F Paul Wilson - LaNague 02 (6 page)

           
“Then why
the sudden change of heart?”

           
“No change
of heart, really. I still don’t think business should have any connection with
government. It’s dangerous and it’s usually sneaky. When a businessman and a
politician get together, certain things are bound to occur.” He ticked the
points off on the fingers of his left hand. “The businessman is usually one
who’s found that he hasn’t quite got what it takes to make it in the free
market, so he will try to persuade the government to use its coercive power to
help him gain an advantage over his competitors: a special sanction, an import
quota, a right of way, et cetera. The politician will find that if he complies
he will grow richer in power and/or material wealth. The colluding business will
aim for a monopoly over a particular market while the politician will aim in
turn for further extension of political influence into the marketplace by
controlling that monopoly. They both wind up winners. The losers: everybody
else.

           
“So I still
say, government should have no influence in the economy and business should
have no influence in government. And that’s the way it’s been under the LaNague
Charter. You, don’t see any lobbyists at Fed Central because the Federation has
denied itself any and all economic power. Nobody’s getting any special favors
and I want to keep it that way. And the only way for me to do that is to meet a
few politicos head-on.”

           
Jo drummed
her fingers on the desk and studied the old man. His concern was genuine. And
despite the conspiratorial overtones of his suspicions, Jo had an uneasy
feeling that he could be right. The Restructurists had been rather quiet of
late. Maybe something was brewing after all.

           
But a
secret plot to trigger the emergency clause of the Federation charter?
Unlikely. But then again… Old Pete had never been known to be prone to
hysteria, nor to paranoia. He was getting on in years, true, but not that far
on. He and her grandfather had possessed two of the shrewdest minds in the
interstellar market in their day and she sensed that Pete’s was still sharp. If
he thought there was something in the wind that threatened IBA, then it might
be wise to give him the benefit of the doubt.

           
Jo withheld
complete acceptance. She’d help, even if it meant continued close contact with
Pete, but she’d keep an eye on him. If he was wrong and his suspicions had no
basis in fact, then little was lost except some time and personal aggravation.
If he happened to be right, however… well, IBA was her home and her family.
Anything that threatened it, threatened her.

           
“I’ve
always found conspiracy theories titillating,” she said after a long pause,
“though rarely verifiable. But if it’s in IBA’s interest, I’ll do what I can.”

           
Old Pete’s
body relaxed visibly as he heard this. “Good! You can help me dig. I’ve already
got someone checking out this fellow on Dil. We’ll have to keep a watch on all
the Restructurist eminentoes to see if anything else is about to break.”

           
Jo nodded.
“I can see to that. I’ll also send someone of my own to Dil to see what can be
uncovered there.” She rose to her feet, anxious to end the meeting. “In the
meantime…”

           
Old Pete
sat where he was and held up his hand. “Not so fast.”

           
“What’s the
matter?”

           
“If we’re
going to be working together on this thing,” he said, “let’s get one thing
settled: Why do you hate me?”

           
Jo’s voice
rose half an octave. “I don’t hate you.”

           
“Yes, you
do. And I’d like an explanation. You owe me that much, at least.”

           
She
wondered at times if she owed him anything; then at other times she felt she
owed him everything. But always, when she thought of him, old hatreds rose to
the surface. She hesitated.

           
“I’m
waiting,” Old Pete said patiently.

           
Jo shook
herself and made ready the reply that was as unpleasant for her to say as it
was going to be for Old Pete to hear.

           
“If it
hadn’t been for you,” she said slowly and distinctly, “my father would be alive
today.”

           
Old Pete’s
face registered the expression she had expected: shock. And something more… he
was hurt, too.

           
After a
long pause, he spoke in a low voice. “How could you think such a thing?”

           
“Because
it’s true! You probably talked him into that sabbatical of his. And if you
didn’t talk him into it, you could have talked him out of it. But however it was,
you got control of his stock and sent him off to be killed!”

           
Old Pete
suddenly looked all of his eighty-one years. A lot of things were suddenly very
clear to him.

           
“You must
believe that Junior insisted on leaving… I did my best to dissuade him, but you
can’t talk a Finch out of anything once he’s got his mind set on it. He thrust
the stock on me for safekeeping until his return – he only planned to be away a
year.”

           
“But he
never returned and it all turned out very nicely for you, didn’t it?”

