“Be seated,” Pele said. They took facing chairs on a richly textured blue carpet. “What is your errand?”
He knew little of her breed. His acquaintance with Minerva had been slight, instigated by her because she grew curious about him and not pursued for long. Otherwise he had only glimpsed Zacharians by chance, mostly in Aurea. They never seemed to leave their island in substantial numbers, unless they made interstellar trips out of their spaceport. Theirs was a society closed to outsiders. It made no production of secretiveness, exercised no censorship or anything like that. It simply didn’t communicate much, nor admit any but a few selected visitors. None of those were journalists. People who returned talked freely enough of the uniqueness they had encountered; two or three of them had written books about the place. But nothing of its inwardness ever came through. It was as if each Zacharian face were a smiling mask.
Nevertheless Targovi could see that Pele wanted him to come to the point. “I approach you, donna, more on behalf of two friends than myself,” he began. “Now I shall not insult you by claiming I have no personal concern in the matter. My situation is precarious. I landed at Aurea just as Sir Olaf Magnusson made his … declaration. Civilian space traffic is banned saved by special permission, which has not been forthcoming for me thus far. Conveying passengers—the two I bespoke—rather than trade goods, I have naught to barter for the necessities of life, and scant money lingers in my purse.”
The woman frowned. “This is no charitable organization, and it has no job openings.”
Targovi imitated a human smile, keeping his lips closed because his carnivore’s teeth could give the wrong signal. “I ask no favors, donna,” he said ingratiatingly. “Already I am in your debt.” He touched the oxygill that rose out of his robe. “Was not this, that keeps me breathing, produced on Zacharia?”
The flattery was wasted. “You paid for it, or somebody did. I have heard your species is physically strong. Try for a position as a dockhand, day laborer, or the like. Most backwoods communities lack adequate machinery.”
“No, hear me out, I pray you. Those whom I carried from Imhotep are unusual. I think they have something to offer which your people will find worthwhile. At least, the Wodenite does.”
That caught her attention. “The Wodenite who arrived yesterday? I have seen him wandering about, and considered inviting him to come for a talk. And dinner, perhaps,” Pele added in a flick of humor, “abundant though the servings must be.”
“I can introduce him to you, milady. May I tell you the story?”
He gave her an account of Axor’s quest, succinct because that should whet her appetite for details. “—In Olga’s Landing he acquired a guide, a vagabond by the name of Diana Crowfeather—”
Pele raised his hand. “Wait. Is that the dark-haired ragamuffin girl who was strolling at his side?”
“Who else?” Targovi observed her grow thoughtful, and at the same time seem a bit amused. He continued: “Diana and I are old acquaintances. I decided to do her a kindness and provide passage to Daedalus, where I thought it likelier they would find relics such as they sought than on Imhotep. If naught else, here they would have access to records of whatever may have been discovered but never really publicized. Furthermore, Diana should enjoy this planet, more congenial and almost new to her. And, to be sure, Axor would pay me.” Slipping fast by that bit of mendacity: “Unfortunately, as I said, the outbreak of hostilities left us stranded. In fact, we were arrested and interrogated.
“Upon release, Axor and Diana spent a while in Aurea searching for information about Ancient relics. What they learned made them decide to fare downstream. They might as well. I stayed behind, striving to wheedle a clearance for return to Imhotep. Nothing availed. Finally I took a boat to Lulach myself. It was an express, therefore it arrived nearly as soon.” Considering the number of such craft and their short turnaround times, Targovi didn’t anticipate anyone would attempt verification of his narrative.
“An intriguing story,” Pele said, “but what significance has it to me?”
“Much, I trust, milady,” he replied. “May I ask a question? Are there mysterious remnants on Zacharia?”
She gave him a close look. “No.”
“Truly not?”
“We have occupied the island for centuries and modified every square centimeter of it. We would know.”
Targovi sighed. “Then the clues that my comrades came upon are false. Ah, I hate the prospect of disappointing them. Their hopes were so high.”
“It was always inevitable that all sorts of unfounded rumors would go about, concerning us. Why should I lie to you?” Pele stroked her jaw. “I have, myself, heard of huge, inexplicable walls and the like—but afar in the mainland jungles or glaciers. It may be nothing more than travelers’ tales. Your associates should inquire further.”
“That may be less than easy, donna; for their purses have grown lank too. What has occured to me is this. You yourself know naught certain about Ancient relics, aside from their existence on some other planets. The subject has not interested you. However, during the centuries that Zacharians have dwelt on Daedalus, their explorers and factors must have ranged over the whole globe, as well as distant worlds. There must be ample records, and mayhap even individuals, to tell what is or is not real. It would save us—Axor—an effort that could prove hopelessly great.”
“Do you wish me, then, to make a search of our database?” The woman pondered before continuing genially, “Well, I can. You have roused my curiosity.”
“Ng-ng, milady is most generous,” Targovi said, “but that is not truly what I had in mind. Could we come to Zacharia in person and pursue our inquiries? You know that printed words and pictures, valuable though they be, are not everything. There is no substitute for discourse, for the interplay of brains.”
Pele sat straight. Her gaze sharpened. “Are you in search of free food and lodging?”
Targovi chuckled. “Plainly, yes, that is my chief motivation. Give me several standard days without pressure, perchance a week or two, and I can devise some means of keeping myself alive on Daedalus. I might even make trade arrangements with you Zacharians, or at any rate get your kind of help in persuading the Navy to let me flit home. You have influence.”
“I told you we are not a charitable organization.”
“Nor am I a beggar, donna. My humble goods may prove worthless to you, but at the moment my stock in trade includes Axor himself. Think. He is likely the first Wodenite ever to betread Daedalus. Certainly none else have come here in living memory. Not only can he tell your savants much about his world and his folk—the sort of facts that do not get into dry dispatches—but he has roamed throughout the Empire. Not only is he a leading authority on the fascinating Ancients, he has experience of many and many contemporary societies. Let us admit that this entire sector is provincial, marginally touched by the currents of civilization. Axor will come like a breath of fresh air. I assure you, as a person he is delightful.” Targovi interposed a few seconds of strategic silence. “And … the total situation in the galaxy has become totally fluid. Aught can happen, whether mortal danger or radiant opportunity. Axor is no political scientist or seeker of wealth and advantage. But he is widely traveled and he has thought deeply about the things he has witnessed—from his nonhuman, non-Cynthian, non-Merseian perspective. Who knows what clues toward action or precaution lie in what he has to tell? Dare you refuse yourselves the input he can give you?”