Shaman (2 page)

That said, she flourished her bell-stick, whirled in a rainbow of fabric and trotted from the tent. The Elders and other Shaman immediately dispersed.

“Whoof!” Rick Halfax shook his head. “That was a quark!”

“No, I should have anticipated it.” Rhys picked up his brief-comp. “Let's go retrench.”

“So, Llewellyn,” said Zarber's bottomless voice from behind him, “what do you suppose you gained by pretending to be the Tanaka Shaman?”

“What makes you think I'd tell you?”

The older man smiled, looking like a cross between a freshly fed Count Dracula and a cheerful mortician. “Just checking. Tell me, you aren't really going to ask Danetta Price to come out here and pow-wow with the natives, are you?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“You could use your imagination... that is, assuming you've got one.”

“Use my imagination. You mean lie?”

Zarber shrugged. “You're already doing that, aren't you... Shaman?” He gathered his team and left.

“Are we going to ask Ms. Price to come to Pa-Loana?” asked Yoshi.

“If we want that foon, I think we have to.”

o0o

“Are you sure this is necessary, Rhys?” Framed in the com-unit's visual display, Danetta Price looked a little skeptical and a lot harried. “I'm in the middle of a buyout of Goodyear and the ‘B-B shooters' are giving us a hell of a time.”

“Tell me about it,” said Rhys. “I've got Vladimir Zarber at this end.”

“Oh?” Danetta was suddenly very interested. “That explains why he's not here. It also means they think this foon thing is as important as we do...” She chewed her lower lip, frowning. “By the way, you have my sympathy... about Zarber. But do you really—”

“Yes, I do think it's necessary. The tribal etiquette demands that both Chiefs and Shaman be involved in any negotiations that affect the tribal Clans. I've already established myself as the Tanaka Clan Shaman. Now, we just need a Clan Chieftain.”

“Lord, this is right up your ethnic alley, isn't it? Do they wear plaid kilts?”

“No, more like paisleys and feathers. Can you come, or shall I pack up and hie home?”

Danetta Price heaved a gigantic sigh. “What's Bristol-Benz doing?”

“I think Vladimir is considering bringing in a ringer. He's got a backlog of assistants to draw from. The only problems is, they're all fairly young. He had his senior assistant and secretary with him today and he's already established that neither of them is the Chieftain.”

“Do you think the Pa-Kai can tell a young Human from a mature one?”

“I don't know, but I have a suspicion this Shaman of theirs could. They're humanoid themselves—or pretty much so. I can tell their young ones from the senior citizens. Although, I have to admit, that's partly a function of dress...”

“Get that introspective look off your face and advise me, Rhys. What do you think?”

“I think if we don't want to have to purchase all our slatex from Bristol-Benz, you'd better take the next TAS shuttle to Pa-Loana. I'm not going to snoot these people with a bogus Chieftain.”

Danetta sighed again. “Damn your ethical hide, Rhys. All right, you're the Professor. Is it nice there? How's the weather?”

“It's beautiful. Lush, green, violet skies, mild temperatures.”

She smiled. “Sounds like Newscot—except for the violet skies. You ought to be right at home.”

He returned the smile. “Well, there aren't any stone circles, but I like it. When you get here, I'll show you the sights.”

He broke the link and sat for a moment, staring at the blank screen of the com-unit. Then he went to find the shuttle's Captain.

o0o

“I don't understand,” said Yoshi, frowning at the colorful piles of cloth. “Why are you making a costume?”

Rhys selected a vibrantly green rain tarp and flung it over his shoulders. It clashed agreeably with the red of his tartan. “I'm a Shaman, aren't I? I want to look like one.”

“Count Vladimir is going to laugh his fangs out,” warned Rick.

“Let him. If his fangs fall out, so much the better for us. Now, I want you two to do a little reconnaissance work. Go hobnob with some apprentice Shaman. Check out what they wear and how they act. Then, we'll design some costumes for you, too.”

“Are you serious, Professor?” asked Rick, scrunching up his forehead.

“Look, Roddy, we've already made a not-so-wonderful first impression by appearing in ‘young, dirty' clothes. We need to improve on that, don't you think?”

