The Alien Trace [Cord 01]

by H M Major

  Still smiling, Julia led him to a quiet, small room filled with empty tables and chairs. There were a few other patrons- Cord gathered it was the wrong time of day for the humans to congregate there. He sat carefully in a chair, his tail dangling out its open back. None of the items listed in the shiny tabletop (a sort of viewer, he decided, set level with the surface) meant anything to him, but his escort seemed willing to make the decisions.

  By the time their order came, Cord felt very comfortable with the woman. Also, he thought he was becoming more familiar with the language, which would be of assistance.

  They sipped their tangy beverages and nibbled on an assortment of tidbits until Cord finally said, "You still have not told me about your religion. Are you having any success spreading it?"

  She laughed. "Not a bit, though on first acquaintance with your world, I would have thought it would prove very compatible here. We believe that true happiness and virtue are attained through subduing the passions and desires. You can't be happy or successful if you are at war with yourself."

  To Cord, that sounded like good sense.

  "A wish to do others good will fight with the urge to accumulate wealth, for instance. Our appetites for food, sex, possessions, and 'happiness'-in the worldly sense-usually prevent us from being truly good. But if we have no physical desires, there is nothing to prevent us from doing what we ought to do. In addition, we enjoy peace of mind unblemished by doubt, fear, shame, and longing."

  Cord wished he could say the same of himself. He ate another crisp-fried appetizer and waited with an attitude of expectancy. When Julia did not continue, he asked, "How do you attain such peace of mind?"

  "First," she said, regaining her stride, "one must not pollute the body. Most of the people who come here"-she indicated the room around them-"come to drink intoxicating beverages. Neither does my religion permit one to ingest any mood-changing substance, in any form. We eat simply, and only the quantity needed to maintain the body."

  Cord noticed that she had indeed eaten only two or three of the tidbits.

  "Nor do we engage in sex for its own sake."

  "Do you abstain totally?" Cord asked, appalled. No wonder she'd made no Mehiran converts.

  "Oh, not totally. Within the bonds of marriage or to procreate, it is acceptable. Sometimes it is appropriate with a good friend, when celibacy becomes a burden and lust threatens the integrity of the mind."

  "I think you will not be successful here," he told her frankly. Better she should understand now than be disappointed later. "No Mehiran, no normal Mehiran anyway, would agree even to partial abstinence. Why, it would be almost like cutting oneself off from… from life." Must not mention empathy. "Sex makes people happy, relaxes them, is an antidote to violent emotion. I've seen it often in my work: violent criminals usually don't have normal sexual relationships."

  "Well," Julia replied, after a pause, "if you're right, and you must know better than I, then I may be doomed to fail. But the Missionary Society paid for my passage and board here, so I must keep trying."

  Her emotional aura was unchanged: Cord could detect it no more than he'd been able to do last time. Now he knew why: she had disciplined her mind to absolute serenity. He shut off contact.

  "Many of your other ideas impress me and would probably seem attractive to many of my people. But, Julia, do you really believe that sexual contact is not beneficial?"

  "It is the doctrine of my religion. I know nothing of the matter from personal experience," she said forthrightly.

  A tall human passing through the lounge detoured to stop at their table.

  "Making any converts, Julia?" the man asked pleasantly, and added to Cord in good Mehiran, "We are pleased to have you visit us. I hope your trade prospers."

  "I am sure it will, to our mutual benefit," Cord replied.

  "Ham, this is Cord"-Julia gave the shortened form of his name-"a practitioner of police science. Cord, this is Hamilton K, Trade Agent for Ten Suns Enterprises."

  The humans were evidently a diverse lot. Hamilton K's skull was shaven-or else he was bald-and a green K ornamented the middle of his forehead. His features were well shaped, however. Cord saw that the belt over his silky black tunic and trousers bore a K-shaped buckle, too, enameled green.

  Perhaps this was the master of the human complex, Cord thought. So far, K was only the second human Cord had met who spoke Mehiran-no doubt learned as Cord had learned Multi-Lang. A pleasing gesture and most courteous. A few more polite exchanges, and the Trade Agent passed on.

  "Why does he wear a letter on his forehead? Why don't the others here also?" Cord asked, bewildered.

  "It is his last name as well as a letter of our alphabet. Hamilton's world dispensed with ordinary last names when it was colonized. Instead, they substituted letters to signify certain broad genetic groups. Many traders come from his planet."

  "Why?… I'm sorry, Julia, I should not ask so many questions."

  "Why not? This is all new to you. How else would you learn? The people who settled K's world, to answer your question, were pragmatists. They brought up their children to be pragmatists, which is a useful trait for a Trade Agent: they make a profit and abide by the rules, and as long as they do, no company will ask many questions about their methods."

  "Here, the Council regulates some aspects of trade," Cord said slowly. The Council would act against someone who sold unwholesome food or lied to sell his goods.

  "The galaxy is a very big place. Some parts of it have not been explored yet. Each civilized world makes its own rules, which govern its ships and its offworld enclaves, like this one. Spaceport Mehira operates under the laws and regulations of Andar VII. Ships registered on Andar VII observe its laws, too. A trading enterprise from Terra would operate under that world's laws."

