His smile widened at the answering silence and he could imagine how she felt. For once he had the perfect excuse to make a personal approach to a female of superior rank and she could do nothing but listen. He wasn’t even contravening regulations because many men had consciously to avoid sub-vocalising their thoughts and she couldn’t be sure that he wasn’t one of them.
He lost the smile as he slipped among the trees. Primitive or not these people had to make their way on this world and though the conditions seemed gentle yet there would be predators as the necklaces of teeth proved. At first they would have had their technology to fall back on, but then, as time passed, the lotus-syndrome would have caught hold and the downward slide commenced.
On Telchis that would have been easy. The trees provided easily-obtained food, the river would be full of fish and, winters were probably mild. A small group, inbreeding, returning to nature, taking life easy for a while. Tomorrow would be time enough to dig mines, build factories, get down to the sweat and effort of building themselves a replica of what they had left. Tomorrow.
And each year that passed meant just that much forgotten; decades and the task would be frightening, a century or so and it would be impossible.
He hit the town at sunset, coming from the west so that the light would tend to dazzle any onlooker. A child ran from his path into the shelter of a woman’s arms. Karsov smiled at her and lifted a hand in greeting.
‘Good evening, Mother,’ he called.
She frowned but responded, ‘May the peace of falling darkness be on you.’
‘Is your man at home?’
This time there was no response. With a glare she gathered up the child and vanished into her house. Dutifully Karsov reported the incident.
‘Precision,’ said Susan. ‘She didn’t trust you because you were imprecise. If you were asking for her husband you should have said “man of your bed”, if for her father, “man of your mother’s bed”, if for her brother, “man of your mother’s womb”, coupled with some distinguishing characteristic such as, “man of your mother’s womb who owns the heavy club”, if for her eldest son, “man of your womb first to arrive”, understand?’
‘It’s a hell of a language.’
‘Primitive ones always are. Complexity coupled to precision. One of the first things we’ll have to do once they accept us is to teach them Terran-English and before you ask me why it is because that tongue is one of the best developed for the expression of intangible ideas. It also has no rigid grammar and can be understood no matter how you twist the words and tenses. For example “I am the ship tomorrow catching” is as understandable as saying “I am catching a ship tomorrow.”‘
‘Basic English,’ he said. ‘Eight hundred words and you can read, write and communicate.’
‘That’s right.’ She hesitated and then added, ‘It’s getting dark. You’ll be careful, won’t you?’
‘Risk not my neck I do intend,’ he said. And walked smiling into the thickening gloom.
* * * *
At dawn he attended the ceremony of the rising sun. It was a simple thing and impressive enough in its way, the assembled guards, the people, the priest with his rayed disc, the deep shout of welcome as the first rays of the sun gilded the top of the palace. There were no women in the plaza, the sun being male required the devotion and welcome of males only. If there had been a moon Karsov would have gambled that it would have been the prerogative of the females.
As the assembly broke up he lowered himself to his haunches and leaned his back against a carved wall. It had been quite a night. Without any means of exchange he had wandered the streets, once tempted to steal but warned off by Susan’s insistence.
‘Don’t do it!’ she’d said. ‘You may get away with it or you may wind up dead. The risk isn’t worth it.’
He had warmed to the anxiety in her voice.
Twice he’d dodged patrols and there had been a small beast like a dog he would have reason to remember. Uneasily he shifted on the hard ground, feeling the dirt through the tear in his tunic, the sting of the place where teeth had struck. About midnight his luck had changed, a house, blazing with light, had held what could only have been a wedding feast. Emboldened by hunger and needing to learn all he could he had crashed the party. The food, mostly vegetable, had been plentiful and there had been a limitless supply of a thick, noisome brew which held a surprising potency. Then he had staggered with others to the common lodging house of the single males.
Now he sat and nursed his head and wondered why men were such fools as to poison themselves.
‘Lieutenant!’ Susan’s voice was a clap of thunder in his throbbing skull. ‘Lieutenant, please report. Are you all right?’
‘I’m alive if that’s what you mean.’
‘Trouble?’
‘Only self-induced. You can make a note that, in one respect at least, these people are just like us. They tell dirty jokes at parties.’ He paused then added, ‘They drink, too.’
‘Naturally. The art of brewing fermented liquids is as old as time. Please bring me up to date.’
Sighing he obeyed. The guards were more than just a ceremonial guard of honour. They were the élite and the aim of every young man was to join them. At night they patrolled the streets, acting as police and breaking up disturbances. There was a rigid caste system of at least five levels and no inferior could talk to a superior unless first addressed. The lowest level was that of the guide. His hair and eyebrows had been shaved, his eyelashes clipped and he had to wear the robe of ignominy until they had regrown. Armed men took precedence over the unarmed. Women did not mix with men but children could go anywhere. Both sexes had communal quarters which they used between puberty and marriage and, as far as he recalled, there had been quite a bit of nocturnal coming and going.
