Federation World (28 page)

He paused for a moment to hold both hands palm upward for a moment, then stood up.

"There is nothing I can tell you about this stinking, inhabited swamp we call home," he went on, "that could possibly interest a couple of Galactics. Much more important things are being done in the First's Estate, but special permission is required before overflying his territory-"

"We are not Galactic Citizens," Martin broke in, hiding his disappointment over what seemed to be the sudden end of the meeting while trying desperately to prolong it. "And we would much rather talk to people who did not fire missies at us. And to strangers like us, all news is interesting, and probably important. Besides, we are taught that it is theoretically possible to discover and deduce everything that there is to know about any planetary culture simply by talking to one of its members, given the opportunity and sufficient time."

"Sufficient-" the Keidi began, and made a startled, braying sound. "The few years remaining to me are insufficient for such a project and, forgetful though I have become, I do not remember offering extended hospitality. Quickly, bring your chairs inside."

"Is it all right?" Martin asked anxiously, looking at the distant circle of watchers who were becoming fewer by the moment. "Do they trust us now?"

“No," the Keidi said, "but it's going to rain."

The first large drops were slapping into the mud as they entered the shelter.

They followed him into a small, unlit, outer room, stumbling against what felt like a long, thin table and several chairs similar to the two they were carrying, and through a heavy curtain into what was plainly the Keidi's living quarters. By the light of two wall-mounted candles Martin could make out the dim outlines of a bed, one big, low, thickly padded chair, a few large and small tables, wall cupboards, and many well-filled bookshelves, although not all of them were filled with books. The entire surface of one wall was covered by staves, mounted horizontally and labeled as if they were trophies of some kind. A few of them were decorated with colored bands and carvings and had long, highly polished metal ferrules, while the majority of them had the warped, knobbly look which suggested they had been whittled from the branches of young trees. There were two empty places in the display which, Martin felt sure, their newly acquired staves had occupied.

Although there were no ventilation openings visible, the room smelled fresh and clean except for the faint, acrid odor of the candles. Both the visibility and the smell increased as the Keidi moved around the room lighting more of them.

"An interesting collection," Martin said, nodding toward the wall and trying to find something complimentary to say about the place.

"Most of them were sent to me when their owners died," the Keidi said, "and some are the gifts of important people who felt obligated to me. I like to look at them when, as sometimes happens, I wonder if I am as content here as I expected to be. But I can only use one at a time, so you may keep those two as long as you need them."

Martin, who had been about to replace his staff on the wall, wondered what kind of being this was who would lend his trophies, which occupied pride of place in the room, to a couple of strangers.

"We, too, are obligated to you," Martin said.

"You are," the Keidi said, dropping heavily into his seat and motioning for them to bring their own chairs closer. Even on those totally alien features Martin thought that he could read incredulity as he went on. "If two of you are going to deduce the details of our entire culture by questioning only me, you had better begin."

"The questions," Martin said carefully, "would include asking why some people shoot missies at us while others extend hospitality."

"Some people," the Keidi replied, "maintain themselves in constant readiness for war, and react violently against any threat to their security. A Federation World ship would be seen as the ultimate threat. Then there are other people, some very selfish, unscrupulous, culturally undernourished people, like myself, who might consider the surrender of half a day's time and two well balanced staves a fair exchange for the chance to talk to beings whose background and thought processess are unfamiliar. Will you answer as well as ask questions?"

"Of course," Martin said, relaxing in his chair. By sheer good fortune they had met an elderly, dissatisfied, and very bored Keidi who wanted to talk as badly as they wanted to listen.

"In that case-" he began, when the loud, erratic beating of a drum made him break off. He made a sound which did not translate, and went on. "I'm wanted."

The candlelight paled in the suddenly bright, electrically lit room.

"And the early power switch-on means that I'm wanted urgently, on the radio. It is possible that you will have a long time to consider your questions."

He moved quickly to the radio which, in the candlelight, Martin had mistaken for an incomplete shelf of books, and snapped, "What is the problem?"

"A signal for you from across the river," came the reply. "Relayed from the Estate, coded most urgent, and action immediate-"

"I can't remember a message from the First which wasn't," their Keidi said.

"You are to contact Frontier Camp Eleven direct," the voice went on. "It would be advisable to send your visitors away first."

The Keidi made another untranslatable sound, then bent forward, apparently to change the frequency before going on, "Frontier Eleven, you have an urgent message for me. There are strangers here. What is it?"

There was a moment's hissing silence, then another, harsher voice said, "The dregels take you, our signal went out just after dawn! Why don't you people keep proper radio watch so we wouldn't have to waste time on helio relays? This is an urgent-"

"Why don't you people give us enough fuel to run a generator all day?" the Keidi broke in. "And why don't you stop wasting time talking about wasting time, and tell me what is wrong there?"

"Very well," the voice replied. "But if the channel isn't secure, use voice code..."

