A World of Difference (14 page)

“Will you see him, eldest of eldest, or shall I send him away?” Panjand asked.

“I’ll see him,” Fralk said mournfully. He put his pen beside the cured hide on which he had been writing and stepped away from the table. “Put a few more drops of
por
-juice into that bowl of isigot blood to keep it from clotting,” he told Panjand. “I’ll finish up these notes in a while, after I’m done with the human.”

Panjand widened himself. “Yes, eldest of eldest.”

Fralk, meanwhile, was gathering effusiveness around himself as if it were one of the outer skins humans wore. He opened the door Panjand had shut.
“Zdrast’ye,”
he said, and then peered with three eyes at the human standing in front of him. “Sergei Konstantinovich,” he finished after a barely perceptible pause.

“Hello, Fralk,” the human replied in the Skarmer tongue. “How are you?”

His accent, Fralk thought, was improving. “Well, thank you. What can I do for you today?” He discarded some of his expansive manner; Sergei was as businesslike as Hogram.

The human proved his instinct right, coming straight to the point. “You use axes, knives from us to fight, ah, Omalo across, ah, Jö—Ervis Gorge?”

“Well, of course,” Fralk said. “I told, ah, Shota all about that.”

“Not use for that,” Sergei said.

“What?” Fralk said, though he understood the human perfectly well. “Why not? You traded them to us; they are ours now. What business do you have telling us what to do with them?”

Sergei hesitated, then said, “Humans—more humans—across Ervis Gorge.”

Fralk felt his arms flap limply against his body as he took that news in. Humans were so strange that he had never imagined there being more of them. “How many more humans?” he got out at last, wondering if all the lands he knew were going to be overrun by the funny-looking creatures. It was not a pleasant idea; he would not wish a plague of humans even on the Omalo. On second thought, maybe he would.

“Six.” Sergei held up fingers so Fralk could not misunderstand him.

“These humans are of your domain?”

“Nyet,”
Sergei said, surprising Fralk.

“Of your clan, then? Of the same first bud, I mean.”

“Nyet,”
Sergei said again.

Exasperated, Fralk burst out, “Well, is your clan even friendly with theirs?”

“No,” Sergei repeated after another pause.

“Then why in the name of the first Skarmer bud do you care what happens to them?” Fralk’s satisfaction at losing his temper quickly dissipated in the effort he needed to get meaning across to the human.

Sergei replied as slowly, groping for words and concepts. “My domain, other humans’ domain not fight now. We your friends. Other humans friends with people across gorge. You, they fight, maybe my domain, other humans’ domain fight, too.”

Fralk opened and closed his hands several times. He had not
thought about humans having politics of their own, either. He brightened. “How’s this?” he said. “We won’t harm these other humans at all; we’ll just use your axes and hammers on the miserable Omalo.”

“You get hammers, axes from us. What Omalo get from other humans?”

Fralk wished he were back inside, keeping records for a project that had nothing to do with humans—at least, he had thought it had nothing to do with humans. Humans had a gift for making difficulties all out of proportion to their numbers. “What
do
the Omalo get from these other humans?” he asked.

“Not know.” Sergei spread his hands.

“Wonderful.” Along with the advantage surprise would give the Skarmer, Fralk had hoped the males who crossed the gorge would carry with them the superior weapons he had obtained for them from the humans. That would make him a hero as well as the rich male he was becoming. But now … “Do humans have weapons stronger than axes and hammers?”

“Yes. Our—” Lacking the word in Fralk’s language, Sergei perforce used one from his own. “—firearms stronger. Stronger a lot.”

“Do these other humans also have firearms?” Fralk echoed the strange sound as well as he could.

“Yes,” Sergei said. “Not as good as ours, but yes.”

Fralk had a really appalling thought. “Would the other humans give firearms to the Omalo?”

“Not know,” Sergei said. “Not think so.”

That was something, anyway, Fralk thought. “Do they have hatchets and hammers? Would they give those to the Omalo?”

“Not know if have. If yes, they give, I think.”

