Shining Steel

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  That was followed by a long moment of silence as the thing settled into the soil. No one in the watching crowd spoke; all just stared in silent amazement.

  Now that the thing was down, John revised his earlier estimate. It was over a hundred feet in diameter, but well short of two hundred. It stood upright on one flat end, and he judged the height at roughly five or six hundred feet. Not the monster he had first thought it, but quite big enough. The sides were gleaming silvery metal, for the most part, with red and white patterning; in addition to the bulges he had seen during the descent he could now make out odd bits of piping, hatchways, and printed messages. The only one large enough for him to read at this distance was also the only one that was neither red nor white; halfway up the side facing him were three immense blue letters, with narrow horizontal yellow stripes across them.

  The letters were ITD, removing any possible doubt about the ship's origin.

  He glanced away from it at the villagers; it appeared that the entire population of Savior's Grace was lined up along the fence, staring at the cylinder. This was the ideal opportunity to impress them, to convince them once and for all that he was a man due their respect, not just a swindler. He climbed up on the stone baseline and lifted one leg over the wire.

  Before he could put his foot down on the other side and swing himself completely over there was a sudden change in the crowd's silence, as if everyone had caught his or her breath at the same instant. John looked over the line of faces, but saw no explanation there; he turned, still straddling the wire, and looked up at the ship.

  A hatchway had opened, some fifty feet off the ground, effectively stealing his thunder. Hurriedly he finished crossing the fence and stepped down into the meadow, a hundred yards from the towering vessel's side.

  A man was standing in the open hatchway. John looked up and waved.

  The man leaned forward, and called, “Hlo, John, is that you? We made it!"

  John smiled, and shouted back, “J'sevyu, Kwam?! Welcome to Savior's Grace!” His importance had been neatly established, right at the start.

  “I'll be right down!” Kwam? answered. He stepped back inside, and the hatch closed again.

  The silence around the field was broken, and a babble of voices poured from the line of villagers. John stood, arms folded, waiting for Kwam? to reappear.

  A moment later another hatchway opened, this one only about eight feet above the ground; a ladder appeared from the side of the ship, though John was not quite sure exactly where it emerged. Kwam? stepped out and carefully descended the ladder. When he was safely on the ground he turned and waved.

  John walked slowly toward him, hand upraised in formal greeting. Kwam? picked up his cue, and began walking toward John, hand up. When they reached the midpoint they shook hands.

  “I was beginning to wonder what was keeping you,” John said.

  “Oh, you know bureaucracy; the executives spent a couple of weeks arguing. I don't think there was ever any real doubt they'd accept the invitation, but they had to make it look good. Besides, it takes awhile to put together a big expedition, even for a company like ITD. Sorry if you were worried."

  John shrugged it off. “It doesn't matter now that they're here.” He paused. “Now what?” he asked.

  “Now ITD's chief negotiator talks to the village elders, or whoever's in charge here."

  John looked around at the spectators. “Savior's Grace is pretty loosely run; that invitation came from a vote of the entire adult population. I reckon the minister, Seth Bound-for-Glory, would do as a spokesman.” He pointed. “That's him yonder, in the brown jacket and black hat."

  Kwam? nodded. “I take it you're not in a position of authority yourself."

  “Me?” John snorted. “I was lucky they didn't chase me away weeks ago! If they hadn't had a good crop of nearwood to cut they would have."

  “As bad as that?"

  “Just about.” He did not offer any details, preferring not to admit that he had been found, by the villagers and by himself, to be amazingly inept at ordinary labor. He had the necessary strength, dexterity, and intelligence, but had simply never acquired any of the skills.

  Kwam? shook his head. “Then it's just as well I anticipated that. I've got a job lined up for you if you want it, as an on-site consultant."

  “A what?” Anything that required no heavy physical work would sound good.

