The young Vanek was met at the door by a wizened figure. As their conversation grew animated, other figures appeared in the doorway. Fingers pointed, hands gestured back and forth, a confusion of high-pitched voices drifted toward Junior as he watched with interest. Finally, Rmrl turned away. The door closed behind him.
“They do not wish to listen,” he said with an expressionless face as he returned to Junior’s side. “I’m sorry, bendreth.”
“There’s hardly any need to apologize to me,” Junior grunted. “I’m not the one on the dirty end of the stick.”
“Pardon, bendreth?”
“Nothing. Just an expression.”
He watched the rotating wheels and pondered the situation. His first inclination was to drop the whole matter and continue his hike through the region. If they were content with the situation, then let it be. He had always despised people who thought they knew what was best for others, and feared that he might be falling prey to that very same attitude in regard to the Vanek.
If they don’t want my help, then why should I even bother? They could be right… bringing things to a head may not be the best answer. And if they don’t want to move, why should I push them?
Then he caught the expression on Rmrl’s face – the tiniest glimmer of unhoped-for hope had been doused. Hidden, but it was there.
Junior found himself striding toward the Elder Hut.
“Bendreth!” Rmrl cried. “Come back! It will do no good! They will refuse to listen!”
Ignoring him, Junior pushed through the door and entered the hut.
The only illumination within came from a single dusty incandescent bulb, primitive in design and low in wattage, hanging lonely and naked from the ceiling. A dank, musty odor tanged the air, but what he could see was reasonably clean.
Seven scrawny, robed figures started up from the floor at Junior’s precipitous entrance. He noted their frightened expressions and quickly held out his empty palms.
“I mean you no harm. I only wish to speak to you.”
Rmrl came up behind him and stood in the doorway, watching.
“We know what you wish to say,” replied one of the elders, the most wizened of the lot. “You wish us to take action to influence the Great Wheel. We will not. It is forbidden and it is unnecessary. The Great Wheel has a wisdom of its own, indecipherable in mortal terms, and brings all things ’round in good time. We will do nothing to alter its course, bendreth.”
“But I’m not going to ask you to do anything,” Junior said quickly. “I want you to try and not do something.”
The seven muttered among themselves at this. If this is what you have to go through to get anything moving in this place, Junior thought, small wonder they still live in mud huts!
The same elder turned to him again. He was apparently the chief or something. “We have decided that under those circumstances it would not be unorthodox to listen to you, bendreth.”
Junior shot a quick glance at Rmrl and then seated himself on the hard-packed earth of the floor. The elders did likewise. It was as he had expected: the elders, and probably most other Vanek, were dogmatists. Not doing something, according to the letter of their creed, was quite different from doing something.
“What we are dealing with here,” Junior began, “is really a very simple problem. On one hand we have Bill Jeffers, a man who is quite willing to sell you food, clothing, and fuel for your generator, but is loath to let you eat in the store where you buy all these things. Now is neither the time nor the place to make a moral judgment on the rightness or wrongness of this policy. He owns his store and what he wants to do with it is his business. It’s just a fact we have to deal with.
“Just as it is a fact that you Vanek do not like this policy.”
The elders glanced warily at each other as Junior said this, but he hurried on with his speech.
“It is another fact that you Vanek make up a good part of Jeffers’ business. You earn your money, and where and how you spend it is your business. You have something Jeffers wants – money. And in return for spending your money in his store you would like to be treated with the same respect he accords his Terran customers.”
The chief elder opened his mouth to speak but Junior cut him off: “Don’t deny it. You hide it well, but it gnaws at you.”
The old Vanek hesitated, then gave him an almost imperceptible nod. This pushy Terran had suddenly risen in the elders’ collective estimation.
“Okay. Now, the next step is to bring this point home to Jeffers. To accomplish this, all you’ve got to do is stay away from his store until he gets the message that unless he bends a little, his gross income from now on will be a lot less than what he’s used to. And don’t worry about him getting the message; he’s a businessman and you’ll be speaking his language.”
The elders stared at Junior in open-mouthed wonder. They had little knowledge of the economic forces at work around them. The general store was a tremendous convenience to them. No longer did they have to till the fields in the hot sun, no longer did the fullness of their bellies depend on the success of the harvest. Let the Great Wheel bring whatever weather it may, as long as the Terran curio dealers bought the statuettes and carvings, the Vanek would never go hungry.