‘It fits,’ said Susan when he had paused to ease his aching head. ‘Most primitives have such a system—especially in warm climates. Did you discover any fresh taboos ?’
The place was rotten with them. Those coming from light into darkness had precedence over anyone coming the other way unless they were of a lower caste in which case it was taboo to use the same entrance. It was taboo to watch a mother feed her child unless the man was a close relative. It was taboo to spit towards the east in the morning and the west after noon. It was taboo to conduct business during the hours of darkness.
‘All right,’ said Susan. ‘Now comes the hard part. I want you to wander all over the city and try and discover how they feel about us. Also attempt to determine what other peoples are near, do they engage in warfare, what gifts would impress them and, most important, have they been contacted by the Outworld Federation as yet.’
‘We know they haven’t,’ he protested. ‘If they’d found this world they would never have left.’
‘All information is of value,’ she said coldly. ‘Even that of a negative quality. Good luck, Lieutenant.’
Tiredly he rose, saw a guard moving towards him, his obsidian tipped spear at the level, and moved quickly away. Loungers were obviously not permitted to sleep facing the palace. Or perhaps loungers were simply not permitted. More damn taboos. For all he knew he had broken one just by leaning his back against that particular wall.
Ignoring the guard’s call he dived between two houses and made his way towards the river. Stripping he plunged into the water, remembering his wig as he dived under and hoping the glue would hold. Both wig and dye remained and he soaked for a while in the limpid water, watching the boats and the men along the wharves. More boats arrived as he watched, coming from up-river, paddled by stocky men with cropped hair but with the same mongoloid features. Traders, he guessed, and took advantage of the confusion to leave the river, dress and mingle with the crowd.
At dusk he returned to the ship.
* * * *
‘It is obvious,’ said Susan, ‘that we are faced with a rigid, static culture which is self-perpetuating and will do its utmost to resist change. The language itself is
a barrier against the assimilation of new ideas and the complex taboos actively disencourage all innovations. That, of course, is the real purpose of such taboos.’
Fed, washed, chemically rested, Karsov leaned back in his chair and looked at the rounded figure of the ethnologist. Beneath her make up her face showed signs of strain and he remembered that she had been on constant monitoring duty all during his absence.
Haljan said, ‘Aren’t taboos basically for the protection of the individual and society?’
‘Initially, yes, but once established they work to protect the status quo. Our job is to break it.’
‘And soon,’ reminded Captain Rayment. He looked at Karsov. ‘How about giving me a run down on what you discovered?’
‘The culture is pretty wide-spread,’ said the lieutenant. ‘I can’t guess how long they’ve been here but it’s long enough for the language to have formalised and reading to be a lost art. Maybe the priests still have the ability to mull over any books they might have but the general population couldn’t care less. As the population grows so new towns are established, groups of young men and women strike out and make new settlements, usually along the rivers. The metal ornaments we saw must be remnants of the original vessel but there is some gold probably found in the hills, loose nuggets washed from exposed lodes. They have a medium of exchange based on shells, and strong family groups which are more or less self-providing. The palace has the right to demand service and supplies based on a calculation of a family group’s possessions. Building is done on a mutual aid system. Art is confined to woodworking and weaving with a little sculpture and pottery. Dyes are obtained by treating seeds and shellfish—the usual primitive pattern. They are fond of combat-sports and there is quite a bit of gambling. Entertainment is by singers, story-tellers, dancing and drinking.’
Haljan said, ‘Do they possess slaves?’
‘No.’
‘Menial work is done by the lower caste then?’
‘Mostly, yes, but they don’t regard menial work as we do. There are simply things which need to be done. The women take care of the domestic arrangements and younger sons and old men gather fruits and such. Hunting is confined to elder sons and the elite.’ He paused then added, ‘They have a lot of spare time.’
Time in which to spend half a lifetime carving a panel, scraping at the hard wood with razor-edged shells, fabricating a thing of beauty created by love. Time to assemble and sort a multitude of seeds so as to match size and colour, shape and texture, piercing them, threading them to form curtains and hangings of intricate loveliness. It had been a shock to realise that the things he had seen could not be duplicated on the civilised worlds, that sheer economics dictated that only things which would be stamped or poured or mass-produced could hope to lie within the purchasing power of the majority. On such worlds craftsmanship had priced itself out of existence.
But at least, he thought, when their system had been smashed beyond hope of recovery, the natives would not be without resources. Their art work would command high prices on the ancient planets. He hoped it would be recompense enough.