  "But then if two groups of traders from different worlds disagreed…"

  "They'd fight it out, most likely."

  Cord shuddered inwardly, half revolted and half excited by so casual a mention of violence. Yet what opportunities there might be!

  "How is criminal catching carried out, with so many inhabited worlds?" Cord did not bother to apologize for speaking of a subject which would disgust most Mehirans. It was obvious that humans were hardened to violence. And, of course, not being empathic, they did not suffer the mental results of violence, so it must seem like a less important matter to them than to Mehirans.

  Julia seemed quite content to answer his questions.

  "Some worlds have treaties with others-mostly those with similar cultures and legal systems-which permit extradition. The majority don't, feeling that if a criminal gets offworld and stays there, it's not worth pursuing him. The ports are watched, so that if a criminal tries to come back to a world where he's wanted, he'll be caught."

  Cord believed he was open-minded, but he was a little shocked.

  "You must not think any crook is safe if he gets offworld," Julia hurried on. "Some criminals a planetary government will think it worthwhile to pursue. That varies from world to world. And a victim, or his friends, or a special-interest group may raise the money to hire a bounty hunter."

  "Perhaps that is not very different from Mehira."

  More humans were drifting into the lounge, Cord noticed. The level of noise was rising, as well as the cacophony of emotions.

  "You've asked me questions, Cord," Julia was saying. "Now you must tell me about Mehira. I conclude that there are similarities between your police work and bounty hunting."

  "If I understand the term 'bounty hunter,' there probably are many parallels," he agreed. "Sometimes we are hired by individuals to find stolen goods or missing persons, or to guard something of value. Or if we catch a violent criminal, we are rewarded by the Council."

  "You are very young to have taken up such a profession," Julia remarked, not unkindly. "I have met bounty hunters occasionally, and they are usually older and… rougher. They are predators. You do not seem like that."

  "My family has pract
iced criminal science for generations," Cord said indignantly, "ever since my father's five-times-great-grandfather was advised by the voices of his ancestors to find a certain murderer. He did, when everyone else had failed, because he knew the ways of the high mountains, so he guessed where the killer was hiding. We have been hunters of criminals ever since."

  Julia looked thoughtful. Cord fidgeted. The increasing noise was making him uncomfortable; humans in groups talked more loudly than Mehirans, and their emotional pitch ran much higher. He was not deliberately receiving their signals, but in a large group, the sheer volume of emotions made a clamor almost impossible to ignore. With practice and concentration, one could tune out all signals, of course. Most Mehirans never bothered to discipline their minds to that degree. After all, among Mehirans, such defenses were seldom needed: few were rude enough to broadcast unpleasant feelings. Occasional embarrassment or discomfort, perhaps, which let your companion know he had offended, and therefore gave him an opportunity to rectify his error, but not…

  … humiliation…

  … anger…

  … speculation…

  … amatory interest…

  … pain…

  … boredom…

  … anticipation…

  … rejection…

  The waves of emotion beat in on Cord. In comparison, Julia's cool, antiseptic mind was a relief.

  "Is something wrong?" the human woman asked.

  Briefly, Cord caught an emotional stirring in her, but it was gone before he could analyze it, no more than a darting insect seen out of the corner of the eye or the elusive twinkling of a faint star.

  "I think I'd better leave." Cord stood up. "It's getting late."

  "Will you be coming back again?" When Cord nodded, she said, "Come and see me when you do. If you ask for me at the entrance, they'll tell you where to find me."

  Suddenly her strangely colored eyes were full of promise. Cord felt a strong desire to see her again, somewhere quiet and private, where he would not be distracted by the psychic impact of others. It would be good to discuss her peculiar notions about sex, and convince her that she was mistaken about it. And to find out how a Terran woman differed from Bird…

  With a start, Cord realized that he was still staring into those disturbing green and gold-flecked eyes, and that they and her lips and shoulders and thighs seemed to be promising greater delights than any he'd known. It was a good thing that he was used to keeping his emotions to himself, he thought guiltily. If he'd been broadcasting, every Mehiran in the human compound would have gotten a pretty powerful dose of lust.

  "I'd better go," he repeated. He turned away abruptly. If he stayed any longer…

  At the door of the lounge, he looked back. Julia McKay was still sitting there, smiling slightly, an island of calm in a stormy sea.

  He returned to the lobby, feeling as if he'd put in a hard day. Human emotions were so exhausting. Except for Julia's, he added to himself. He looked at the displays on the walls- three-dimensional pictures of products the humans would trade, samples of other worlds' goods, alien artwork. It would be interesting to visit other planets, he thought. The culture which had created that great silver breastplate studded with cabochon gems must be exotic.

  "Oh, Cord," Neteel's voice called. "I was going to ask the humans to page you. Did you find something to do while you waited?"

  "Yes, Mother. I spoke with the 'missionary' who was our guide the first time we came. You were successful, weren't you?"

  It did not require mind-touch to deduce as much. Cord's parents were still in their prime, and today Neteel was glowing with vigor and excitement.

