“Granny Greenflower mentioned that,” Tam said. “I don’t know what it’s all about, though.”
“Me either. Not really. I know people are arguing because some want Ranex to be the new headman and some want Movey to be, but I don’t know why it’s so… important.”
“Who do you want?” Tam asked.
“Me? My opinion doesn’t matter. I’m too young, and besides, I’m a girl. The old men decide everything. That’s the way it’s always been.”
“But if you could choose…,” he prompted.
“Well, I like Ranex better than Movey. Ranex is nicer. I don’t suppose I care who the headman is. It doesn’t make much difference, really. I just want everyone to get along again.”
They reached the healer’s hovel and quickly found the items she requested.
~*~
They gathered again in Granny Greenflower’s hut after she finished with Steffin. She said he would recover with nothing but another scar to add to his collection to mark the experience.
“Tell me more about what’s going on here,” Tam said. He used his silent communication system rather than speaking aloud even though they were alone. It avoided any chance of them being overheard by the primitives.
“I’ve never seen a village more polarized,” the NASH android responded. “When old Dunwood died, the body wasn’t even cold before Movey said he would take over as headman.”
“Quick transition of authority is good,” Tam said.
“True, but not everyone likes him. He’s always been bossy.”
“A strong leader, then.”
“More like overbearing and far too certain of the superiority of his views, in my opinion, not that it counts. I think the main reason Ranex is contesting him is that he doesn’t want Movey in charge.”
“If he’s so obnoxious, why do half of the villagers support him?”
She paused a moment, imitating a person in thought. After several thousand years working directly with humans, their mannerisms came natural to her. “Well, he’s smooth, too, and it’s not as if some of his ideas aren’t good. What I dislike is that he plays on people’s fears and ambitions, and he’s promised rewards to anyone who backs him.”
“It looks like the primitives have invented politics,” MO-126 said. He knew little about the subject, but he was familiar with the term. This situation seemed to suit the definition. Politics, the currying of favor by whatever means necessary, seemed unsavory to his doglike sensibilities, but he understood why people needed it. They were an exceptionally adaptable species, but this came at the cost of innate abilities. Much of their behavior was learned rather than instinctive. How they organized themselves into groups and chose their leaders was one area where they often seemed to have to make it up as they went along. In the last four thousand years, he encountered villages with fledgling patriarchies, matriarchies, plutocracies, oligarchies, theocracies, and democracies. Most of the villages simply recognized a headman of some sort, more of a judge than a ruler. Each extended family had its own leader, usually the oldest competent male, but when disputes arose that the family leaders could not resolve, they could request judgment from the village headman.
“Oh, they’ve always had politics,” Granny Greenflower said. “They are social animals, after all. Movey’s just especially good at it.”
“But does it really matter which of them becomes the village leader?” Tam said. “After all, they don’t live long, and regardless of what they do, they’re not likely to have much effect on the project.”
“I’m not so sure about that. This village is on the verge of failure. I know a single production unit is not that important anymore, but I doubt the PM will want to lose one.”
“You really think things are that bad?”
“They aren’t yet, but they could be soon. Why risk it?” She raised her eyebrows and held her hands open before her in a ‘there’s nothing to risk and much to lose’ gesture.
“Okay,” Tam said a bit reluctantly. “We’ll contact Field Operations and see what they say.”
He opened a link and provided a summary of what they observed since they arrived. Granny Greenflower emphasized that the villagers were not working. Tam noted the violence that already occurred, that more seemed likely, and agreed that it might be advisable to bud the village early to avoid it. He made this his recommendation. His partner suspected he did it mainly to appease the nursery android.
“Requested action is not in accordance with standard operating procedures,” the administrative android assigned to Field Operations on the other end of the conversation said.
“We know that!” Granny Greenflower said. “That’s why we’re calling for an exception.”
“I cannot authorize a mitigation of any kind for unapproved reasons.”
“Well, you’ve heard our reasons. Approve them,” she said.
“I cannot approve reasons that do not meet the criteria for approval,” the voice on the other end of the communication said.
She rolled her synthetic eyes. “Can I please speak to someone with a...?” she hesitated, rephrasing her question to something politer than what MO-126 suspected her about to say. “Can you direct me to someone who can make a decision in cases like this?”
“I am a level one administrative android with full cognitive and decision-making capabilities. Your request does not meet criteria for approval.”
Granny Greenflower took a deep, calming breath. “Can you direct our request to someone who can authorize an exception to those standard criteria?” she asked with feigned politeness.
“Elevation for PM decision is required. Do you wish to proceed?”
“Yes!” Granny Greenflower responded with clear signs of exasperation. In a private relay to just the two other androids with her, she added, “Damn bureaucrats. I don’t know why they assign androids to those positions. If they can’t do anything but adhere to standard policy, they’re no better than robots.”
“Request made,” the Field Ops android said. A brief pause followed, and then he added, “The PM has disapproved your recommendation.”
“That was quick,” MO-126 said.
“No!” Granny Greenflower said. “I, um, I appeal.”
Appeal? The android dog did not realize that option existed. As it turned out, it did not.
