Bruugs were docile animals. But the blue bruugs of Kandarth, the deserted island in South Trask, were hardly so. And they refused to be understood.
As he wandered through the darkened building, he began to wonder whether or not he was biting off more than he was going to get down his throat. If the bruug were blue, well, that was it. But even if it were the domesticated kind, it had, after all, been captured (or, more likely, given away by the Traskans) centuries before. Perhaps it had forgotten.
The roaring grew louder. Kalainnen mounted the stairs.
It was dark, but he was growing accustomed to the darkness and could see fairly well. Not well enough to discern the color of the bruug’s skin at a distance, though; he would have to look under the thick fur, and by the time he got that close it no longer mattered much.
On the fourth floor he came across the bruug, sprawled out in the corridor and munching angrily on a splintered door. The bruug was a big one; he had prospered in captivity. He scented Kalainnen and looked up slowly at him and emitted a great roar.
“Hello,” Kalainnen said, looking at the beast’s eyes. As it began to lumber to its feet, Kalainnen walked toward it, smiling, trying desperately not to let his fear show through and destroy his chances of mastering the animal. The roars of the bruug filled the hall. Kalainnen began to talk to it, calmly, in Traskan.
It rose to its full height and began to charge.
“No. You don’t want to do that at all,” Kalainnen said, listening to the echoes of his voice rattling down the corridor. “You don’t want to do that.”
Ten minutes later he emerged from the building, with the bruug following docilely behind.
It had been a red one.
The Colonial Minister was a jovial-looking rotund man, one of the few unimpressive-looking Terrans Kalainnen had ever seen. Kalainnen studied his features for a moment or two, and looked down again at the text of the agreement whereby Terra would supply the planet Trask with a team of technologists and whatever aid would be necessary, in return for valuable services rendered by an inhabitant of the aforementioned planet Trask, etc., etc.
“It sounds reasonable enough,” Kalainnen said. “I think it’ll meet our needs admirably.”
“I’m pleased to hear that, Mr. Kalainnen,” the Colonial Minister said. “But I still don’t understand how a planet whose people have such skills as you showed can need any help from us.”
“It’s a matter of different kinds of skills, Mr. Minister,” Kalainnen said. “Every planet understands certain things that no other one does. Once in a book of Terran folklore—we have a few old Terran books on Trask—I read a story that reminds me of this. It seems a backwoodsman came to a big city, and, amid the roaring of traffic, said he heard a cricket chirping. They laughed at him, but he walked down a street and pointed out a nearby sewer opening and sure enough, they found a little cricket in the opening. Everyone congratulated him for his miraculous powers of hearing. But he proved that he didn’t hear any better than anyone else, just that he heard different things.”
“How did he do that?” the Minister murmured.
“It was easy. He took a small coin out of his pocket and dropped it on the sidewalk. Two hundred people stopped and looked around at the sound.”
The Minister smiled. Kalainnen knew from experience that he was a busy man, but at the moment he had the upper hand and he wanted to make the most of it.
“The moral of the story is, sir, that some planets are good for one thing and some for another. And so if you’ll give us the tools we need, we’ll show you why ferocious monsters on Terra are pleasant pets on Trask. Fair enough?”
“Fair enough,” said the Minister. He extended his pen to Kalainnen, who signed the agreement with a flourish.
On his way out of the Ministry he passed Frandel, who was standing gloomily in the midst of a seemingly endless line.
“Let’s get together again some time,” Kalainnen said, pausing for a moment. The Quangen just glared at him angrily. “Let me know when you get back to our system, old man. Perhaps you’d like to come over to Trask and study our technology.” Kalainnen smiled. “Best of luck, friend. The Minister is a fine man; you’ll see that as soon as you get to see him. If you get to see him, that is.”
And Kalainnen walked on, feeling very pleased, and—unintentionally, of course—treading on the tip of this Quangen’s prehensile tail, which he had wanted to do all his life.