Yoshi frowned. “What does that mean— ‘young, dirty' clothes? Why did the Shaman say that?”

“Take a look around the villages. See if you can figure it out for yourselves. Now, get on it.”

Rhys arranged the bright orange fingers he'd cut from a pair of Tanaka OmniClime all-weather gloves into a cockscomb atop his very red hair. He waggled his head to make sure they'd stay put, then left the shuttle.

He managed to locate the Eldest's Shaman without too much trouble and approached her, making the “Your humble equal approaches you” face and matching gestures. He sidled the last three steps to stand before her, underlining his appreciation of her station.

“You have put off your young, dirty clothes,” observed the Shaman.

“That was my costume of travel,” explained Rhys lightly. “We came to you straight from our ship and had no time to put on our proper clothing.”

The Shaman nodded, looking Rhys over carefully. “You are much prettier,” she said, then made the “Listen, I am saying something important” face. “A Shaman must never forget its dignity,” she told him. “Better you should dress well and be late than appear in the Council Tent in a child's clothing.”

Rhys nodded and looked woebegone, letting his shoulders droop. “This is so,” he sighed.

The Shaman put her long narrow hand on his shoulder and canted her head to one side. “You are very young,” she told him, “but I feel you have the colors of a good Shaman. You can learn much by watching your elders.”

“It will be a privilege to learn (most humbly) from you, O Colorful One.”

The Shaman smiled toothily. “Your praise is singing. Now, say why you have come.”

“I wished you to know, O Bright and Shining One, that my Chieftain will arrive in four of your days and will be honored to sit in the Council Tent of the Pa-Kai.”

The Shaman made a “Have I heard you correctly?” face and said, “Why does it take so much longer for your Chief to arrive? You and not-Shaman Rumble Mouth are from the same world, yet he sends an Elder to tell me his Chief will arrive tomorrow morning.”

Rhys wished he could just bring himself to tell the Shaman that was because the Bristol-Benz “Chief” was a fake, but his personal code of ethics forbade that bit of back-biting. Besides, as far as he knew the Pa-Kai didn't have a word for fake. He suspected they would after associating with Humans for any length of time.

He didn't have any way to explain Time Altered Space travel to the Pa-Kai either, so he settled for trying to bill Danetta Price as a conscientious sort of Chief, in Pa-Kai terms.

“Your wise eyes will easily see why that is,” he said. “My Chieftain is a female and she feels she must see to the needs of her Clan families before she can be free to do business.”

The Shaman nodded approvingly. “An honorable Chieftain. I will advise the Eldest that we should wait for her arrival before speaking again of foon. It would be only courteous to do so.”

“Thank you, Most Splendid Shaman!” exclaimed Rhys, bowing deeply, then capering two steps to one side. “I am fulfilled.”

“Welcomes, young Shaman. Now, it would please me if you would adore to see my laboratory/workshop/office/place of colorings.”

Rhys boggled at the rich palette of nuances the last word provided. He understood clearly, however, that he was being singled out for the Shaman's special attention. He accepted her invitation eagerly.

“Your place of colorings will be my School Tent, my Great Tent, my Paradise,” he said, and realized that a deep part of him meant it in more than the polite sense.

o0o

Vladimir Zarber was furious when he heard that negotiations would be held up until the arrival of the Tanaka CEO. He didn't look furious or sound furious—at least not in front of the Pa-Kai. In front of the Pa-Kai he nodded and cooed and said merely that the Chief of Bristol-Benz would be disappointed. In front of Rhys and his team, Zarber was considerably more disgruntled.

“What did you do?” he asked Rhys suspiciously. “How did you get them to postpone the talks? I had that Shaman convinced our Chief was honoring them by showing up so fast. She was suitably impressed.”

Rhys scratched his jaw and gazed cross-clearing at the Pa-Kai's tent village, glowing in the twilight. “I only told her our Chief had some things to take care of on Jamal first.”

Zarber's eyes narrowed. “That should have put her off. You didn't tell her...”

Rhys could tell he was searching for the appropriate euphemism. “What, that there was no way in God's great Cosmos you could get your CEO here by tomorrow morning? No, Vlad. I didn't make a peep. Your... fairy tales are your concern. I'd only expose one of them if I thought it might endanger somebody.”