“There is no protocol for reconsideration without additional information. Do you wish to have a summary of the PM’s conclusion?”
“Yes, I would,” she replied.
“Response follows,” the Field Ops representative said. The file that came after that was succinct.
“The information provided indicates a competition between two primitives for nominal leadership of Semiautonomous Production Cell 168-D. Such conflicts are not uncommon and normally resolve themselves in less than one year with little or no impact on output. Ancillary effects have been considered, and threats to corporate interests are assessed as minimal. Mitigation is not required.”
“Well, that’s that,” Tam said. “The situation will resolve itself. MO-126 and I should be heading back to the hub terminal.” He turned to leave.
“Please wait,” Granny Greenflower said. “I think the PM is wrong. I don’t think this will resolve itself, at least not well. The villagers are too divided.”
Tam remained unconvinced. “That girl we spoke with earlier didn’t seem to care much who became headman. I suspect that’s true for most of the primitives here.”
“She’s young and she’s female. In this village, that means she’s not supposed to care. The family leaders do care, and they’re split. I know that from the PM’s perspective it hardly matters who becomes headman here. Neither of them is likely to change things much. Movey is making promises about giving the most deserving people certain benefits such as less work and a larger share from trade surpluses, and so is Ranex. It’s just that each one has a different idea about what makes people deserving. Movey seems to think it’s the family elders and others who support him.
Ranex seems to think the deserving are those who produce more. He also is saying that those who are old or sick shouldn’t be required to work in the orchards and fields but should contribute in other ways if they can. None of this matters to the PM. The problem is that it matters to the people here, and I’m afraid they’re going to do more than argue about it.”
“The PM has probably considered that, too, you know,” Tam reminded her. “A bit of squabbling among the primitives is taken into account in its projections, I’m sure.”
“I know that’s what it expects will happen, and it might even be right, but why make them go through all of that when we can just bud the village a bit early?”
Tam shrugged. “I don’t know, but it’s not my decision—and it’s not yours either. We should be going. Good luck with the villagers.” Like most trade androids, Tam was a loyal company man, or machine, or whatever.
She stopped him again. “One more request. Leave MO-126 here. He can help me monitor the situation.”
“I don’t mind,” the android dog said before Tam could argue against the idea. It sounded far more interesting than heading back to the hub terminal to wait for their next mission, which remained over a month away.
Tam sent the request and Field Ops granted it. Apparently the situation did not call for mitigation, but it did justify close monitoring, which was the mobile observer’s primary function.
“Okay,” Tam said to their hostess. “Call Field Ops if MO-126 will be delayed.” Then he hefted his backpack and left. His partner knew he did not mind traveling alone, but the artificial dog did feel a bit guilty, as if he were abandoning him.
Tam seemed unconcerned, so the android dog put his subjective and unjustified emotional reaction aside. He seldom performed anything other than trade interface duty and looked forward to doing something different.
~*~
Granny Greenflower gave MO-126 a layout of the village. He went to Movey’s hut as the first stop of his clandestine surveillance effort. As he approached, he heard voices inside and tried to move around to the back where he could eavesdrop inconspicuously. As with so many simple, easy plans, this one did not work.
He almost tripped over the dusty old mongrel sleeping in the shade provided by the hut. The lazing dog opened one menacing eye and growled. The other eye was scarred over, probably in the same fight that cost him one of his ears years before. MO-126 wondered how his opponent faired. Not well, he imagined.
‘Go away, pup,’ the growl warned. The old dog did not get up. Apparently, he did not think the new dog worth the effort.
“Woof?” MO-126 replied softly, which he intended to mean, ‘I wish no offense, but would you mind if I stuck around for a while?’
Another growl, this one showing a few yellow but very long teeth, suggested he did.
A moment later, a bearded man in a knee-length linen tunic and gond leather sandals rounded the house.
“What is it, Brott?” asked a voice from inside the hut.
“It’s just the trader’s dog,” yelled the villager, turning back toward the front of the hut. Even from a distance, MO-126 could smell beer on his breath.
“Did Old Bagger eat it yet?” the man, who must be Movey, said.
“Nah; he’s just laying there. I don’t think he’s hungry.” Both men laughed.
MO-126 failed to find their largely monosyllabic conversation amusing. It might be funny if the old, and possibly cannibalistic, dog did try to eat him. Even if ‘Old Bagger’ could disable him, which was unlikely but not impossible, he would probably break his remaining teeth on the android dog’s cordilith bones. MO-126 saw several drawbacks to testing this theory, so he diplomatically retreated to a spot out of sight of both the old dog and the doorway and increased the sensitivity of his auditory receptors.
MO-126 focused on the continuing conversation inside the hut, filtering out the clatter of crude furniture being shifted and clay mugs being filled.
“Is Jalik going to support me if I call for a meeting?” Movey said.
“It’s hard to tell. When I ask him, all he does is grunt.”
“Hah! He’s gotten too fond of his pigs, I think.”
“Especially the one he married,” the man named Brott snorted.
