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REITH WALKED BACK toward the Oval, pondering the city Settra and the curious
temperament of its people. He was forced to admit that the scheme to build a
small spaceboat, which in far-off Pera had appeared at least feasible, now
seemed impractical. He had expected gratitude and friendship from the Blue
Jade
Lord; he had encountered hostility. As to the technical abilities of the Yao,
he was inclined to pessimism, and he fell to appraising the vehicles which
passed along the street. They appeared to function satisfactorily, though
giving the impression that flair and elegance, rather than efficiency, had
been first in the minds of the designers. Energy derived from the ubiquitious
power cells produced by the Dirdir; the coupling was not altogether quiet: an
indication, so
Reith considered, of careless or incompetent engineering. No two were alike;
each seemed an individual construction.
Almost certainly, reflected Reith, the Yao technology was inadequate to his
purposes. Without access to standard components, maxima-minima sets,
integrated circuit blocks, structural forms, computers, Fourier analyzers,
macro-gauss generators, a thousand other instruments, tools, gauges,
standards, not to mention clever and dedicated technical personnel, the
construction of even the crudest spaceboat became a stupendous task,
impossible in a single lifetime ...
He came to a small circular park, shadowed under tall psillas with shaggy
black bark and leaves of russet paper. At the center rose a massive monument.
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A dozen male figures, each carrying an instrument or tool, danced in a
dreadful ritual grace around a female form, who stood with arms raised high,
upturned face twisted in some overpowering emotion. Reith could not identify
her expression.
Exultation? Agony? Grief? Beatification? Whatever the case, the monument was
disturbing, and rasped at a dark corner of his mind like a mouse in the
woodwork. The monument seemed very old, thousands of years? Reith could not be
sure. A small girl and a somewhat younger boy came past. They paused first to
study Reith; then gave fascinated attention to the gliding figures and their
macabre instruments. Reith, in a somber mood, continued on his way and
presently came to the Travelers' Inn. Neither Traz nor the Dirdirman were on
the premises.
They had, however, hired accommodations: a suite of four rooms overlooking the
Oval.
Reith bathed, changed his linen. When he went down to the foyer, twilight had
come to the Oval, which was now lit by a ring of great luminous globes in a
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.txt variety of pastel colors. Traz and Anacho appeared on the other side of
the
Oval. Reith watched them with a wry grin. They were basically alien, like cat
and dog; yet, when circumstances threw them together, they conducted
themselves with cautious good-fellowship.
Anacho and Traz, so it developed, had chanced upon an area known as "the
Mall," where cavaliers settled affairs of honor. In the course of the
afternoon the two had watched three bouts: near-bloodless affairs, Traz
reported with a sniff of scorn. "The ceremonies exhaust their energy," said
Anacho. "After the addresses and the punctilio there is little time for
fighting."
"The Yao, if anything, are more peculiar than the Dirdirman," said Reith.
"Ha ha! I dispute that! You know a single Dirdirman. I can show you a thousand
and confuse you totally. But come; the refectory is around the corner.
If nothing else, the Yao cuisine is satisfactory."
The three dined in a wide room hung with tapestries. As usual Reith could not
identify what he ate, and did not care to learn. There was yellow broth,
faintly sweet, with floating flakes of pickled bark; slices of pale meat
layered with flower petals; a celery-like vegetable crusted with crumbs of a
fiery-hot spice;
cakes flavored with musk and resin; black berries with a flavor of the swamp;
clear white wine which tingled the mouth.
In an adjacent tavern the three took after-dinner liquors. The clientele
included many non-Yao folk, who seemed to use the place as a rendezvous. One
of these, a tall old man in a leather bonnet, somewhat the worse for drink,
peered into Reith's face. "But I'm wrong, for a fact. I thought you a Vect of
Holangar;
then I asked myself, where are his tongs? And I said, no, it is just another
of the anomes who creep into Travelers' Inn for a sight of their own kind."
"I'd like a sight of my own kind," said Reith. "Nothing would please me more."
"Yes, isn't this the case? What sort are you, then? I can't put a name to your
face."
"A wanderer from far lands."
"No farther than mine, which is the far coast of Vord, where Cape Dread holds
back the Schanizade. I have seen sights, I tell you! Raids on Arkady! Battles
with sea-folk! I remember an occasion when we drove into the mountains and
destroyed the bandits ... I was a young man then and a great soldier; now I
toil for the ease of the Yao, and earn my own ease thereby, and it is not so
hard a life."
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"I should suppose not. You are a technician?"
"Nothing so grand. I inspect wheels at the car yard."
"Many foreign technicians are at work in Settra?"
"True. Cath is comfortable enough, if you can overlook the vagaries of the
Yao."
"What about Wankhmen? Are there any such in Settra?"
"At work? Never. When I sojourned at Ao Zalil, to the east of Lake Falas, I
saw how it went. The Wankhmen will not even work for the Wankh; they have
sufficient exertion pronouncing the Wankh chimes. Though usually they play the
chords on remarkable little instruments."
"Who works in the Wankh shops? Blacks and Purples?"
"Bah! One might be forced to handle an article the other had touched.
Back-country Lokhars for the most part work in the shops. For ten or twenty
years, or longer, they toil, then they return to their villages rich men.
Wankhmen at work in the shops? What a joke! They are as proud as Dirdirman
Immaculates! I see a Dirdirman beside you tonight."
"Yes, he is my comrade."
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