“Anytime,” he heard Jeffers say as he walked out to the street.
Danzer was fully awake by now. All the shops – they totaled four counting the general store – were open and some of the farmers were driving up and down the street in heavy-duty lorries, some loaded with hay or feed, others with livestock. A pair of locals gave him a friendly nod as they brushed by him on their way into Jeffers’ store.
Junior’s gaze roamed the street for the robe of a Vanek. He spotted one hurrying up the boardwalk toward him so he advanced to meet him. It was Rmrl.
“At last we have found you, bendreth,” the young Vanek said breathlessly. He scrutinized Junior’s face closely. “I see you already know what we have come to tell you.”
Junior gave a confirming nod. “I know. But what I want to know is why? Did the elders go back on their word?”
“No. They kept their word. They told the villagers not to buy from Jeffers but they complained far into the night. The elders held firm for a while but finally had to yield to the pressure.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Our people… they want to buy from Jeffers. They do not want to deprive him of their business.”
“Why not?”
“Wheels within wheels, bendreth.”
“Doesn’t what happens to them in that store matter to them?” Junior was totally baffled.
Rmrl shrugged and Junior thought he noticed a trace of resentment in the gesture.
“And you, Rmrl? How do you feel about it all?”
“Wheels within wheels,” he repeated and walked away.
Junior was about to go after him but a voice made him turn.
“Bit off a little more than you could chew, Mr. Finch?”
It was Heber.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked the older man, who was leaning in the doorway of his office as he watched the offworlder.
“It means that I happened to overhear your conversation with Rmrl. I suppose I could have closed the door, but knowing what’s going on in this town is part of my job.” For a few fleeting seconds his eyes locked with Junior’s, then: “Come inside a minute, Mr. Finch – please.”
“Why?” Frustration and bafflement were edging him into a hostile and suspicious mood.
“Well, for one thing, I think I may be able to explain to you why your little plan failed. At least I’ll be able to give you something more than ‘wheels within wheels.’”
Interested, Junior grudgingly complied.
Heber’s office was small and tight-fitting, most of the room taken up by filing cabinets and a huge desk handmade from local wood. A Vanek carving, unmistakable in its style, of a Jebinose species of fowl in a natural woodland setting was prominently displayed on a corner shelf.
“I thought you said there were no Vanek carvings left around here,” Junior remarked as he caught sight of the object.
“I meant there were none for sale. That one’s a personal gift from one of the elders.”
Junior showed his surprise. “A gift?”
“Sure. I have pretty good relations with the Vanek myself. I rather like them. They’re quiet, peaceful, and they mind their own business: an all-too-rare quality these days.”
“I get the point.”
Heber smiled. “There’s an ancient saying about ‘if the shoe fits… ’ But I wasn’t necessarily referring to you, Mr. Finch. In fact, I have no objections whatsoever to your scheme against Jeffers – except, perhaps, to its overall ineptness.”
Again Junior’s face registered surprise.
“Since our little chat yesterday, you’ve been convinced that I’m some sort of a bigot, eh? You’ve probably got this whole town pegged as being full of bigots, too. It’s not, I assure you. We have our share, but let me warn you: overgeneralization can be a serious error on the part of someone trying to institute a few changes.”
Junior mulled this over. “Could be I owe you an apology–”
“But you’re not ready to say so for sure yet. Just as well. I wouldn’t want to hear it anyway.” He ran his fingers through a shock of graying hair and indicated a rickety chair. “Let me tell you why your attempt at a boycott failed.”
“I’m waiting,” Junior said after seating himself.
Sunlight was pouring through the dirty front window and illuminating the cloud of dust motes swirling in the air before him. There was a timeless air about the tiny office, as if it had always been there and always would. Junior found his suspicions and hostilities beginning to fade.
Heber cleared his throat as he took his place behind the desk. “Seems to me you overlooked one major fact: Bill Jeffers owns the only general store within thirty kilometers. His closest competitor is old Vince Peck over in Zarico. So to put it simply: if the Vanek don’t get their supplies at Jeffers’ place, they don’t get any supplies. And if they can’t get any supplies, they don’t eat.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Junior said. “The Vanek were here long before Bill Jeffers arrived with his store. How did they eat then?”
“They lived off the land. They combined farming and nomadism instead of rotating crops, they rotated the tribe from one field to the next every year. It wasn’t easy, but they managed.”
“That’s what I figured. And if they managed before, they can manage again.”
Heber gazed at him. “Have you any idea what it’s like to farm this soil?
Terran technology has been strained to the limit to bring in a good crop every year. I don’t know how the Vanek ever got by. But the point is this: with the arrival of Jeffers and his store, and the discovery that the income from their statues will buy them all the food they can eat, the Vanek gave up farming. And I don’t blame them for not wanting to go back to it. It was a full-time, back-breaking job to get their fields to produce. Now they can fill their bellies by doing what they used to do for recreation: carve little statues.”
“They could still go back to it if they had to.”
