Trader's World (7 page)

He surveyed the intent young faces. "Well?"

Melinda spoke first. "Solo."

"No, Melly." Cesar shook his head at her. "I think we get more benefit working together."

Connery looked at Asparian.

"I agree with Cesar. We should cooperate."

"And you, Jake?"

Kallario looked at each of the others. His gaze lingered on Mike. I'll work with you when I have to, Asparian, it seemed to say. But not if I have a choice. "I say, we work solo."

"Two for each." Connery shrugged. "In that case, Kallario as senior member of the group breaks a tie vote. So you'll all be working solo. Remember what that means: you can each tell any of the others your thoughts or your findings, but you are not obliged to; and no one is required to reciprocate. Now, let's get you on your way."

The atmosphere in the plane during the Darklands flight had been unmistakably unpleasant. Mike knew that Jake was still furious with him, and Cesar was annoyed with Jake. Cesar was convinced they ought to be working together. Only Melinda had tried to smooth things over, speculating about the coronation ceremony.

"Spears and gold robes and ostrich plume hats, that's what I'm betting on."

"What have you been reading? Ancient history?" Cesar handed her a fat volume of briefing materials prepared by Daddy-O. "Here, Melly. Take a look at this, and bring yourself up to date. Rasool Ilunga wants the Ten Tribes to become more technological. He's already started to build a weapons arsenal."

"I don't call
weapons
technology. I'd rather he went in for gold and feathers."

"Well, Ilunga disagrees, and he owns the place—or he will, in two more days. Anyway, ostriches are extinct. They haven't been around this continent for half a century."

"More's the pity."

But now, walking across the scorching ground to the waiting cars, Mike saw to his delight that half a dozen of the waiting people were carrying long spears—and wearing headdresses decorated with the gorgeous plumage of ostrich tail feathers. He reached out to tug Melinda's sleeve. "It's red robes, not gold," he said softly. "Otherwise you hit it exactly."

Inongo Kiri had somehow heard him—the albino must have ears like a cat. He turned his head as he led the way. "Wait until the coronation, Mikal Asparian. You'll see your gold then—and a lot of other things you will like."

They had reached the leading car. Inongo Kiri made no attempt to introduce them to any of the standing natives. He ushered them into the enormous and antique vehicle, two in front and two behind, then took the driver's seat himself. After two minutes of fiddling with a control on the dashboard, he turned a long copper key, started the engine, and drove off at a sedate pace to the norm, following the riverbank. The car's motor coughed and choked. The exhaust spat out clouds of blue smoke behind them. To the surprise of the trainees, a couple of dozen of the people around the other cars, still ceremonially clad in their long robes, began to run along behind.

Mike Asparian and Melinda Turak were sitting together in the rear. She turned her head and watched the struggling runners. "A technological society!" she shouted to Mike.

With the racket from the engine, there was no chance that she would be overheard by anyone, no matter how good their ears. Mike could scarcely hear her himself, with her mouth only a few inches away from his head. "That's what the briefing materials said," he called back.

"Well, a bit of technology is long overdue." She banged the battered side of the car. "This is a mobile junk heap. Do you know, I believe it has a gasoline engine. Where are they getting the fuel?"

Mike merely shook his head. The reek of those exhaust fumes was poisonous—it was alarming to think what it must be doing to those running behind. The car was traveling at only a few miles an hour, and a great cloud of blue-black smoke marked their progress all the way from the airfield.

A cluster of new buildings was creeping into view, all taller than the one- or two-story constructions that stood on the airport's perimeter. The car chugged steadily along until it came to the biggest, a seven-story structure built of white stone. There Inongo Kiri again turned the copper key, and the car's engine expired with a final spluttering cough. They stepped out into a huge open square, its sides flanked by palm trees.

They had driven perhaps five miles. The plumed and robed attendants were now spread out all the way back to the airfield. Kiri gave them a casual glance. The nearest was a mile or more away.

"They will all be here eventually, but it is not worth waiting for them." He laughed. "Come along. By the time we return from your rooms they will be waiting for us. You will have them as an honor guard when you meet the future emperor."