Additional laughter ensued. Not knowing Jalik or his wife, MO-126 withheld judgment on how much of an exaggeration the comment implied. He doubted that the man in question married a real pig, although humans were notable for doing the unexpected. It seemed far more likely that his wife was human, perhaps a stout, pale woman with an upturned nose.
“What about Yamal?” Movey asked his associate.
“Oh, he’ll support you. I told him you’d take fewer of his chickens for the village pot when you’re the headman. Klamik will cast his vote for you, too.”
“What did you promise him?”
“That his sister’s house wouldn’t burn down.” This comment prompted additional laughter. They were a jovial pair in a crude, unpleasant sort of way.
They continued naming family elders and discussing who they were likely to support and how they might get them to side with Movey. He planned to call for a village meeting in which each family leader would cast a vote for the new headman. He seemed confident that about half of the men would side with him, but enough remained publicly uncommitted to tip the scales.
“It would have been so much simpler if old Dunwood named you the new headman before he died,” Brott commented.
“Well, he didn’t,” Movey said. “And I can’t put this off much longer. Without a headman, the choice will have to be made by the family leaders. I’d like to be sure of more support before we call on them to do it, though.”
“I don’t think we can get any more people to stand firm with you without openly threatening them, and that would probably cause you to lose others. I say we call for a vote. One way or another, you’re going to be the next headman.”
“Yeah. I’d just like it to be easy. I’ll go to see Ranex tomorrow morning. He probably wants this over, too.”
“Do you think you’ll have problems with him after?”
“Probably not if he thinks most of the family elders are behind me. He’ll fall into line, then. If not, yeah, he could try to cause trouble.”
“Nothing we can’t handle,” the other man said.
~*~
It took close to an hour for MO-126 to find Ranex, the other contender for village headman. The mobile observer android found his hut was empty when he arrived there to do some more clandestine observing. He suspected the man might be out trying to hustle support, but this proved not to be the case. He eventually found him in Steffins’s hut, the recently injured, club-footed young man. They sat inside playing a board game. MO-126 did his sleepy dog act and laid in the shade by the back wall.
“I’ve got you beat, Ranex. Do you want to give up now or should we play it out?” Steffin said in a tone of good-natured teasing.
“No,” Ranex said and laughed. “I know when I’m outmatched.”
Speaking of which, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be out trying to get the family elders to support you as headman?”
“I don’t see the point. They all know me, and they all know Movey. They’ll make their decisions.”
His statement surprised the android dog listening outside. Movey may have discovered politics, but it did not sound as if Ranex had.
“Maybe, but when?” Steffin asked. “The village needs a headman to, well, you know, to resolve disputes, meet with the Master Traders, and make final decisions, and stuff. Shouldn’t you go see them and get them to meet to do that?”
“Actually, I expect Movey will. He really wants to be headman.”
“And you don’t?”
“Not really. I imagine it can be a pain. Dunwood used to complain about it all time.”
“Yeah, I heard him once say that if he had to listen one more time to Winnie complaining about Tibber stealing honey from her beehives, he was going to strangle he
r.”
“And the funny thing is, he wasn’t.”
“Wasn’t what?”
“Taking any honey. Tibber has a secret honey tree in the woods. He showed it to me once. He had no reason to take hers. Besides, he’s afraid of her. I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t want to get into an argument with her if I could avoid it.”
“If you become headman, you probably won’t be able to. She’s always complaining about something.”
Ranex sighed. “I know.”
“So why don’t you just let Movey be the new headman?”
“I don’t think he’d make a good one. He’s too, well, I’m not sure of the word, but he always seems to be looking at how people can do something for him rather than just looking at them like people.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Steffin said. “He doesn’t like me much, I know. It’s probably because I can’t do anything for him.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Ranex said. “You could probably teach him some humility by constantly beating him at jump disc like you have me.”
Steffin chuckled. “I don’t think he plays, and I’m not sure I’d like his company if he did.
“Why’s that?”
“He strikes me as the type that would try to cheat.”
Ranex laughed, but based on what MO-126 overheard from Movey earlier, he agreed with Steffin. Some people would do anything to win. The android dog found this difficult to understand. He felt that cheating to win a game would make the victory meaningless. Perhaps some humans were simply not intelligent enough to realize this. They were primitives, after all.
~*~
Three days later, the family elders met near the river in an area surrounded by standing stones, each about three meters tall. The current villager’s ancestors built them at some point in the last few thousand years. Humans erected similar things in other villages. It seemed that wherever a handy source of stone could be found nearby, a stone circle of some kind would eventually be made, especially in places with hard winters because the primitives could use ice to help them break and move the rocks to more esthetically pleasing shapes and locations. Some of the circles were quite large with impressive trilithons and huge altar stones. Others were little more than rings of roughly shaped boulders. MO-126 wondered why the primitives went through all the trouble. The circles were considerably difficult to construct using only stone tools to chisel the monoliths into their final shapes and with nothing but muscles, logs, and ropes to place them upright, but the primitives took considerable pride in them. Sometimes, the circles were considered holy, or lucky, or just a place to gather for celebrations involving fermented beverages and group mating rituals. The primitives in this village considered the circle the place of their ancestors, and they used the area for cremations and other ceremonies.
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