F Paul Wilson - LaNague 02 (10 page)

           
“Good idea,
Larry,” Jo began. “Why don’t you–”

           
Old Pete
interrupted. “I think Jo and I should go see Mr. Haas ourselves. We’ll go as
representatives of IBA; he’s got a product and we want to help him market it.
That’s our business. What could be more natural?”

           
Tella and
Easly agreed that it was a reasonable approach, but Jo objected.

           
“Sorry,
can’t go. Too much work to do.”

           
“You can
get away for a while,” Old Pete said. “IBA won’t fall apart without you. And
think of the impact on Mr. Haas when the head of IBA pays a personal visit to
his humble abode. Why I’m sure he’ll fall all over himself telling us
everything we want to know!”

           
Everyone
laughed and Jo reluctantly agreed to accompany Old Pete to Dil. She hated
interstellar travel, hated the wave of nausea that hit her every time the ship
came in and out of warp. But Dil wasn’t that far away and IBA employed a
first-rate jump engineer for its executive craft. He could probably make the
trip in two jumps and that wouldn’t be too bad. She’d bring along some data
spools just so the trip wouldn’t be a total loss.

           
The
conversation turned to other matters and Old Pete leaned back with a smile on
his face and sighed with relief.

           
SOMEONE
SPLASHED WATER into his face. It was Heber. His expression was grim as he
helped Junior to his feet.

           
“I was
afraid something like this would happen.”

           
“You were,
huh? Why didn’t you let me in on it?”

           
Junior
glanced around as he tried to piece together his whereabouts. He last
remembered standing over by the lorry. He had been beaten, then dragged away
from it… about half a dozen locals stood around him. Acrid smoke filled the
air.

           
“The
lorry!” he cried, and looked past Heber’s shoulder. The vehicle was still
smoking, though covered with a thick coat of hissing foam.

           
“Two of Zel
Namer’s boys did it,” Heber told him. “They’d been drinking a bit too much,
started feeling mean, and things got out of hand. We’ve got them locked up for
now. I’m just glad they had the sense to drag you far enough from the lorry
so’s you wouldn’t be hurt by the blast.”

           
Junior
nodded and gingerly felt his swollen face. “So am I.”

           
The lorry
had been parked about one hundred meters from the town center. The locals must
have heard the explosion and come running with fire-fighting equipment. His
eyes came to rest on a familiar figure: Bill Jeffers stood off to the side, a
spent extinguisher dangling from his hand. He sensed Junior’s scrutiny and
turned.

           
“I want you
to know that I had nothing to do with this, Finch,” he said. “Even if you are
doing your damnedest to put me out of business.”

           
“You know
something, Bill,” Junior said in a low voice, “I believe you. And the last
thing I want to do is put you out of business. All I want you to do is change a
few of your policies.”

           
“You’re
trying to get me to feed a bunch of half-breeds in my store!”

           
“I’m not
forcing you to do anything,” Junior said, maintaining a calm, reasoned tone for
the benefit of the other locals nearby who were all ears. “Whatever you decide,
the choice will be yours and yours alone. I’m just making it more profitable
for you to see things my way.”

           
Jeffers
fumbled for an answer. Failing to find a suitable one, he wheeled and stalked
away.

           
“Well,
whether it’s force or not really doesn’t matter much now,” said Heber, glancing
after Jeffers. “Without that lorry, the game is up.”

           
Junior
nodded slowly, grimly. “I guess it is. Peck will never jeopardize another one,
and I can’t say I blame him.”

           
“Maybe
something can be worked out,” Heber said. His eyes were fixed on the horizon.

           
“Like
what?”

           
He
shrugged. “I’m not sure, yet. But we can always hope, can’t we?”

           
“Guess so.
But hope by itself has a notoriously poor efficiency record.”

           
Heber
laughed. “Agreed. And since it doesn’t look like you’re going to make it back
to Zarico, you’ll need a place to spend the night. Come on back to the office
and I’ll fix you up with a cot.”

