“Your ship will insert orbit in a couple of days, I believe. I’ll be at the port to see you off personally. If there’s anything I can do for you in the meantime, any service I can perform, please don’t hesitate to call on me.”
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Commissioner.” Ethan didn’t try to hide his disappointment. They shook hands all around once more.
Trell spoke as they were halfway out the door. “You’ll stay in the Administrator’s quarters, of course. At government expense.”
“That’s right kind of you, sir.” September smiled back at him. “Considerin’ the distance and dangers our hosts have brought us through, however, I think they’d be downright insulted if we didn’t spend our last few days with them. You understand.”
“Of course.” Ethan couldn’t tell if Trell was displeased by this announcement or not. “Anytime you change your minds, want to switch from the barbaric to the civilized, your accommodations will be waiting for you.”
“Thank you again,” Ethan said, closing the door behind them.
Jobius Trell watched the door for a minute, then resumed his seat on the couch. Fur tickled the back of his neck and he shifted his position slightly. His mind was occupied by something other than the room’s decor. Eventually he touched a nearby control, spoke into the room.
“Note: discuss visitor’s psychoverbal orientation with compudex file. Compare intensity gradient with recording of conversation with portmaster Xenaxis. Request computation of likely action tendencies, based on available data.”
Trell felt better after that, well enough to return to his real work. Always better to keep up with what he was supposed to be doing, so he could enjoy his apolitical machinations to the fullest.
Though the breeze off the harbor was comparatively mild, Ethan felt chilled through the artificial skin of his survival suit. Several local Tran sped past on the icepath they were paralleling. None turned to gawk. Humans were an accepted sight here on Arsudun.
“I guess that’s that, Skua. Give him his due, his arguments against granting status to Tran-ky-ky were strong.”
“They sure were, feller-me-lad. For instance, he was right when he said we were emotionally involved in this matter. What he didn’t add was that he’s equally involved. More than emotionally, I’ll wager. He said so with his face and his modukeys.”
“Modukeys?”
“Every word can be pronounced a lot of ways, lad. Each way carries an emotional key. I can recognize a few of ’em. Enough to tell me our friend Trell wouldn’t be too disappointed if the Tran stay just as divided and combative as they are now.” He had the facemask of his suit up. September liked to have freedom to grimace. He did so now.
“Tell me, lad. Who would stand most to profit from the present situation, from keeping Tran-ky-ky backward and unrepresented in Council? Who could keep a nice, private eye on every bit of off-planet trade and regulate it to suit his own personal accounts?”
“I didn’t get that impression from Trell at all, Skua.” Ethan kicked at the icepath, sent a few pale splinters flying. “That’s a strong accusation to make against a Resident Commissioner.”
“There’s an informal law, lad, about political appointees. The smaller the post, the less often they’re inspected, and the more opportunity there is for foolin’ around with the books.” He clapped Ethan on the back, nearly knocking him down. “Wouldn’t be the first time good manners have shielded a larcenous heart.” He frowned. “Course, he’s right about this feudal setup. We’ll have to do something about that.”
Ethan stopped, the snow swirling around him trying to find a way to penetrate his survival suit. “Do something about it? We can’t do anything about it. What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking, young feller-me-lad, that we’ve several days left to think about it…”
“Three there are it is not possible to do.” Sir Hunnar Redbeard spoke with conviction as he gazed at humans and Tran seated around the long galley table of the Slanderscree.
“It is not possible to kill a stavanzer. It is not possible to stand against a westwind Rif. And it is not possible to keep the Tran from warring among themselves.” He turned his feline stare on Ethan. His voice was as cold and assured as the slight storm howling outside the ship, making squeaking sounds in the cracks between rafters and planks.
“What you propose, friend Ethan, cannot be imagined, far less can it be done. A union of islands, a confederation of states? A council of Landgraves?” His triangular ears switched nervously. “More likely it would be for water to run freely across the seas.”
“It has to be done, Hunnar.” Ethan was half pleading with the assembled knights. “Don’t you understand how things have been set up here? The people of Arsudun and more importantly, their leaders, have a monopoly on all off-world trade and information. They profit tremendously, unfairly from it. It should be shared equally among all the Tran.”
“Aye, the metal,” a gruff voice added. Eyes turned in its direction.
Balavere Longax was Sofold’s most respected living warrior. An older, stockier version of Hunnar, his gray fur turning to white in patches, he commanded silence on the rare occasions when he chose to speak. Though less excited than those of his colleagues, his words carried considerably more weight.
“The metal. Never have I seen so much metal as the people of Arsudun possess. Nor do they seem deserving of it.” That brought irritated murmurs of agreement from several other members of the crew. “Not only their weapons, my friends, but yea too their household implements, water pots, and others are pure metal.”
Ethan nodded enthusiastically. “And they’re still being cheated, I think. Stelamic is cheaper than duralloy.”
September pushed back his chair, making the floorboards creak. “Hunnar, if the Tran will spill blood for metal, why are you so damned sure they won’t cooperate to get it?”
“It is considered degrading to cooperate with people from a less noble state,” the knight replied, as if that explained everything. “Do you remember when Sagyanak’s Horde assaulted Wannome? The she-devil’s tribe was a threat to all states. How much help was volunteered to us? How much aid did our neighbors provide to help fight the common enemy?” He sat down, mumbled, “Profit is not sufficient reason for forgetting old hatreds and suspicions. Your own Commonwealth-thing, there is no word for it in our language. The closest I can come is family.”
“That’s just how you have to start thinking of all Tran,” Ethan interrupted excitedly. “You’re a family. That’s all any race is, an extended family. Like it or not, Tran-ky-ky is destined to take its place as a member of the Commonwealth. You can’t go back to Wannome and look up at the night sky from your homes without realizing you’re a part of something much bigger and grander than Sofold. You might as well gain the advantages that are yours by right, now.” A little out of breath and a bit embarrassed at the strength of his unexpected polemic, Ethan sat back down.
“Advantages which should be spread among all Tran,” September added more quietly, but just as emphatically.
“My good friends with whom I share my warmth, I recognize the truth of your words.” Hunnar looked despondent. “Would that I could will the spirit of this world otherwise. But the Tran are good at arguing with knives, not with words.”
“Then you must achieve the same end with knives.” Colette du Kane entered the room. She waddled gracefully to the far end of the long wooden table, placed both hands on it and leaned forward. “If reason and logic aren’t enough to cement this confederation you must make, then do it with knives. The end is justified by what you will gain.” She threw Ethan and September a rather disdainful look.