"But where will we meet him?" Kallario asked. He had been expecting a grand imperial palace. The white stone building was big, but it did not match his mental image.

"Right here. Up on the topmost floor. Ah, I see—you find this building a little drab to be
his
home. Do not worry. You will see his future palace tomorrow, when we make a trip north of here. The castle will be finished in time for the coronation—or else." He chuckled. "For the moment, Rasool Ilunga is content to live a simpler life-style. Come, let us move upstairs."

The four third-floor bedrooms assigned to the trainees were small, hot, identical, and simply furnished. Blown air, circulating from the wall vents, felt no cooler than room temperature on Mike's hand. He dropped his little traveling case on the bed.
Rule 68: Everything you need for a negotiation should be small enough to fit inside your head.
He was ready to leave at once, but instead he went across to the window.

His room looked north across a level, parched plain. There was no attempt to irrigate the soil with river water. The buildings below petered out after another half-dozen structures, and a white-topped road, parallel to the river, led across a desolate landscape to the northern horizon. On that horizon, barely visible in the heat haze, twinkled a glint of silver.

Mike went to his satchel, took out a tiny Chill-fabricated spyglass, and looked again. The silver glint resolved to a set of half a dozen steeples. They rose high above the plain, each one ending in a needle point of light. Even at maximum magnification Mike could pick out no details. While he was still peering north he heard a footstep behind him.

Cesar Famares was standing in the doorway. "Look here." He paused, then made up his mind. "Look, Mike, if you and Jake want to fight, that's up to you. But count me and Melly out of it. I know you think the three of us are lined up against you, and maybe we were when we started. But we're not now. Melly and I have been talking, and we're agreed, we're not going to take Jake's side. Or yours, either. If he—or you—does anything to hurt our chances of becoming Traders, we'll chop you to pieces. All right?"

Mike looked at him for a moment, face startled. Then he smiled. "All right. Better than all right. You know, Cesar, I've been trying hard. I really have. I'm not the one who's been looking for trouble. I want to be a successful Trader, maybe even more than you do. If it doesn't work out for you and Melly and Jake, so what? You'll all go back to your families. But until I make it as a Trader, I'm a
fake
Asparian. If I don't have this, I have nothing."

"You do now." Cesar walked forward and took Mike's hand. "You've got friends. Come on, let's go and see what the Light of the World eats for lunch."

At the head of the stairs Melinda Turak stood waiting. She glanced inquiringly from Cesar to Mike and back. Cesar nodded, and she laughed in relief. "That's great. Let's get a move on. Jake and Inongo Kiri have already gone up there to organize our ceremonial bodyguard. How does it feel to rate a thirty-man escort?"

The elevators in the building were all slow and creaking. Rather than wait for them again, Melinda led the way up the stairs. At the entrance to the top floor they were met by four semi-naked guards and crossed spears.

"Oh, come on now." Kiri's amused voice came from somewhere ahead of them. "That's really quite unnecessary." He spoke a few words in the Darklands tongue, too fast for the trainees to follow. No one else said anything, but the spears were turned at once to a vertical position. Melinda led the way uneasily past the guards and on down the middle of a corridor lined with men and women in ceremonial red robes. Some of them were still panting and leaning in exhaustion on their spears.

Inongo Kiri and Jake were waiting outside a pair of massive black doors armored with iron studs.

"Actually, all these fripperies are unnecessary, in my humble opinion," Kiri said softly in Trader. "But Rasool Ilunga insists we must have it this way, and most of the people would agree with him. So there's no point in discussion. Come on. Just the five of us. We leave the pomp and circumstance on the outside."

No signal seemed to be given, but at Kiri's words the doors creaked open. The trainees went through into a small, windowless room without furnishings. In front of them stood a second pair of double doors. As the first set closed behind them, the ones ahead opened. Kiri led the way into a large, well-lit room with windows of tinted glass. The furniture was simple: half a dozen chairs, a small conference table, and a long desk over in one corner. Next to the desk, sound asleep, lay a monstrous catlike animal.