As Sergei did not have eyestalks, Fralk could not even vent his feelings by wishing the purple itch on them. His dream of a quick, easy conquest aided by marvelous new weapons he personally had helped obtain from the humans looked to be just that—a dream. He tried to find something to be optimistic about and finally did. “At least,” he said, “the Omalo won’t surprise us.”

The reversal in the sentence left the human floundering, and Fralk was in no mood to help him along. Partially changing the subject, Sergei asked, “How you go across Ervis Gorge, fight Omalo?”

He could not have found a better question to restore Fralk’s good humor. “I was just keeping track of the frames involved
when you got here,” he said. “We’re making them faster than we thought we could, and we should have plenty when the time comes.”

He repeated himself several times. “Frames?” Sergei said. He did not know the word, and context was not enough to give him its meaning. That made Fralk hope the Skarmer plan was something even these oh-so-clever humans had not thought of.

“Here, I’ll show you,” he said. “Come with me.” He led Sergei toward a large shed not far from where they were standing. As they walked, Fralk remarked, “You know, of course, that as spring turns to summer, water flows through Ervis Gorge.”

“Da,”
was all Sergei said, disappointing Fralk, whose “of course” had been solely for effect. Then he reflected that humans, being so beastly hot themselves, would not find water as much a nuisance as people did. He had already noticed that they preferred it to ice. That, he thought, was their problem.

Inside the shed, half an eighteen of males—three crews of three—were busy using vines and dried massi eyestalks to lash curved pieces into frames that looked like bowls bigger across than a male was tall. “We’ll stretch hides over them, and then—” He paused dramatically. “If we put them on water, they’ll stay on the top of it, even with a couple of males inside. We call them ‘boats.’ ” He used the borrowed Lanuam word as if it were part of the Skarmer tongue, hoping Sergei would think his people had had the idea for themselves.

“Boats,” the human repeated. He was silent for some little while, looking at the frames. Then he asked, “In Ervis Gorge, ice, water, rocks all together,
da
?”

“Yes,” Fralk agreed. And yes, he thought, humans plainly knew plenty about water.

“You use boats with ice, water, rocks all together? These boats?” Sergei pointed at the frames.

“Yes. I told you, they’ll stay on top of the water.”

“Bozhemoi
,” Sergei said. “When ice, rocks, ah, touch boats, then what?”

Fralk had not thought about that. The Lanuam, from whom the Skarmer clans had bought the concept of boats, had never mentioned it. Maybe they would have if asked, but the Skarmer did not know the right questions. Having been on the other end of a few deals like that, Fralk admired the distant Lanuam and resolved to pay them back if he ever got the chance.

Now, though, he put the best appearance he could on things.
“Most will not be hit at all; others will endure some damage and keep on. We should not lose many.”

“Bozhemoi,”
Sergei said again. It was another of those annoying human words with no clear meaning, but Fralk did not think the human seemed enthusiastic.

“Hurry up,” Sarah said, hopping up and down. “I’m turning into an ice cube.” She was only wearing shoes, shorts, a T-shirt, and a bicycle helmet; the temperature hovered right around freezing.

Irv shoved the wide stepladder next to
Damselfly
. As soon as it was in place, Sarah bounded to the top, hitting only every other rung. Irv climbed up beside her and helped her down into the cockpit. When she was safely onto the seat, he swung down the cockpit cover and latched it closed.

Sarah held a checklist in her hand and went through it item by item. “Just like Emmett,” she said. Irv could hear her teeth chattering;
Damselfly
’s thin Mylar skin—glorified Saran wrap, Irv thought—did nothing to block sound.

He got off the ladder, carried it out of the way, and went to his station at
Damselfly
’s left wingtip. “Radio check,” Sarah announced through the little set that hung on his belt.

“Reading you fine,” he answered. “Do you read me?”

“Five by five. I’m going to charge up my battery now.” She started pedaling furiously, powering a small generator. After a minute or two, she said, “Thank God—I’m starting to warm up.”

Louise Bragg was standing by the other wingtip. “Battery holding its charge all right?” she asked.

Irv saw Sarah’s head move as she checked the gauge. “Looks real good,” she said. “I’m going to engage the prop now.” The big airfoil started to spin.
Damselfly
rolled forward. Irv and Louise went with it to hold the wing level, first walking, then at a run.