The message was brief and when the other paused for the reply, their Keidi protested, "But you're nearly three day's journey from here. Can't you use one of your own-"

"The First wants you, and quickly," the voice broke in. "Initial transport will be on a locally owned corsa, which should be saddled and waiting for you on the bridge by now, but a vehicle has been sent out to meet you. Understand this, you will not stop for any reason or any person. This will be a major obligation, a personal three-one on the First. Please, can you leave at once?"

"Yes," the Keidi said, and broke the connection.

Martin stood up quickly. Fingering his wrist unit he looked warningly at Beth, then said, "Plainly we have visited you at an inconvenient time, so we will return to our ship. Thank you for the staves and the hospitality, and if there is anything we can do to help you, it will be done. We hope to meet you again, soon."

The Keidi stared at them for a moment. "My apologies. If you wish to continue this conversation, and if all goes well, I should be back here in twenty days."

"You'll see us," Martin said under his breath, "much sooner than that."

They moved through the outer room, whose equipment and purpose was now clearly revealed by the electric lighting, and onto the slippery ground outside. It was raining heavily, but the staves enabled them to keep their balance and find a way back to the lander without taking another mudbath. Martin glanced back once to see the Keidi, loaded with a heavy backpack, leaving his shelter and heading for the island end of the bridge. By the time they were on board, he was walking quickly along the central span with his staff threaded through the straps of his pack. On the mainland end of the bridge they could see a figure holding the reins of a large, hairy quadruped which had to be the corsa.

I have a feeling that we're going to become seriously involved with that being," Beth said when the lander was climbing through the cloud blanket.

"We are," Martin said enthusiastically. "He's just about perfect! An important person, a local medic, with a great many people obligated to him, who is in a tearing hurry and needing but not wanting our help. Are we under radar surveillance?"

"No," Beth said, and added, "The missile they sent after us wasn't radar-directed, either. Looks as though the aimers have to eyeball the targets."

The ground scanner's image showed a picture of the mainland end of the bridge and, about fifteen miles inland, a heavily wooded depression in an area which the sensors declared to be uninhabited. Their Keidi and his mount were a moving black knot on the thin, wet thread of roadway linking the bridge with the woods.

"That looks like a good pickup spot there," Martin said, "where the road runs through these trees."

Half an hour later the lander was in a small clearing about two hundred yards from the edge of the road, and Martin was trying to shelter from the rain which was gust ing into the open entry port while he listened for the sound of the Keidi's approach. But when he did hear the corsa's hooves, he realized that for some reason the rider had increased speed. Swearing, he jumped to the ground and ran stumbling and slipping in the darkness under the trees to the edge of the readjust as the rider emerged from the curtain of rain.

Too breathless even to speak, he staggered into the middle of the road, waving his staff awkwardly to attract the other's attention.

He succeeded.

The rider leaned sideways in the saddle and swung his staff in a wide arc. Martin dropped to his knees as the metal tip whistled past the top of his head. Then the Keidi checked his mount, turned, and came galloping back to the attack.

"Stop it!" Martin yelled, jumping back to the rougher ground of the roadside. "I mean you no harm."

This time the Keidi did not swing the staff as he went past. Instead, he calmed his mount and returned at a walking pace.

"Oh, it's one of the Galactics," he said in obvious anger, looking from Martin to the dimly seen outlines of the lander. "That was a stupid thing to do. Don't you know that if anyone wanted to take me or my animal, this is the place they'd try to do it? But no, you know nothing. I'm in a hurry. Why did you stop me?"

"I'm sorry," Martin said. "We know you're in a hurry, and the reason for it. We offer you a fast and comfortable ride to the First's Estate."

"So you know," the Keidi said, tightening his grip on the staff. "But in my home you pretended to know nothing. I do not want to know your reasons for lying then or for interfering now. Stand clear!"

"Wait, please," Martin cried, squinting up at the rain-blurred image. It was like trying to hold an important conversation while taking a shower. Carefully, so that the movement would not appear threatening, he raised both arms to shoulder level in front of him and tapped his wrist.

"We didn't He to you back there," he said, "and we didn't know anything until you began talking on the radio. This is a communications device linked to the mother ship's translation computer. It enables us to understand any kind of intelligence bearing sounds regardless of how they are produced. Since it is programmed to handle every system of other-species communication, it had no trouble changing your simple verbal code so that we received it in clear."

Still the other did not respond. Martin brushed the rain from his face and went on quickly, "The message in voice code was to the effect that a pregnant female directly descended from the First, was overdue by twenty-three days, and that skilled assistance was urgently required because of extreme debilitation and consequent inability to complete the birth process. The First wants you and nobody else. All obligations of time and material incurred during your trip to Frontier Camp Eleven would be personally accepted by the First, and discharged threefold.

"Until I overheard that message and saw your treatment room on the way out," Martin added, "I didn't know that you are a doctor."

"Obstetrician," the Keidi said.