“You make me sound like a crass materialist.”

Rhys shook his head. “You're a businessman, Vladimir. Neither pure nor simple. But I do admire your style.”

The older man raised silken brows in an arc of surprise. “Why, thank you, Llewellyn. Dare I hope that praise is sincere?”

“I'm always sincere.”

“Yes, you are,” agreed Zarber cheerfully. “And that, young man, is bound to be your undoing in this business. You have neither the ability nor the inclination to prevaricate.”

Rhys shrugged. “I've always subscribed to the belief that, more often than not, honesty really is the best policy.”

“That is a subscription best canceled,” retorted Zarber, visibly pleased with the glib pun. “Most developed cultures expect cleverness in business dealings, whereas our primitive hosts here would be offended by what you call sincerity.”

“I'm not sure I agree with your definition of cleverness, Vlad. But I think our ‘primitive hosts' may be quite offended to discover that your ‘Chief' is one of your assistants, and that the real CEO of Bristol-Benz couldn't be bothered to attend the negotiations.”

Zarber's expression darkened. “Is that a threat?”

“No. I've already told you I have no intention of pulling your covers off.”

“Then the point is moot, isn't it? Since there's no one else around to pull my covers.”

“I suppose so... Look, it's getting dark and we've got a state dinner to attend.” Rhys glanced toward the tent village again.

“Oh, yes, of course. And I suppose you're looking forward to it.”

“Yes, I am. Now, if you'll excuse me...?” Rhys gave his competitor a slight nod and headed back to the shuttle.

He really was looking forward to the banquet, he realized as he donned his flamboyant Shaman's garb. His afternoon in the company of the Pa-Kai Eldest's Shaman, Pa-Lili, had been interesting and productive. Pa-Lili had given him a tour of her workshop, performed several characteristically Pa-Kai magics for his edification, and taken him on her “rounds,” explaining certain spells, tonics, and cures as she executed them.

In turn, he had demonstrated the workings of both his communicator/recorder and his brief-comp, and shown her what Humans made with foon. He'd used his own purple dress unisuit by way of example, as well as the waterproof fabric of his “cape” and the fluorescent splendor of his head ornaments. Pa-Lili had been very impressed, although a bit disappointed to hear that his dress kilt was fabricated from the wool of a creature that thrived only on Earth and one or two of its colonies.

She'd made such delightful noises over his entire outfit that he had promised to make a gift of some similar garments. His preparation for the evening's festivities had included the careful folding and wrapping of those gifts, which now reposed on his bunk-side unit next to the little pile of Shamanistic fetishes and charms Pa-Lili had insisted he have to fill his sporran (which she had taken to be an empty medicine pouch). He smiled at them, feeling a genuine fondness for the Pa-Kai Shaman, and put on the
lulac
stone necklace with its small pendant spirit bag. It clashed wonderfully with the rest of his outfit and he knew Pa-Lili would approve.

So, he thought, might his ancient Celtic ancestors.

His assistants, on the other hand, did not approve.

“Do we really have to wear these crazy get-ups?” whined Rick. “I look like a neo-deco Franciscan monk.”

“No, you look like a Pa-Kai apprentice Shaman,” said Rhys. “Franciscan monks didn't wear that particular shade of chartreuse.”

“Aren't we taking this ‘when in Rome' stuff a little too far?”

“Not if it makes the Pa-Kai more comfortable with us.”

“But why are we pretending to be Shaman?” asked Yoshi, peering at him from beneath the nest of colorful cloth strips that festooned her hair. “I thought you said we should always be honest in our dealings with indigenous cultures.”

“Who said anything about pretending? All three of us are the product of cultures in which Shaman played an important early role. We're just reaching back to our own roots.” Rhys studied the two dubious faces for a moment, then sighed. “Look, I realize this is a bit different from our usual negotiating style. Normally, we'd just throw on the dress clothing, behave in what is generally accepted to be a civilized manner, and offer the sought-after goods and technologies. And I realize you two are out of your element here. But consider this: We know that as far as the Pa-Kai are concerned, there are two parties necessary for official, binding negotiations—the Chieftain of the Clan or Tribe and the ranking Shaman. If our CEO is the equivalent of their Eldest...”