The man who stood up from the desk was short and squat—no taller than Mike Asparian, but twice his width. He wore simple native costume decorated with Darklands motifs, and black thong sandals of woven Darklands leather. A Chill translation unit on his wrist was the only evidence of other regions.

"Welcome. You are the first visitors to arrive." He waved them to chairs at the conference table. "I expect representatives of the Unified Empire, the Strines, and the Community later today, and everyone else either tonight or tomorrow."

As Kiri began the formal introductions, Mike thought back to the briefing. Rasool Ilunga supposedly was fluent in the tongues of all Earth's Regions—even including Hiver. But he was speaking only the Darklands language, choosing to rely upon the translation unit and Inongo Kiri to be his interpreters. Why?

Mike found himself unable to look anywhere but at Rasool Ilunga's face. The man was not old, probably no more than thirty-five; but that face was lined and battered, as broad and black and seamed as a shield of ancient leather. The eyes alone redeemed his ugliness: glittering out of deep-set sockets, they were a clear and surprising gray. And they were as intelligent as any that Mike had ever seen.

"Our lands extend north to the Great Sand Sea," Ilunga said as soon as his guests were comfortably settled. Refreshments had been offered, and cups of powerful distilled liquor distributed. "To the west, we govern where the Father of Waters meets the ocean; to the east, as far as the land of Little Devils; to the south, until the Heart of the World meets the End of the World."

The trainees were automatically converting Ilunga's flowery speech to more familiar terms. The borders of the Darklands ran to the northern desert that spanned the African continent, west to where the Zaire River flowed into the Atlantic Ocean, and south to the African Cape. The eastern plateau remained uninhabitable; sand-fly fever, malaria, and rift valley fever discouraged all settlement there.

"We have great lands," Ilunga continued, "but unfortunately we do not yet have great wealth. That will come. The Heart of the World is changing. In the past the Ten Tribes have shunned relationships with other regions. But no longer. We will move from being a poor and technically backward society, to one that will lead the world." He stopped and peered at each trainee's face in turn. "Ah. I perceive that you do not believe me. That is not unreasonable. One should judge by deeds, not words. Wait and see. In less than ten years, I promise you that we will have negotiated major partnership treaties. And who knows? Perhaps one of you will become our principal negotiator."

He placed his untouched cup of liquor on the table and stood up. "Unfortunately, time runs. I must now return to other duties. The final preparations for the coronation are in process. I am afraid I cannot be the one to show you the glories of the Ten Tribes. But Kiri will accompany you wherever you wish to go. Or, if you prefer to do your own sightseeing tomorrow, there will be cars available for your use—to drive where you choose. Everyone has been ordered to assist you in every way. Do you have questions, any requests that you would like to make of me?"

Jake Kallario looked at his companions, then shook his head. "No, sir. And if we do not see you before the coronation, let me express our appreciation for all your hospitality."

"I am delighted to welcome your presence here." Ilunga laughed. "You may enjoy the ceremony much more than I will. Kiri will show you the site for the coronation itself, and you will see my formal robes at the coronation. The imperial garments weigh as much as I do. Let us hope for cooler weather."

His polite speech did not hide the fact that the audience had ended. No one spoke as they filed again past the double line of bedecked guards and on down the stairs. At the third floor Inongo Kiri paused. "You are completely free until the formal dinner at eight o'clock," he said. "By that time I hope at least three other regions will be represented."

As he left, the Trader group lingered in the corridor. No one welcomed the idea of returning to those hot rooms.

"I'm going to take a walk outside," Melinda announced after a few moments. "I want to see if the cars he mentioned are in working order. If we decide to take a drive by ourselves tomorrow, I don't want to have to walk back."

"I'll come with you." Mike hesitated, then looked at Jake. For Cesar and Melinda's sake, he ought at least to offer the olive branch. "Before we go, do you think we ought to take a few minutes to compare notes? We're in a pretty odd position here. All of us probably have different insights."

Everyone turned to Jake. He stared down at the ground and would not meet Mike's look. "I think you are forgetting what we agreed to before we came here," he said at last. "We're going solo. I certainly don't propose to spoon-feed anyone with information." He hurried on down the corridor and went at once into his room. After a moment Cesar followed him.