  “A consultant-an advisor. You'd be at the side of the planetary administrator-that's the person in charge of the operation, the way Ricky Dawes is at the Citadel. Different companies, different names, but the same work. Your job would be to answer questions about how the people of Godsworld think or anything else about the world that the administrator might want to know, and to make suggestions and comment on any plans. It pays well, and it's good work-productive, but it won't kill you. There's room for advancement, too; you'll be learning how the company works at the same time you'll be teaching the company about Godsworld, and if the planetary administrator gets promoted off-planet you'll have a good shot at replacing him.” He coughed. “I think it's a good job, anyway; they've budgeted two on-site consultants for this post, and I'm the other one."

  “I'll need to think it over,” John replied. “Right now there are other matters to settle."

  “Yes, I suppose there are. I came out first so that you'd see a familiar face, and so the people here could see us talking like old friends, but I don't really have any authority yet-my job's contingent on setting up a post here. It's the P.A.-the planetary administrator-who'll have to do the actual negotiating. It's his show; he says he wants to do his own talking, doesn't trust anyone else to do it. I'll go get him down here if you'll go get this Bound-for-Glory person-have I ever mentioned how much I like your family names here on Godsworld?"

  “Not that I recall; have I ever mentioned how much I dislike all the pagan, meaningless, apocryphal names you Earthers use?"

  “Not in my hearing. You may like our P.A., then-his name is Gamaliel Blessing. I think that may be what got him this job; it certainly wasn't his looks."

  “What do you mean by that?” John asked, suddenly worried.

  “Oh, you'll see. I'll go get him; you get the minister."

  Kwam? turned and strode back toward the ship, while John turned and headed for the spot along the fence where he had seen Seth Bound-for-Glory. He wondered what Kwam?'s remark about the administrator's looks could mean; he had distinctly called this person “him", so John was sure that it was not a woman, as he might otherwise have feared.

  The minister saw him coming, and clambered awkwardly up over the wire. “You want me, John?” he called.

  “Yes, Reverend, I do; can you act as spokesman for your people here? The Earther commander wants to do some negotiating."

  Bound-for-Glory was visibly nervous. “Seems to me you're doing fine,” he said.

  “Oh, no, Reverend,” John replied, suppressing a grin. “You've got it all wrong. I'm not one of the Free People at all, now, am I? You folks have made that plain these past months. I work for them, not for you!” He waved a hand at the towering starship, gleaming golden-red in the sun. He had not actually decided whether to accept the job he had been offered-he had strong reservations, not entirely clear even to himself, about working for any offworlder-but he saw no point in admitting that to the minister.

  “Oh,” Bound-for-Glory replied. “Well, then, I can just talk to you, can't I?"

  “Well, now, the commander wanted to speak for himself. Come on, now; he's just a man.” He glanced back at the ship and waved toward the hatch.

  A figure was emerging-not Kwam?, but someone much larger.

  “There he is now,” John said, turning around for a good look at the administrator.

  As he stepped out of the shadowy hatchway the explanation of Kwam?'s remark was suddenly obvious.

  Gamaliel Blessing stood more than seven feet tall, John was sure, certainly taller than any other Earther John had ever seen, let alone any God
sworlders. He was heavily built, too, not the tall and slender sort. He wore tight black trousers-not jeans-gleaming black boots, a loose, open yellow vest, and a great deal of metal apparatus; no shirt, no jacket, no hat, despite the lingering winter chill. His skin was a deep brown, almost black; his hair was black and curly, and his eyes glowed-literally glowed-a peculiar milky white. His metal trappings were not mere ornaments hung on his limbs, but were set into his flesh; some sparkled and flickered with unnatural lights and colors. A silvery band ran around his head, with several oddly-shaped protrusions; metal blocks jutted from his chest; wires were woven through his arms.

  Perhaps worst of all, three more irregular metal blocks hung in the air behind him, following along just above his shoulders.

  John heard Bound-for-Glory whisper “Oh, my good Lord in heaven! What is it?” He said nothing himself, but his feelings were similar.

