“Now, laddie, don't be insulting!” said Dunneldeen. “What Bolbod or Drawkin or Hockner could shoot down the ace of all aces? No, Jonnie boy, it was helping fight fire. It 's not too bad a burn, but you know Dr. Allen. Never happy unless he's swaddled you up like an innocent babe.”
“How is it up there?” said Jonnie.
“Bad. We got the fire out but that's all you can say for it. Dwight and Thor are trying to open tunnels but the rock slides. There's lots of hope but that's all I can give you. Say, did that small gray man come back here? Is that his ship over there?” “Was he at Edinburgh?”
“Oh, that he was. Went all around bothering everybody asking questions. Got in everybody's way. And then he seemed to get what he was looking for and went swooshing up to Aberdeen. Almost got himself shot down! He was looking for the king-you know, Chief of Clanfearghus."
“How is he? The Chief?” said Jonnie.
“Well, he's a bleeder. You know, doesn't stop bleeding once he's cut. I’m always telling him to stay out of wars– they're unhealthy! Anyway, we found him outside and rushed him to the Aberdeen hospital and they gave him transfusions. This small gray man tried to get in to see him and of course the gillies threw him out. But then Dr. Allen got cornered by him. Seems like this guy,” he indicated the ship where the lights were flashing, “has been collecting books and libraries all over the place. He picto-graphs them. And he got Dr. Allen to tell him what was wrong with the Chief and they looked it up in a lot of old man-books, and Dr. Allen found there was a compound called Vitamin K that made blood coagulate and they synthesized some and what do you know...the bleeding stopped! The Chief's recovering. What is this small gray man, a doctor?”
“No,” said Jonnie. “He's the Sector Branch Manager of the Galactic Bank. I’ll tell you more later, but he was up there making sure this planet had a government!”
“Well, it was a nice thing to do, anyway,” said Dunneldeen.
Jonnie was glad for the Chief but he sure was beginning to feel surrounded by the bankers. He didn't tell Dunneldeen they were about to foreclose on them. “You see Stormalong?"
Dunneldeen shook his head. “Let's get Sir Robert. He's dead to the world in the plane.”
And Sir Robert really was dead to the world. Singed and gray-faced where his skin wasn't blacked with soot, his hands torn, his clothes in burned rags, Sir Robert looked exactly what he was– an old man who had been going through hell for days without rest.
They tried to lift and carry him between them but the old War Chief was a very heavy man, especially when dead weight. They got a mine cart and wheeled him into the hospital.
Jonnie got the nurse up and she examined Sir Robert. He was not injured except for his hands. She gave him a shot of B Complex and he never stirred at the punch of the needle.
Mr. Tsung and his family were suddenly up and hovering around and they ran off to get things organized. Shortly, they were giving Sir Robert a bath and trimming the burned areas in his beard and hair so they looked more even. They soon had him in a bed. He had never opened his eyes!
Jonnie went back to the hospital where he had left Dunneldeen and found him sitting in a chair sound asleep while the nurse changed his face bandages. The burns were not disfiguring. His beard sure was tattered. Jonnie stopped the nurse from putting on fresh bandages and called Mr. Tsung's daughter, who came in with her scissors and neatened the Scot by cutting his beard like Jonnie's.
Jonnie had hoped Dunneldeen could spell him in ops while he went to look for Stormalong. But Dunneldeen was really in no condition to do anything but sleep. Jonnie turned him over to the Tsung family and they gave him bath and put him to bed.
It must be hell in Edinburgh!
Jonnie got on the radio to Russia. They had had several thousand people stuffed into that old base. Smoke or no smoke, some of them must be functional. There were two hundred fifty Chinese there from North China. There were the Siberians and the Sherpas. Tinny got some of her own messages in: the rest of the monks and the Buddhist library, the Chinese library and such things were safe. She had to run out and tell Chong-won and Mr. Tsung. Late at night it might be, in both Tashkent and Edinburgh, but Jonnie started shuffling people.
The most vital question now was: where was Stormalong? Where was MacAdam? The only thing they ever got out of Luxembourg was a girl saying something that sounded like "Je n' comprempt pas!” and that sure didn't spell Stormalong or the Scot banker. Was he going to have to handle this foreclosure thing with no help?
Chapter 5
The treaty signing, Jonnie was told, would be that afternoon.
They came, Lord Dom and Dries Gloton, to the ops room. Dries seemed extraordinarily pleased. “I hear,” he said, “that the Earth representative arrived last night. Be sure he is at the signing.”
Jonnie glanced at his watch. It was midmorning. He went to the room where they had put both the old War Chief and Dunneldeen.
Dunneldeen was up and dressed and seemed bright enough for all his bandaged face. Sir Robert was just groggily opening his eyes so Jonnie took Dunneldeen back to ops.
“I want you to take over this post,” said Jonnie. "I’ll stay for the signing but right after that I’m getting out of here to search for Stormalong." He spent some time genning Dunneldeen in and then went back to Sir Robert.
The old Scot was as grumpy as a bear. He was sitting on the edge of bed with nothing much to cover his bony limbs and eating something Chief Chong-won had brought him.
“Treaty signing!” he grumped between bites. “Waste of time. They'll never keep any treaties. This is a beautiful planet here and they want it! I belong right up in Edinburgh helping dig those poor people out. Oh, you were right, MacTyler, they all should have been at Cornwall!”
Jonnie let him finish his food and then, while he was having some tea, went out and got an atmosphere projector. And although Sir Robert spent much of his time muttering and railing about being absent from Scotland, Jonnie briefed him carefully on events and what they could possibly do. When he had finished, he stood back.
"I’m no diplomat!” said Sir Robert. "I proved that! And I’m no lawyer and I’m no banker! 'Tis a thin chance, but I’ll do what you say.”
That was all Jonnie wanted.
In midafternoon they went to the conference room. Sir Robert was in his regimentals, Jonnie in his helmet and black tunic. Nobody paid them much attention.
The emissaries had drawn up the treaty Jonnie had heard voted and they had it on a big scroll, laid out in such a way that each emissary could walk up to the table where it lay, sign it, affix his seals, get the signature and pattern or print attested by the bank, and then go back to his seat.
It was a sort of parade. Dries Gloton and Fowljopan were the only ones who stood at the table.
Sir Robert sat and fumed about wasting time, but he did so only in a very low voice and only to Jonnie. They signed and signed. It took them almost an hour.
Earth was the last signature, and Sir Robert went up and put down his name, got a match and melted some wax, and then smashed his big seal ring onto it. Dries drew a bank trace around it and held it up.
“I hereby certify,” said Dries, “that the Galactic Bank has attested the authenticity of this Treaty of Kariba, Earth. It is complete. May I suggest that immediate copies of it be transmitted to all ships concerned.” He spread the treaty out, pulled a small picto-tracer from his breast pocket, and scanned it down the scroll.
Jonnie passed it to Dunneldeen in ops for transmission and copies for themselves and all delegates and the bank.