           
“You’re not
thinking very clearly, little girl,” Old Pete said as anger began to absorb the
hurt. “Think! What did I do with that stock? Did I set myself up as
all-powerful ruler of the IBA complex? Did I remake the company in my own
image? Did I milk it dry? No! No to all of them! I set up a board of directors
to run things for me because I’d lost interest in the whole affair. Joe dead,
and then Junior dead… all within four years…” His voice softened again. “I just
didn’t feel like going on with any of it any more.”

           
In the long
silence that followed, Jo was almost tempted to believe him. His hurt at what
she had said seemed so real. But she couldn’t accept it. Not yet. There was
something locked away in Old Pete, something he would never let her see. She
had no idea what it was or what it concerned, but it was there. She sensed it.
And she couldn’t let the old hatreds go. She had to have someone to blame for
losing a second parent by the time she was eleven years old, for the years
spent with an indifferent uncle and a preoccupied aunt.

           
“Well,” she
faltered, “someone made him leave. Someone got him out of the picture.”

           
“Yes, and
that someone was Junior himself.”

           
Jo’s voice
broke. “Then he was a fool!”

           
“You can’t
understand why he left, can you?” Old Pete said softly, as if seeing Jo for the
first time. “And I think I know the reason. Since you were in your teens you’ve
known what you wanted and you had to work to get it. You had to confront me,
then the board of directors, and then you had to prove yourself to the
interstellar traders.”

           
He rose and
began to pace the room.

           
“It was
different, however, for Junior… perhaps we shouldn’t have called him that but
it got to be a necessity when he and his father were working together. You’d
say ‘Joe’ and they’d both say ‘What?’ But anyway, it was different for him. He
grew up in your grandfather’s shadow; he was Joe Finch’s son and everything was
cut out for him. He had a prefab future in IBA and most sons would have slipped
right into the mold.

           
“But not
Junior. IBA was a golden apple waiting to be plucked and he walked away. Oh, he
hung on and gave it a try for a couple of years after his father’s death, but
it just wasn’t for him. At least not yet. He didn’t feel he’d earned it. It was
no accomplishment for him to take over IBA. He balked.” Old Pete snorted. “That
Finch blood, I guess.”

           
“And you
couldn’t change his mind?”

           
He shook
his head. “No. Tried up to the last day. He said good-by not knowing where he
was going; I said good-by figuring to see him again in a year or so. You know
the rest.”

           
“What there
is to know, yes.” Jo slumped in her chair. “I’m sorry, but I don’t care to talk
about this any more.”

           
Old Pete
ignored her. “You know, I just realized what’s missing in this office: a
picture of Junior. Jo, you really shouldn’t reserve all your ancestral
reverence for your grandfather.”

           
“Please,”
Jo said, “not now. I’ll have someone show you to the guest suite.”

           
“Quite all
right,” came the smiling reply. “I know exactly where it is – I helped design
this building, don’t forget.” He turned at the door. “A nice little holo of
your father would go very well on the desk there. Think about it. Junior was
really quite a fellow in his own way. And you’re closer to him than you’ll ever
know.”

           
Jo remained
in her chair after he had gone. It was a long time before she was able to get
back to her work.

           
THE
VANEK
VILLAGE
was an odd place, almost
humorous in its incongruities. Sitting in front of their smooth-domed mud huts,
the Vanek women, almost identical to the men in appearance, prepared the coming
meal or mended clothes; the men whittled their statuettes and tableaux as they
had no doubt done for centuries; the children romped as all children have
romped for eons. A timeless scene at first glance. Then one noticed that the
pump over the well in the center of the village was of Terran design and
powered by solar batteries. A closer look and one noticed that fine strands of
insulated wire ran from hut to hut. And filtering through the primitive
background noise of the village in its natural surroundings was the hum of a
modern generator. The Vanek had looked upon electric lighting and had seen that
it was good… at least in this particular village.

           
Rmrl left
Junior standing by an odd-looking contraption while he went to confer with the
elders. It was a series of intricately carved gearlike wheels suspended on
axles set at crazy angles. Junior touched one of the smaller wheels and it
began to rotate; he gave it a push to move it faster and suddenly all the
wheels were turning. The rates and angles were all different, but all were
turning.

           
He returned
his attention to Rmrl, who was approaching a large hut that stood apart from
the others. The mud on the walls had been etched with countless, intricate
gyrating designs.

           
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.