  The hideous apparition turned and climbed down the ladder; Kwam? emerged right behind him and also descended, again moving very cautiously down the metal rungs. At the bottom of the ladder the brown-skinned man-thing turned and looked over the villagers who still lined the fence. The three metal things drifting in the air suddenly fanned out across the meadow, spacing themselves along a line parallel to the fence, but a hundred feet in, and hanging about eight feet off the ground. Several villagers started back in alarm.

  “Hlo!” boomed a voice, coming simultaneously from the three flying contraptions and the huge Earther. “I'm Gamaliel Blessing, representing the Interstellar Trade and Development Corporation!” It spoke with a thick Earther accent.

  Kwam? tugged at Blessing's arm, and led him to meet John and the minister.

  John stepped forward readily to shake the monster's hand, trying hard to hide his dismay at Blessing's appearance and to resist the temptation to stare rudely at the opalescent artificial eyes. Kwam? introduced him. “Mr. Blessing, this is Captain John Mercy-of-Christ, formerly the Armed Guardian of the True Word and Flesh, currently under consideration to be your on-site consultant. John, Gameliel Blessing, planetary administrator for ITD."

  “Captain Mercy-of-Christ, a pleasure to meet you."

  John winced at the incorrect form of address. He wanted the Earther to come across well, and silly little mistakes in form would not help at all. “J'sevyu, Mr. Blessing; this here is the Reverend Seth Bound-for-Glory, spokesman for the Free People of Savior's Grace and pastor of the Savior's Grace Church of Christ."

  Blessing stuck out a hand; Bound-for-Glory took it reluctantly, apparently surprised to find it felt like any other man's hand. “Reverend,” Blessing said, “I hope we can do business together. I understand Godsworld is short of plastics; would ITD be able to lease this meadow with plastics, or is there something else you'd prefer? I don't suppose that you have much use for Terran credit out here."

  “Plastic?” The minister's face lit up. “I think we can make a deal, Mr. Blessing."

  From that point on it was easy. The villagers quickly forgot Blessing's mechanized body and dark skin when other crewmembers, almost all of them completely human in appearance despite a wide range of skin colors, began bringing out crates of guns, ammunition, plastic sheeting, and other trade goods.

  John followed the negotiations with interest, and found himself, without really meaning to, giving both sides advice on how to deal with the other, correcting misunderstandings, explaining obscure references, and interpreting phrases that one or the other did not understand. By noon the next day he had formally accepted Kwam?'s offer and signed on as an ITD employee.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “For what hath man of all his labour, and of the vexation of his heart, wherein he hath laboured under the sun?"-Ecclesiastes 2:22

  ****

  John glanced impatiently at the cabin door. “I don't understand how ITD could be so stupid,” he said. “How could they send a rebuilt black man to run their operation on an all-white world where cyborgs are traditionally considered the work of the Devil?"

  “John,” Kwam? said patiently, “ITD is an equal-opportunity employer. They hire the most qualified people without worrying about their skin color or how many gadgets have been built into them. Hell, at least he's human! They could have sent an arty or a sport model or something. Black skin isn't so bad when you consider the other possibilities."

  “What other possibilities?"

  “Green and scaly, say."

  “You mean they've found intelligent beings out there besides humans?"

  “No, they built them. Maybe they've found some, too-there were rumors when we left."

  “Oh.” John shook his head. “It still seems wrong, somehow, messing around with God's image."

  “God's image?"

  “Man was created in God's image-the Bible says so."

  “Which man? Is God white?"

  John looked down at the table for a moment, then looked up again. “I don't know,” he said. “A year ago I probably would have said yes, but now I don't know. I do know He isn't green and scaly."

  Kwam? shrugged. “That's more than I know about Him; I'm not even sure He exists!"

  “Well, you're not a Godsworlder-and Gamaliel Blessing isn't even close. Couldn't they have found someone who would be more… who would fit in better?"

