“No,” the pilot agreed. “I only hope they are not in the habit of blaming the messenger for the news he brings.” He felt like some luckless boyar coming to Ivan the Terrible with word of a disaster against the Tatars.
The Minervans talking in file audience chamber fell silent as the humans entered. A couple of males ostentatiously turned all their eyes away from Tolmasov and Bryusov. “They deny that we have the right to exist,” Bryusov murmured.
“Like turning their backs-but they have no backs. Yes, I understand, Valery Aleksandrovich.” Even though the linguist kept stating the obvious, Tolmasov was glad he was along. Being able to speak the Skarmer tongue fluently ought to give him insight into the way the locals thought. And having another human close by was comforting in this room full of hostile aliens.
Hogram waited at the far end of the hall. Tolmasov approached the domain master, bowed low in lieu of widening himself. Beside him, Bryusov did the same. Before, Hogram had always widened in reply, as much as he would have to one of his high advisors. The minimal widening he gave the humans now told how their status had changed.
“We have come as you asked us to come, clanfather,” Tolmasov said. Let Hogram remember who needed whom now.
“Yes, I asked you to come,” Hogram said. Tolmasov watched him closely, looking for any color change, but Hogram was far too wily to let his skin reveal his feelings. “I want you to explain once more, not just to me but to all my councilors here, how the rifle for which we paid such a great price failed to help us defeat the Omalo.”
So you want to say everything is our fault, do you, Tolmasov thought. It made Hogram seem very human, but the pilot did not intend to let him get away with it. “Honored clanfather, am I wrong, then?” he asked innocently. “If we humans not come down in your domain, you stay on this side of Ervis Gorge, not send males across?”
Though Hogram stayed green, several of his advisors turned a furious yellow. “We thought we’d surely win with your weapon!” one of them shouted. “Instead-”
“Instead,” Hogram broke in, “instead, those Skarmer males who are not dead are Reatur’s captives, and Fralk, my eldest of eldest, is slain. As my eldest died years ago, the domain must now pass to Lorkis, my second, who is far from ready to take mastery. And I am old, so he may have to do so at any time.”
“Honored clanfather, one of our males also died east of Ervis Gorge, a sixth part of all our numbers,” Bryusov said.
“Sooner all you humans than Fralk,” Hogram said. The rest of the Minervans shouted agreement. Tolmasov wished for the Kalashnikov again.
“Hogram, in war nothing is sure, not with rifle, not without,” he said. He could not talk prettily in the Skarmer speech the way Bryusov could, but he knew he talked plain clear sense. “But you should be glad some humans still alive, on this side of Ervis Gorge and on other side.”
“Why is that?” Now, when his words were quiet and controlled, Hogram did start to turn yellow. “Why should I not wish I had never seen any of you?”
Tolmasov took out his radio. “Because of this, honored clanfather. From this, we learn what happen to your army long before you find out otherwise, and what we learn, we tell you.”
“And, because of this”-Bryusov pointed to the radio, you can bargain with the Omalo on the east side of the gorge. What might Reatur do to your captive males if we, the other humans on that side of the gorge, and, through us, you did not speak up for kindness?”
The audience chamber grew silent. All Hogram’s males were related to one another more or less closely; all felt the anguish of having so many of their kin at their enemy’s mercy. None of them, Tolmasov was sure, considered that those males would not have been in that predicament had they not invaded Reatur’s domain. Back on Earth, the Germans still whined about how their POWs were treated during the Great Patriotic War.
Hogram was green again. Tolmasov was sure his brief show of anger had been just that, a show. When he had summoned the Russians to come before him, he had ordered them to bring a radio. He knew he would have to dicker with Reatur and needed his underlings to know it, too.
Yes, Hogram was a wily one. How much that would help remained to be seen. Reatur held most of the cards, to say nothing of the Skarmer warriors.
“To save our males, I will speak with the Omalo domain master, unless anyone here objects,” Hogram said. He waited. No one objected. He waved a three-fingered hand at Tolmasov.
“Please have the other humans summon Reatur.”
“I will try, honored clanfather,” the pilot said. He knew perfectly well that Reatur was not at the Americans’ beck and call, let alone Hogram’s. When the domain master’s summons came, he had asked Irv Levitt if Reatur would make himself available. Levitt had promised to try to arrange it. Now was the time to see if he had come through. Tolmasov spoke into the radio: “Ready with the relay, Shota Mikheilovich?”
Rustaveli was back at the orange tent; the more powerful transmitter there could reach across Jotun Canyon. “Da. Go ahead,” he answered after a moment.
“Soviet Minerva expedition calling Athena,” Tolmasov said in English; Bryusov translated for the Minervans.
The reply was prompt. “Zdrast ‘ye, Sergei Konstantinovich.
Irv Levitt here. What can I do for you?”
Speaking English, Tolmasov did not have to try to remember Irv’s patronymic. “The domain master Hogram wishes to speak to the domain master Reatur. He-Tolmasov picked his words carefully-“seeks terms for ending the, ah, hostilities between them.”
If Reatur didn’t even want to talk… Tolmasov preferred not to think about that. It would wreck the leverage he had on Hogram.
“Reatur will talk with Hogram, Sergei Konstantinovich,” Irv said in Russian. As the pilot felt a relieved grin stretch across his face, Irv went on in dry English, “We managed to talk him into it, because he feels he owes us one. But your fellow better not ask for much-he’s not very happy about westerners right now.”
The American anthropologist had style, Tolmasov thought, getting his warning across in a language none of the Skarmer could speak. Then Reatur’s contralto came from the speaker, using the trade talk Tolmasov had trouble following himself. “What have you to say for yourself, Hogram?”
The old Skarmer domain master waddled up to Tolmasov, who held the radio near his mouth. “Only that we tried and lost, Reatur. What else can I say? You hold my males. I hope-“ He hesitated, then went on. “I hope you are treating them better than we might have treated yours had we won.”
Some of Hogram’s advisors went blue with fear as he said that. Bryusov gave Tolmasov an appalled look. The pilot kept his face blank. He knew Hogram was gambling but thought it a good gamble. Reatur would recognize and scorn false sweetness; honesty might sway him.
“They’re not harmed, for now,” Reatur said after a short, thoughtful pause. “It’s up to you to persuade me to keep them that way. Put it like this, Hogram-why should I go on feeding all those males who are not mine?”
Hogram sighed. “Because I-my domain-will pay to keep them safe.”
“How much?” That was one short word in trade talk, maybe the basic word of trade talk.
“How much do you want?” Hogram asked.
“How much do you offer?. If it’s enough, I may listen to you.
If not-“ Reatur let the sentence trail away. Hogram sighed again. Even Tolmasov, who had had scant experience bargaining before he landed among these capitalist aliens, could see the cunning behind that ploy. Hogram could not afford to be miserly, not if he wanted to see his warriors again-and, not knowing Reatur’s price for certain, he would have to be doubly extravagant to make sure he met it.
“First, I will give you goods enough to pay the cost of main-mining my males from now until the flood subsides in Ervis Gorge. We can work out later exactly how much that is, but I will pay it.”