They faced one another in uneasy semi-embarrassment and tried not to watch one another eat; tried not to shrink at the unmeant touch. Even robot service was rationed.
Ernest Keilin, the only accredited video-representative from Earth, was aware of some of these matters only in the vague way they are described here. A more precise insight he could not have. Nor could anyone brought up in a society where human beings exist only in the plural, and where a house need only be deserted to be feared.
So it was that certain of the most subtle tensions escaped him at the formal dinner party given by the Hesperian government during the third week of the conference. Other tensions, however, did not pass him by.
The gathering after the dinner naturally fell apart into little groups. Keilin joined the one that contained Franklin Maynard of Aurora. As the delegate of the largest of the Worlds, he was naturally the most newsworthy.
Maynard was speaking casually between sips at the tawny Hesperian cocktail in his hand. If his flesh crawled slightly at the closeness of the others, he masked the feeling masterfully.
“Earth,” he said, “is, in essence, helpless against us if we avoid unpredictable military adventures. Economic unity is actually a necessity, if we intend to avoid such adventures. Let Earth realize to how great an extent her economy depends upon us, on the things that we alone can supply her, and there will be no more talk of living space. And if we are united, Earth would never dare attack. She will exchange her barren longings for atomic motors-or not, as she pleases.”
And he turned to regard Keilin with a certain hauteur as the other found himself stung to comment:
“But your manufactured goods, councilor-I mean those you ship to Earth-they are not given us. They are exchanged for agricultural products.”
Maynard smiled silkily. “Yes, I believe the delegate from Tethys has mentioned that fact at length. There is a delusion prevalent among some of us that only Terrestrial seeds grow properly-”
He was interrupted calmly by another, who said: “Now, I am not from Tethys, but what you mention is not a delusion. I grow rye on Rhea, and I have never yet been able to duplicate Terrestrial bread. It just hasn’t got the same taste.” He addressed the audience in general, “In fact, I imported half a dozen Terrestrians five years back on agricultural laborer visas so they could oversee the robots. Now, they can do wonders with the land, you know. Where they spit, corn grows fifteen feet high. Well, that helped a little. And using Terrestrian seed helped. But even if you grow Terrestrian grain, its seed won’t hold the next year.”
“Has your soil been tested by your government’s agricultural department?” asked Maynard.
The Rhean grew haughty in his turn: “No better soil in the sector. And the rye is top-grade. I even sent a hundredweight down to Earth for nutritional clearance, and it came back with full marks.” He rubbed one side of his chin, thoughtfully: “It’s flavor I’m talking about. Doesn’t seem to have the right-”
Maynard made an effort to dismiss him: “Flavor is dispensable temporarily. They’ll be coming to us on our terms, these little-men-hordes of Earth, when they feel the pinch. We give up only this mysterious flavor, but they will have to give up atom-powered engines, farm machinery, and ground cars. It wouldn’t be a bad idea, in fact, to attempt to get along without the Terrestrian flavors you are so concerned about. Let us appreciate the flavor of our home-grown products instead-which could stand comparison if we gave it a chance.”
“That so?” the Rhean smiled. “I notice you’re smoking Earthgrown tobacco.”
“A habit I can break if I have to.”
“Probably by giving up smoking. I wouldn’t use Outer World tobacco for anything but killing mosquitoes.”
He laughed a trifle too boisterously, and left the group. Maynard stared after him, a little pinch-nosed.
To Keilin, the little byplay over rye and tobacco brought a certain satisfaction. He regarded such personalities as the tiny reflection of certain Galactopolitical realities. Tethys and Rhea were the largest planets in the Galactic south, as Aurora was the largest in the Galactic north. All three planets were identically racist, identically exclusivist. Their views on Earth were similar and completely compatible. Ordinarily, one would think that there was no room to quarrel.
But Aurora was the oldest of the Outer Worlds, the most advanced, the strongest militarily-and, therefore, aspired to a sort of moral leadership of all the Worlds. That was sufficient in itself to arouse opposition, and Rhea and Tethys served as focal points for those who did not recognize Auroran leadership.
Keilin was somberly grateful for that situation. If Earth could but lean her weight properly, first in one direction, then in the other, an ultimate split, or even fragmentation
He eyed Maynard cautiously, almost furtively, and wondered what effect this would have on the next day’s debate. Already, the Auroran was more silent than was quite polite.
And then some under-secretary or sub-official threaded his way through the clusters of guests in finicking fashion, and beckoned to Maynard.
Keilin’s following eyes watched the Auroran retreat with the newcomer, watched him listen closely, mouth a startled “What!” that was quite visible to the eye, though too far off to be heard, and then reach for a paper that the other handed him.
And as a result, the next day’s session of the conference went entirely differently than Keilin would have predicted.
Keilin discovered the details in the evening video-casts. The Terrestrian government, it seemed, had sent a note to all the governments attending the conference. It warned each one bluntly that any agreement among them in military or economic affairs would be considered an unfriendly act against Earth and that it would be met with appropriate countermeasures. The note denounced Aurora, Tethys, and Rhea all equally. It accused them of being engaged in an imperialist conspiracy against Earth, and so on-and on-and on.
“Fools! gritted Keilin, all but butting his head against the wall out of sheer chagrin. “Fools! Fools! Fools!” And his voice died away still muttering that same, one word.
The next session of the conference was well and early attended by a set of angry delegates who were only too eager to grind into nothingness the disagreements still outstanding. When it ended, all matters concerning trade between Earth and the Outer Worlds had been placed in the hands of a commission with plenary powers.
Not even Aurora could have expected so complete and easy a victory, and Keilin, on his way back to Earth, longed for his voice to reach the video, so that it could be to others, and not to himself only, that he could shout his disgust.
Yet, on Earth, some men smiled.
Once back on Earth, the voice of Keilin slowly swirled under and down-lost in the noisier clamor that shouted for action.
His popularity sank in proportion as trade restrictions grew. Slowly, the Outer Worlds drew the noose tighter. First, they instituted a strict application of a new system of export licensing. Secondly, they banned the export to Earth of all materials capable of being “used in a war effort.” And finally they applied a very broad interpretation indeed of what could be considered usable in such a connection.
Imported luxuries-and imported necessities, too, for that matter-vanished or priced themselves upwards out of the reach of all but the very few.
So the people marched, and the voices shouted and the banners swung about in the sunlight, and the stones flewat the consulates-
Keilin shouted hoarsely and felt as if he were going mad.