  "I can't tell you about it here," she said, lowering her voice a little. "Let's go home, so I can tell you and Fyr about it at once. If I don't, I'll burst."

  CHAPTER 6

  Cord followed her out to their borrowed vehicle, wondering a little at her tension. However, she would not divulge her news. Instead she talked amusingly of her experiences with the humans. Cord was fascinated, having had little opportunity to talk with her in the last few days.

  "They're such interesting people," Neteel remarked. "I had a wonderful chat with one of their engineers this afternoon, and I think I've picked up a couple of insights… I'd love to see the control room of one of their ships. But I suppose it would make me feel like a backward child. In so many ways, we're far behind them. Then again, we are ahead in other ways. Maybe their tendency to have wars holds them back. There are still illnesses and wounds they can't heal. Imagine that."

  Cord couldn't. Short of a catastrophic accident that killed instantly, Mehirans died only of old age. Even the dry-lung infection, the most serious disease they knew, had not been fatal in two centuries or more. It required many days of rest, following lung-tissue regeneration, but it was no longer regarded as dangerous, merely inconvenient.

  "And I've had compliments," his mother continued. "It makes me feel young again."

  Cord twitched his ears satirically. She might be his mother, but a woman with three lovers besides her husband was hardly sunken in age.

  "What was the compliment?" he asked, knowing she looked forward to sharing it.

  "The chief merchant-what do they call it? The Trade Agent-invited me to visit his rooms. His name was Hamilton K-have you met him? I was tempted, because he is very attractive, almost like one of us."

  "I hope you didn't refuse just because I was waiting," Cord said, amused.

  "No, I knew you wouldn't mind my being a bit late for such a good reason, but I felt that he was more interested in cementing a trade relationship than in sex. Still, I would have liked to find out how humans manage without tails," Neteel remarked meditatively.

  "I have met this Hamilton K," Cord said as she guided the car from the highway into the building-lined streets near the river. "Julia said he was a pragmatist, and that was what made him a good trader. But I wonder if his practicality will be a match for your inventiveness."

  His mother laughed delightedly.

  ***

  The setting sun cast lavender-pink-carmine on the walls of the small common room Cord's family shared. He lay sprawled across a large floor cushion to one side of the low table while his mother, excitement still sparkling in her eyes, sat on the low, soft couch. His father brought out a metal tray with vermilion-tinted delicacies and glasses of sunset-colored nectar.

  "You know I went to speak with some of their scientists today," Neteel said as she leaned forward to pluck a morsel from the tray. "My avowed purpose was to discuss some details of the devices we're trading to them, and to ask in return for some materials that are rare here."

  Cord suspected that his father already knew all of this. To him it was new, though.

  "My real intention was to pick up some hints about their science." Excitement burst from her once more. "I did, Fyr. I know exactly what to do now, to make it work as it ought to do."

  "To make what work?" Cord asked, as he rose to take a glass of nectar.

  "The… thing we've been experimenting with," Neteel responded with a return to caution. Cord knew his mother was working on a special but secret invention. She never wanted to speak of her devices until she was sure they would work.

  "When it's finished," Fyrrell began slowly, "do you think they'll buy it?"

  "Oh, yes. There's no question about it, if I'm any judge of people-even if they are aliens. They'll buy it."

  Fyrrell looked worried. "But is it wise to sell it to them?"

  Neteel made an unhappy little gesture. "I don't know. I'm less and less sure as I'm sure the instrument will function."

  "If it should be used against us…" Fyrrell said reluctantly.

  Neteel laughed. "That possibility is the least of my worries. There's a counterdevice, naturally. I started work on it as soon as I began to see how this one would operate. And remember, the device itself is short-range: you'd have to be virtually touching the other person."

  "Mmmm…" Fyrrell frowned, eyeing the d
inner he'd barely touched, while he radiated concern, suspicion, and a tinge of fear.

  Cord and his mother exchanged glances. "Why don't you go for a walk? You need the exercise," she suggested pointedly. "Have you seen Bird lately?"

  Cord was startled, then briefly angry at his mother's change of mood. He gulped down the rest of his drink and picked up a handful of the tidbits. Broadcasting reproach, Cord left.

  There was a large park east of the river, forming a barrier between the commercial sections and the expensive suburbs. It was a place where all classes of Mehirans could mingle, and it was here that he'd first met Bird. Their favorite place was a shady grove of sea-green trees and cascading vines with tiny white starflowers. A small brook ran through the grove, flowing over a special stone bed in a miniature mountain torrent. There the spray made the tiny rock faces glow green with a mossy night growth that shone softly in the night. In the daytime, the spray formed rainbows in the sun.

  By the time he arrived in that western section of the park, it was well into the night. The phosphorus-yellow streetlamps stood like giant matchsticks along the path. He passed only a few strollers, mostly arm-in-arm couples. It made him long for Bird.

  There was only one person sitting by the waterfall, gently bathed in the light of the green-glow moss. It was a woman, sitting in profile, wearing a beautiful and expensive shimmering shift. Was it Bird? His heart leaped at the stab of love such a thought brought him. He could not control the feeling, and the woman turned, startled, as the emotion touched her.