           
They walked
back to the town in silence. Once in the office, Heber reached down between the
side of the desk and the wall and pulled out a folding cot.

           
“I keep
this here for times when it gets too hot upstairs.”

           
“You mean
you don’t have a temperature regulator?” Junior asked.

           
Heber
snorted. “The human race may be able to travel between the stars but there’s no
temperature regulator in this building, or in any other building in Danzer.
You’ve got to get it into your head, Mr. Finch, that people out here are just
scraping by. You may see a flitter truck now and again but don’t mistake it for
affluence – it’s a necessity for some farmers. We live here at just about the
same level as pre-space man back on old Earth. It’s a different story in the
capital, of course; but Danzer and Copia might as well be on different planets.
And speaking of Copia, I’ve got a call to make.”

           
“Where to?”

           
“You’ll
find out. But for now, why don’t you just lie down on that cot and get some
sleep. Things may look better in the morning.”

           
Junior
doubted that but nodded agreement. When Heber was gone, he lay back on the cot
and put his hands behind his head, planning to stay awake until Heber’s return.
He was asleep in minutes.

           
SOMEONE WAS
SHAKING HIM and he opened his eyes. The morning sun was turning from orange to
yellow and was streaming through the window into the office.

           
“Wake up!”
Heber was saying. “I’ve got a vid reporter from the capital waiting to meet
you.”

           
Junior
jerked upright in the cot. “A vid reporter? Is that who you called in Copia
last night?”

           
Heber
nodded. “Yes! And did he jump when I told him what had happened. He seems to
think it will make a big story. Wants to meet you right away.”

           
“Damn!”
Junior said as he rubbed his eyes and rose to his feet. “Why’d you have to go
and do that? You should have asked me about it first.”

           
“What’s the
matter? I thought you’d be happy.”

           
“Not about
a vid reporter, I’m not. They bring nothing but trouble.”

           
“Trouble’s
already here, I’m afraid,” Heber said gravely. “A quick look in the mirror will
remind you of that.” Junior gingerly touched his swollen, discolored left cheek
as Heber continued. “Maybe the knowledge that the vid’s got an eye on the town
will prevent any follow-ups to last night’s incident.”

           
Junior
considered this a moment, then shrugged. “Maybe you’re right, but I doubt it.
Where is he?”

           
“Right
outside. C’mon.”

           
As Junior
stepped from the office he saw a compact man in a bright, clean, tailored suit;
he was immediately struck by the incongruity of such apparel in the Danzer
setting. As the reporter caught sight of him, he snatched up his recording
plate and held it out at arm’s length. Junior suddenly realized that he must
look like hell – his hair uncombed, his bruised face unwashed and unshaven, his
clothes slept in.

           
“Mr.
Finch?” said the reporter. “I’m Kevin Lutt from JVS. I’d like to ask you a
question or two if I may.”

           
“Sure,”
Junior said with ill-concealed disinterest. “What do you want to know?”

           
“Well,
first of all, I’d like to get a look at the lorry that was burned.”

           
Junior
shrugged. “Follow me.” He turned to Heber. “I’ll meet you back here later.”

           
Walking
ahead as the vid man recorded the scenery, Junior felt ill at ease. He did not
relish being probed and questioned about his involvement with the Vanek. It was
no one else’s business but his own, but Heber seemed to think an interview
would help and things couldn’t get much worse, anyway.

           
When they
reached the charred remains of the lorry, Junior stood back and watched as the
vid reporter set the scene for an interview. He scanned the wreck, then turned
his recorder plate on Junior.

           
“How does
it feel to have so narrowly escaped death, Mr. Finch?”

           
“It was no
narrow escape. I was dragged a good distance from the lorry before it was
fired. No one tried to kill me, just scare me a little.”

           
Lutt tried
another tack. “Just what are your reasons for getting involved in this?”

           
Junior
merely shrugged and said, “Wheels within wheels.”

           
He didn’t
like Lutt and he was feeling more and more uncooperative by the minute. The big
outside world was threatening to push its way into Danzer and the little town
could be ruined in the process. And it would all be his fault.