‘Primitives,’ said Rayment. ‘In a way I envy them. A simple life in a world without mystery, where everything has its place and a man knows exactly where he stands. But they’re living in a fool’s paradise. Unless we win them over the Federation will move in and we know what will happen then. Alienation, extermination, exploitation. They’ll be slaughtered like animals and those that are left will be worked to death in the mines. With us, at least, they stand a chance. Not this generation, perhaps, but those that are to come. It’s up to us to make sure they retain their world.’
Mother Earth gathering up her children, thought Karsov, but the captain was right, the League was the less hurtful of the available alternatives. And yet he wondered, if he were a native, whether he would thank the League for its interference. A closed society had its peculiar charm. It was something like the ship, a snug, warm, comfortable little universe where everything was ordered and a man knew where he stood. And men needed to belong, to be a part of something greater than themselves, to give their loyalty to a cause.
‘You’re dreaming,’ said Susan. Karsov looked up and met her eyes. ‘You’re thinking of the “noble savage” concept and wondering if we are doing the right thing. Let me assure you that we are. Not because of what the Federation might do if we fail but because of the inevitable results of such a society and culture which exists on this world. You think that everyone is happy and content but you are wrong. You forget the frustrated innovator who is put to death or banished for breaking a taboo. The inventor who eats his heart out for lack of sympathy or support. The lower castes who must live in a kind of continual hell. We are going to save them from that.’
‘Agreed,’ said Haljan. ‘But how?’
The usual method. We will give them things which they cannot make themselves. Needles, awls, metal artifacts to which they will soon grow accustomed and on which they will rely. Then, when they need more, we will supply them at a price.’
‘The worm in the woodwork technique?’ Rayment frowned. ‘Sure but slow. Too slow.’
‘And it wouldn’t work,’ said Karsov. ‘The big wheel has only got to set up another taboo—that of not taking gifts from strangers.’
Susan was defiant. ‘They will break it.’
‘No. The head man is regarded as the living personification of the sun and so is backed by the authority of a god. And if that wasn’t enough his guards are. You haven’t seen them as close as I have. I can assure you that those spears they carry make a telling argument—and they won’t hesitate to use them.’
‘On us?’
‘On anyone who gets in their way. You’re up against ingrained pride and stubborn conviction, two things you can’t handle with kid gloves.’ Karsov caught her expression of disbelief. ‘Now listen to me! I can guess what you were taught at college, the liberal approach, the gentle way of going about things. You want to beg, to plead, to bribe with gifts and hope that they’ll be so grateful they’ll roll over and paw the air. It’s not going to happen like that. You’re trying to teach people a discipline they have no intention of accepting. They don’t like discipline, not the harsh, real, universal cause and effect type of teaching. That’s why they regressed. It isn’t easy to learn to read, to build a civilisation, to have to think. It’s easier and much less sweat just to ride from day to day and take what is going. And they have pride, remember. Act like a doormat and you’ll be treated like one. No one with pride respects a beggar.’
‘Are you trying to teach me my job, Lieutenant?’
‘Did I say that?’ He met her furious eyes. ‘I spent a day among them. I listened to what they had to say about us. They think we’re stupid, weak, commanded by a woman. Beggars pleading to be friends. You made an initial mistake and now they hold us in contempt. We’ve got to correct that impression before we can even hope to get anywhere.’
‘And you know how to do that?’
‘Well,’ he said. ‘At least I can try.’
* * * *
The next time he headed for town Karsov was not alone. With him went a score of yeomen together with Haljan, all armed and dressed for battle. They reached the main plaza just as the welcoming shout of the dawn ceremony echoed from the surrounding houses and, before the assembly could realise what was happening, had forced their way to within twenty yards of the ranked guards.
‘Lieutenant?’ Susan’s voice held a note of worry. ‘Are you all right ?’
‘Everything is fine,’ he said.
‘If you make a mess of things we’ll never get another chance,’ she said. ‘You realise that?’
‘You worry too much,’ he said, hoping her concern was for him and not for her record. ‘If this is a bust we’ll try somewhere else. Knock over one of these towns and the rest fall like dominoes. But we won’t fail.’
‘I wish I could be as sure of that as you are.’
‘You can be. Sign off now,
the welcoming committee is on its way.’
It was the same as before, a file of men coming from the darkness of the palace into the early light of dawn, the guards parting to let them through.
To Haljan Karsov said, ‘No slips now. Arrogance all the way.’
Haljan nodded. As the robed figure of the lowest caste man approached he knocked him aside with a back-handed slap. The staff he ignored. To the spear he said, ‘You offend the All High. It is taboo for him to be approached by such things of low caste.’
‘And I?’
‘You are a warrior and worthy of respect.’
‘Are you also a warrior?’
‘I serve the All High. He is the greatest warrior this world has ever seen. His power is such that he has subjugated the races of the men you see in attendance and yet each of them has more than all the people in this village combined. You are honoured that he condescends to permit you to stand in his presence.’
New Writings in SF 23 - [Anthology] Page 7