“I suppose they could, but not immediately. The fields are all overgrown now and… and there’s the very nature of the race. They’re a quiet, introverted, contemplative folk. The excess of spare time they enjoy now is perfectly suited to them. They cherish it.”
Heber paused and shook his head. “I’m sure they’d like to sit at one of Jeffers’ tables and eat their meal inside just like the Terrans, but the price you’re asking them to pay is too great.”
Junior leaned back and stared at nothing in particular. It was very probable that Heber was right about the Vanek.
“Then I may just have to feed them out of my own pocket until Jeffers softens up,” he said suddenly.
“That would take a pile of money,” Heber said with narrowed eyes. “You’d have to ship the food in from someplace else. You got that kind of money, Mr. Finch?”
“I’ve got it.”
There was something in Junior’s offhanded affirmation that convinced Heber that the younger man had more than a nodding acquaintance with large sums of money.
“Well, if you’re that rich, why don’t you start your own general store at the other end of town. You could operate at a loss. Or better still, why not buy Jeffers out? Hell! Just go out and buy the whole town of Danzer!”
Heber straightened some papers on his desk as he let this sink in, then, “Somehow, I don’t think you’d find that very satisfying, Mr. Finch. Because I sense that there’s more to your actions than a desire to put a stop to a little discrimination at the general store.”
Junior tried to hide his discomfort with a shrug. His prior suspicions had been confirmed – under Marvin Heber’s slow, rough-cut exterior was an acutely perceptive mind.
“And I wouldn’t find that very satisfying, either,” Heber continued.
“Certain ends of my own would be served by seeing you win this one, but not with a big bankroll. If a victory here in Danzer is going to mean anything to you, to me, or to the Vanek, it must be won with the raw materials at hand. Do you see what
I mean?”
Junior nodded slowly. It was obvious what winning this would mean to the Vanek and he was well aware of what it would mean to him. As to Marvin Heber’s stake in the affair – he had a vague idea of where he fit in but still couldn’t pin the man down. Yet that was of tertiary importance at the moment. His task now was to devise a way to let the Vanek boycott Jeffers’ store without making them sacrifice all the conveniences to which they’d become so attached. His brow furrowed, then he jerked upright in his seat.
“Of course! The Vanek have their own income… why couldn’t they use it to start a general store of their own? A temporary co-op of some sort that they could operate themselves until Jeffers comes around?”
Heber laughed. “The Vanek as shopkeepers? Ridiculous! A Vanek co-op would fall apart in a week. Their minds just aren’t geared to inventories, balance sheets, and so on. And besides, it’s not on the Great Wheel. You’d just be wasting your time. And remember, you haven’t got much of that.”
“Why not?”
“That government anti-discrimination bill – it comes up for a vote in less than two months. Some people who’re supposed to know what they’re talking about say it will pass, too. So you’d better think of something that’ll get the job done your way, or the butt-ins from the capital will come in and do it their way.” He punctuated the remark by spitting in the corner.
Junior stood up. “I’ll come up with something.” He was now sure he knew the reason for Heber’s support. He started out but turned as he reached the door. “Thanks, Mr. Heber.”
“It’s Marvin,” he said as he rested his feet on the desk. “And we’ll see who thanks who when this thing’s over.”
The skim milk sky of pre-dawn found Junior on the road west out of Danzer. A small flock of black-feathered birds darted above him like a sprinkle of iron filings on its way to a magnet as he stopped for a rest at the halfway point to Zarico. It was a long trip to make on foot but he had no other means of transportation, and the general store there offered him the only possible hope of a solution.
The sun was high when he first caught sight of Zarico and his initial feelings of déjà vu were heightened as he entered the town. It was as if he had traveled in a tremendous circle and wound up back in Danzer. Peck’s general store was of the same design as Jeffers’ and it too offered a hot lunch.
“Are you busy at the moment, Mr. Peck?” Junior asked as the grizzled old man laid a steaming plateful of stew before him. The store was deserted, and now was as good a time as any to sound him out.
“Not at the moment,” Peck replied amiably. “Why?”
“Like to discuss something with you.”
“Business?”
“Maybe.”
“Find yourself a table and I’ll join you in a minute.” He disappeared into the back. When he returned, he was carrying an earthen jug and two glasses. Seating himself across from Junior, he filled both glasses about halfway and pushed one across the table. “Nothing like a glass of wine at midday, I always say. Go ahead – try it. It’s my own.”
Junior did so. The crystal clear fluid was light, dry, surprisingly good. “Very nice. My name’s Finch, by the way.” Peck nodded and they clinked glasses.
“Well, now,” Peck said after a long swallow. “What can I do for you, Mr. Finch?”
“I’d like to talk to you about the Vanek.”
“Vanek? We don’t have any Vaneks around here. Oh, one or two may pass through now and again, but if you want to know about Vaneks, you’d best go to Danzer.”
“I know all I want to know about them,” Junior said – which wasn’t true. “What I want to know right now is how you feel about them.”
Peck finished his glass and refilled it, this time to the brim. “They’re all right, I guess. I’m not crazy about their spooky looks but I don’t see enough of them to care much one way or the other.” He noticed Junior’s empty glass so he poured him some more, then drained and refilled his own glass once again.