           
“Did you
know there’s legislation pending in the capital that pertains directly to such
blatant bigotry as this?”

           
“Heard
something to that effect.”

           
“Then why
do you feel it necessary to risk your life to do something that the legislature
will do for you in a short time?”

           
“First of
all, Mr. Lutt, let me repeat that my life has not yet been in danger, and most
likely will not be. And as for your question: I have never depended on any
legislation to do anything whatsoever for me. As a matter of fact, it usually
winds up doing something to me.”

           
Lutt
brushed this off. “You’re facing a violent, bigoted town, Mr. Finch. The events
of last night prove that. Aren’t you just a little afraid?”

           
Junior
almost lost control on that one. In typical journalese, Lutt was lumping Heber
and all those like him in with the likes of the Namer boys.

           
“Get lost,
Lutt,” he snarled and turned away. He was about to start walking back toward
town when a movement in the brush caught his eye.

           
In a slow
procession, the Vanek were coming. As he stood and watched them approach, he
noted that Lutt had repositioned himself with his recorder plate held high.
When the entire group had assembled itself in a semi-circle around Junior, the
chief elder stepped forward and raised his hand. As one, the forty-odd Vanek
bowed low and held the position as the elder presented Junior with a begging
bowl and a detailed carving of a Jebinose fruit tree in full bloom.

           
“They’ll
never believe this at home,” Lutt muttered breathlessly, recording the scene
from different angles.

           
“Now cut
that out!” Junior yelled at the Vanek.

           
“But,
bendreth,” said the elder, “we wish to pay you honor. You have been harmed on
our behalf. This has never happened before and–”

           
“And
nothing! The whole idea of this little campaign was to get you to assert
yourselves and demand the dignity and respect you deserve. I turn around and
the next thing I know you’re bowing and scraping. Cut it out and stand erect!”

           
“But you
don’t understand, bendreth,” said the elder.

           
“I think I
do,” Junior said softly, “and I’ll treasure these gifts for as long as I live,
but let’s forget about gratitude and all that for now. Our main concern at the
moment is a replacement for the lorry. Until we can get one, you’ll just have
to hold out. Borrow from each other, share what food you have until we can get
some transportation. Whatever you do, hold to the plan until you hear from me.”

           
The elder
nodded and started to bow, but caught himself. “Yes, bendreth.”

           
“And don’t
bow to anyone – ever.” He gave a quick wave and started for the town. Lutt
trotted up behind him.

           
“Mr. Finch,
you’ve just made me a famous man. If I don’t get a journalism award for this
recording, no one will. I’ll never be able to repay you for this.”

           
Junior
increased his stride and kept his face averted as he replied. The simple
unabashed gratitude in the little Vanek ceremony had moved him more than he
cared to admit. As he hurried toward town clutching the bowl and the statue, one
under each arm, his eyes were tilled with tears.

           
“You can
get lost,” he told Lutt.

           
HEBER
SMILED AND SHOOK his head as Junior gave him a quick rundown of what had
happened.

           
“You can’t
blame them, really,” he said. “Every once in a while a Terran will go out of
his way for a Vanek, but you’re the first one they’ve ever known to take a
beating on their behalf. You’ll probably rate a spot on one of the major spokes
of the Great Wheel when they tell their grandchildren about you.” He paused,
then, “How’d you get on with Lutt?”

           
“Not too
well, I’m afraid. How would you feel if you were tired, dirty, grubby, and
hungry, and some fast-talking reporter was sticking his recorder plate in your
face and asking a lot of stupid questions?”

           
“Not too
much like being friendly, I suppose,” Heber admitted.

           
“And even
under the best of conditions I doubt if you’d have liked the timbre of his
questions.”

           
Heber
shrugged. “I expect some smug generalizations to come out of this, but
publicity – even unfair publicity – may save you from another beating.”

           
Junior
rubbed his tender jaw. “I’m all for that.”

           
HEBER
ENTERED HIS OFFICE the next morning with a news sheet clutched in his hand.
Junior was just finishing off a breakfast ration pack.