So, since the day of its construction, the general store had been looked upon as a boon from the Great Wheel. But now this Terran was revealing that their relationship with the proprietor of the store was one of interdependence. It was all so obvious! Why hadn’t they seen it before?
“You are very wise, bendreth,” the chief elder said.
“Hardly. It’s all common sense. What’s your decision on the matter?”
Muttering and mumbling, the elders grouped into a knot on the far side of the hut. A few seemed to be opposed to the idea – it would influence the Great Wheel. Others contended that they had managed without Jeffers and his store in the past and certainly it would not be unorthodox to get along without him now. The latter argument prevailed.
The chief elder turned to Junior. “We have agreed to your plan, bendreth. The word shall be passed to our brother Vanek in this region that we no longer buy from Jeffers.” He hesitated. “We still find it hard to believe that such action on our part will have any effect.”
“Don’t worry,” Junior reassured him. “He takes you all for granted now; but he’ll change his tune once the receipts start to dwindle. You’ll all suddenly become very important to Bill Jeffers. Wait and see.”
The elder nodded absently, still not quite believing. The meek had been told they had power, yet they were unsure of its use, unsure that it really existed.
Junior left the hut in high spirits. It was all so simple when you used your head. In a few days Jeffers would start to wonder why he hadn’t seen any Vanek around his store lately. He would get his answer and the choice would be his. Junior had little doubt as to what that choice would be.
He felt good. He was doing something worthwhile and doing it on his own. No one was paving the way for him. He was breaking his own ground.
The sun was down behind the trees as he unrolled his sleeping bag in the middle of a small clearing somewhere between the Vanek village and Danzer. He’d sleep well tonight, better than he had in many years.
DAWN BROKE CHILLY AND DAMP. Reaching into his sack, Junior brought out a container of breakfast rations and activated the heating strip. Two minutes later he was downing a hot meal.
The sun was up and chasing the ground fog as he moved toward Danzer at a brisk pace. His plan was to go to town and hang around Jeffers’ store to watch how things developed as the day wore on. And should the shopkeeper begin to wonder where all the Vanek were keeping themselves, Junior would be sure to offer his opinion.
Yes, he was thinking, today ought to prove very interesting.
Jeffers was on a short ladder, stocking one of the shelves, when Junior walked in.
“G’morning, Finch,” he said with a glance over his shoulder. Junior was surprised that he
remembered his name. “Cooled off from yesterday?”
“Entirely.”
“Good. Looking for breakfast?”
“Had some already out in the field. But I’ll take some coffee if you’ve got it.”
Jeffers smiled as he poured two cups at the counter. “Ever had Jebinose coffee before?”
Junior shook his head.
“Then this one’s on the house. Our coffee takes some getting used to and you may not want to finish your first cup.”
Junior hesitantly nodded his thanks. Try as he might, he could not work up a personal dislike for Jeffers. He sampled the coffee; it had a strong, bitter-sour taste to it and Jeffers’ grin broadened as he watched Junior add a few spoonfuls of sugar. He tried it again and it was a little more palatable now.
After a pause, Junior asked, “Just what is it you have against the Vanek, Bill? It’s none of my business, I know, but I’m interested.”
“You’re right about it being none of your business,” Jeffers said curtly, then shrugged. “But I’ll tell you this much: I don’t have anything in particular against them. It’s just that they strike me as weird. They get on my nerves with all that talk about wheels and such and, frankly, I just don’t like to have them sitting around.”
Junior nodded absently. Jeffers was rationalizing and they both knew it.
“What time do they usually start showing up here?” he asked.
“They’re usually my first customers of the day.”
“But not today, eh?” Junior remarked confidently.
“You didn’t beat them in, if that’s what you mean. Two of them left just a few minutes before you arrived… bought some food.” He stared at Junior curiously. “Something wrong?”
“No, nothing,” was the hasty reply. Junior had visibly started at the news but recovered quickly. However, he doubted his ability to hide his surprise and dismay much longer. “Thanks for the coffee, Bill. I’ll probably stop back in later on.”
“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.