“Airborne!” Sarah shouted, so loudly that Irv heard her both over the radio and straight from the cabin of the plane for which she was not only pilot but also engine. “That’s always so smooth,” she added a moment later, much more quietly. “The first time I did it, I didn’t even realize I’d gotten into the air till my ground crew started cheering.” Then she fell silent once more, concentrating on her pedaling.

Damselfly
gained altitude and began a slow turn toward Reatur’s castle. It was almost silent in the sky; only the clicking
whir of the bicycle chain and the whoosh of air past the propeller revealed its presence, and they faded past notice by the time it had flown a couple of hundred yards.

“How’s it handle?” Irv called when he saw his wife was having no trouble keeping the ultra-ultralight in the air.

“No problem,” Sarah answered. “If anything, it’s easier than flying it on Earth. The denser air’s giving me more lift, just like they thought it would back home.” Her voice confirmed her words; she did not sound as if she were straining.

The Minervans working in the fields had not paid
Damselfly
much attention while the humans brought its pieces out of
Athena
and put them together. The locals had no idea what it was for. The only flying thing they had ever seen was the spacecraft itself, and
Damselfly
, Irv thought, was about as much like
Athena
as a feather duster was like a hawk.

But when the Mylar and graphite-epoxy contraption got into the air, the Minervans stopped whatever they were doing. They let out piercing hoots of amazement and pointed with arms and eyestalks both. Several came rushing over to Irv and Louise, still pointing and shouting excited questions at the same time.

Louise turned to Irv in some alarm. “What
are
they saying?” she asked. She and Emmett spent more time on
Athena
and less with the Minervans than the other four Americans and had picked up less of the local language.

“I don’t quite know myself,” Irv said. Enough Minervans were clustered around him that much of what they were asking came through only as babel. He also saw that many more had come to him than to Louise. That made him give a mental sigh. Even exhilarated as they were, the locals remained nervous of a mature female.

As he listened, he finally began to catch on to what the Minervans were saying. About what he should have expected, he supposed: What is it? How does it work? Can I ride on it? Can I get one?

He had trouble staying polite as he answered the last question; his mental image of a Minervan on a bicycle seat pedaling like a madman made him want to giggle. But the natives kept after him.
Athena
and the capabilities it represented were beyond their comprehension, but
Damselfly
they could appreciate.

“Whew!” he said to Louise when the Minervans at last believed him when he insisted the ultra-ultralight could not carry passengers, was not made for their shape, and was the only one
of its kind. “They never thought of flying, so of course it looks easy to them.”

“I wonder what they’d think if we told them we’d been to the moon and back eight years before anybody flew a person-powered plane around a one-mile course.” Louise was Sarah’s backup on
Damselfly
and knew more about what had gone into its design than Irv did.

In any case, the anthropologist was more interested in the effect the plane had on the Minervans than in its technology. “If the next ship here brought a dozen
Damselflies
adapted for the natives—assuming you could—they wouldn’t need any other trade goods like the ones we brought, and they’d come home showing a profit.”

Louise let out a cynical snort that sounded very much like one of Emmett’s. “That’s as good a reason as any for NASA not to let ’em do it, and better than most.”

“I suppose so.” Irv looked north and east.
Damselfly
, cruising at not much more than a man’s height off the ground, was almost right down on the horizon. Irv thumbed the radio switch. “How’s it going, darling?”

“Important discovery—it is possible to sweat on Minerva. Who would have thunk it?” Irv could hear the effort in her words, and the way she spaced them so they would not interfere with her breathing.

“How’s
Damselfly
going to do as a picture platform?” he asked.

Suddenly fatigue was not the only thing putting pauses between her words—exasperation was there, too. “I’m busier than hell in here, just trying to keep this beast flying—I haven’t had a lot of time for pictures.”

She had a point. By airliner standards, her controls were crude to the point of starkness: a stick, a radio switch, a prop control switch, a prop pitch gauge, an airspeed indicator, a battery charge gauge, and the camera button. But no airline pilot had to make his plane go by himself.