“Would you mind very much if they bought their supplies here?”
“Hell, no! I’ll sell to anyone who’s got the money to buy!”
“How about lunch?”
“Sure.” He drained his third glass of wine. “Sell them breakfast and even dinner if there’s enough of them wanting it.”
“Would you let them sit here and eat just as I’m doing?”
Peck paused in mid-pour at this thought, then sloshed the glass full.
“I don’t know about that. Vaneks and Terrans don’t usually eat together in these parts. Might hurt my business.”
“I doubt it. Where else is anybody in Zarico going to go? To Danzer?”
Peck nodded slowly. “I see what you mean.”
“And even if you did lose a few customers, I’m going to bring you one Vanek for every Terran customer you’ve got!” Junior smiled as Peck took a wide-eyed swallow. “That’s right. I can double your present business if you’ll let the Vanek eat lunch here in the store.”
“How’re y’gonna get ’em here?” The wine was starting to take effect.
“You must have something around here you use for transportation.”
“Sure. I got an ol’ lorry out back. It’s a wheeled job but it gets around.”
“Good. If you let me use that every day, I’ll be able to double your profits.”
Peck shook his head. “No – no. Won’t work. Cause trouble.”
“Why?” Junior asked, deciding that now was the time to get aggressive. “Is Bill Jeffers a friend of yours or something?”
“Never met him.”
“Then let me give it a try!”
“No. People aroun’ here won’ like it.”
Junior pounded his fist on the table with a ferocity that made the now half-empty wine jug jump. “Who owns this store, anyway?” he shouted. “You gonna let other people tell you how to run your own store?”
Peck straightened his spine and slammed his own fist on the table. “Hell no!”
“Good!” Junior said. He grabbed the jug and filled both glasses to the brim. “Give me a week, and if I can’t double your profits in that time, then we’ll call the whole thing off.”
“I’ll drink to that!” said Peck.
THE PLAN WORKED WELL for the first week – profits were not quite doubled but the increase was significant – and Peck extended the trial period. Twice a day, early morning and early afternoon, Junior would squeeze a dozen hesitant Danzer Vanek into the lorry, then ferry them to Zarico. He would return the first group at noon and the second later in the afternoon, then return the lorry to Zarico, where he’d spend the night. Peck had set up living quarters for him in the back of the store.
Things went quite smoothly until the end of the second week. It was twilight and Junior was about to enter the lorry for the trip back to Zarico when someone grabbed his arms from behind and pinned them there. Then he was spun around. Before his eyes could focus on his assailants, a fist was driven into his abdomen and then into his face. This procedure was repeated until Junior lost consciousness. The last thing he remembered was being dragged along the ground, then nothing.
Old Pete
NEARLY A WEEK AFTER their first meeting, and Old Pete was in good spirits as he entered Jo’s office suite. He had renewed a few old acquaintances around town and had allowed the deBloise matter to slip toward the back of his mind. Jo looked up from her desk as he entered. There was a here-he-is-again sourness in her expression but he didn’t let it bother him. She was learning to tolerate his presence – she didn’t enjoy it, but put up with it as a necessary and temporary evil.
“You know,” he told her, “I just saw a fellow walking down the hall with a rat perched on his shoulder. You taking animal acts under your wing, too?”
“That’s no act, and that was no ordinary rat. That man – name’s Sam Orzechowski – has managed to tame rattus interstellus–”
“Don’t try and tell me that was a space rat! Those things can’t be trained
. If that were a real space rat, it would’ve swallowed the guy’s ear long ago!”
“I checked his background and I can assure you he’s all he says he is. Now I have to find some commercial use for the rats. But that’s not why I called you here. We’ve got some information on what’s going on with deBloise and Dil.”
Old Pete took a seat. “What’ve you found?”
“Don’t know just yet. I put one of the best investigators in the business on the job. He called to say that he’s got some interesting news.”
“But he didn’t say what it was?”
“He never says anything of interest when there’s the possibility that the wrong ears might hear it.”
Something in her voice told Old Pete that there might be more than a professional relationship between Jo and this investigator.
“When does he arrive?”
“He doesn’t,” Jo replied with a quick shake of her head. “He never comes to this building. IBA uses his services on a regular basis and frequent visits would give away the relationship. We meet him in a few hours in the casino.”
“That’s hardly what I’d call a secluded meeting place. It’s crowded day and night.”
“It’s really an excellent place for exchanging information, if you lay the proper groundwork. I make it a practice to visit the casino once a week and he stops in whenever he’s in town. That way, no one thinks it strange when we run into each other now and then especially since we’re both avid pokochess players.”
“Really? So am I. And I haven’t had a good game with another human in a long time; playing against a machine keeps you sharp but lacks something when you win.”
“It must get lonely on that island.”
“Only once or twice a year do I crave the company of others; but I’m never alone – I have me. Fortunately, I’m not one of those people who, when left alone, is faced with the unpleasant realization that there’s no one there.”