  “John, they didn't even try. I don't think you really understand the situation. You invited ITD to come here; that's supposed to mean that you're ready to deal with the people of the Interstellar Confederacy, that you and these other Godsworlders are reasonably sane and civilized now. To anyone out there in the Confederacy, that means you're supposed to be able to accept people as people, however they may vary; that's just about the most basic rule our civilization has. Gamaliel Blessing is a person, even if he has had half his nervous system rewired and any number of things added; Godsworld is going to have to accept that if they're going to deal with civilized people. Now, you know and I know that ITD was invited in here because you feel Bechtel-Rand wronged you, not because Godsworld is actually ready for open trade; you know and I know that Savior's Grace issued the invitation and ITD accepted it because they both smelled a profit; but ITD can't admit that, because the CRA wouldn't allow them to trade here if they did. They have to behave as if Godsworld really were civilized."

  “It is civilized! More civilized than Earth!"

  “Oh, come on, you know better than that!"

  “We have the perfect way of life here, following the word of God! How can anything be more civilized than that?"

  “The perfect way of life? Living on the edge of starvation, fighting petty little wars over whether to use wine or grape juice to simulate human blood?"

  “That war was over centuries ago! The prohibitionist heretics were wiped out!"

  “That's civilized?"

  “Yes!"

  “I think we may have a problem in translation here; you may have noticed that those pop up, where words have changed their meanings over time. Godsworlder English isn't exactly like the evolved Old American that the machines taught us before we came here. Just what do you mean by ‘civilized'?"

  John opened his mouth, then closed it again. “I don't know,” he admitted.

  “That's what I thought."

  “It seems to me, though, that a guest should respect a host's customs, and we don't allow mixing men and machines here."

  Kwam? shrugged. “Get used to it,” he said.

  “We also try and keep our appointments; when is this strategy session going to start?"

  “When Blessing gets here. That idiot minister of yours is probably arguing about some stupid detail."

  “He's not my minister. And I still think picking a black and a cyborg was… inconsiderate."

  “Oh, I don't know,” Blessing said from the doorway. “I think they wanted someone impressive. And you must admit, Captain, that to your little pale people here, I am impressive."

  “I didn't hear you come in,” Kwam? said.

  “I didn't want you to,” Blessing r
eplied.

  Impatiently, John said, “Forget that. Sit down, Mr. Blessing, and let's talk."

  “Gladly.” He sank into one of the cushions; it billowed up around him, supporting his weight and pillowing him on all sides. “The robots have started digging our headquarters. I hope, Captain, that Godsworld has no taboos about building underground? There is no sacred earth here, no burial ground? Mr. Bound-for-Glory made no objection, but he might have been constrained from speaking by some custom of which I am unaware. He did not appear happy, however."

  John stared at him. “You can't build underground on Godsworld; the soil's only a few feet deep. You'd need to blast out rock. We don't have any laws against it-I don't know what you mean by ‘taboo'-because we never needed any."

  “Oh, we can go through rock; that's no problem. It explains our host's misgivings, though. ITD learned its trade on planets where the atmosphere was not breathable, Captain; we always build underground unless local custom forbids it. It would be a shame to disturb the fields here, wouldn't it?"

  John accepted another amazing accomplishment of Earther technology without further argument. “Oh,” he said. “Well, there's no graveyard here; if there were there would be headstones."

  “Ah. Good. That makes it easy.” He nodded. “Then the robots should have the basic rooms ready in a few hundred hours. Already we have arranged to purchase a few tons of this fungoid you call ‘nearwood’ from the village here, in exchange for firearms, in addition to leasing our headquarters site for a few tons of cheap styrene."

  “Firearms? You mean guns?"

  “Yes, guns. Your people seem very fond of them."

  “These aren't my people; I'm a True Worder, not from Savior's Grace."

  “All Godsworlders, Captain; I meant no offense. At any rate, they seem pleased to have us here. We should be able to make quick progress."