to the hastily-erected building that momentarily served as humanity's headquarters.

  Beddoes was among the invitees, and she filed into a large meeting room along with the other staff members. Cartright was waiting for them, standing stiffly in front of the chairs that had been lined up to face him. He was a tall, lean man, exquisitely dressed, with soft brown eyes and shaggy, unkempt gray-brown eyebrows, an aquiline nose, and a narrow mouth. He seemed uneasy, as if he were more used to doing his business on the vidphone or via subspace radio, as indeed he was. When all of his aides had taken their seats, he cleared his throat and began to speak.

  "Before I get to the purpose of this meeting, I want to take this
opportunity to tell you that I think you've done an excellent job thus far. We've made far more progress than even I had hoped for."

  "The jasons get all the credit for that, sir," said the woman in charge of coordinating the medical efforts. "You couldn't ask for a friendlier, more intelligent, more pliable race to work with."

  "Jasons?" repeated Cartright.

  She smiled. "That's our name for them. Because of their golden fleeces."

  "Very good," said Cartright, returning her smile. "I approve. Unless they object, that is."

  "They don't seem to mind it at all."

  "Fine." He paused awkwardly. "Anyway, as I said, I think you've all done a remarkable job thus far." He fumbled with his pocket for a moment, then withdrew a hand computer and studied it briefly. "And now for reason I've called this meeting. As you are aware, we chose Faligor because we knew it to be a rich agricultural world, with an ample water supply, an ideal climate, and a populace that we felt we could work with." He looked at the computer again, then put it back in his pocket. "Well, it turns out that Faligor is even richer than we had anticipated. I have just come back from the mountain range known as the Hills of Heaven, and it appears that they are honeycombed with exceptionally rich veins of gold and silver, as well as a not-inconsiderable supply of fissionable materials. Furthermore, in the desert south and west of the mountains we have already discovered three diamond pipes, with the possibility of still more to be found."

  There was a brief buzz of excitement, and Cartright waited for it to subside.

  "This means that Faligor can more than pay its own expenses, right from the start," he continued. "Not only will it be able to export food to the nearby mining worlds, but it may itself become one of the richest mining worlds in this sector. This presents us with enormous opportunities—but it also poses a problem that I wish to discuss with you, and hopefully to resolve before I leave in two days."

  "We can't let the Republic in," said Constantine Talat, the burly medic in charge of the Enkoti vaccination program. "You let their miners set foot on Faligor, and within a month we'll have the Navy running the place. They'll conscript the jasons to work in the mines, and it'll be Rockgarden all over again."