“I’m sure it was,” said Sheridan, with some bitterness.
He squatted patiently on the floor, listening to the faint whisper of a wind blowing in the loft and the rasping breath of the dying native.
“But then your people used the machines to go away. Can’t you tell me why?”
A racking cough shook the old man and his breath came in gasping sobs.
Sheridan felt a sense of shame in what he had to do. I should let him die in peace, he thought. I should not badger him. I should let him go in whatever dignity he can – not pushed and questioned to the final breath he draws.
But there was that last answer – the one Sheridan had to have.
Sheridan said gently: “But tell me, friend, what did you bargain for? What was it that you bought?”
He wondered if the native heard. There was no indication that he had.
“What did you buy?” Sheridan insisted.
“A planet,” said the native.
“But you had a planet!”
“This one was different,” the native told him in a feeble whisper. “This was a planet of immortality. Anyone who went there would never, never die.”
Sheridan squatted stiffly in shocked and outraged silence. And from the silence came a whisper – a whisper still of faith and belief and pity that would haunt the human all his life.
“That was what I lost,” the whisper said. “That was what I lost…”
Sheridan opened his hands and closed them, strangling the perfect throat and the winning smile, shutting off the cultured flow of words.
If I had him now, he thought, if I only had him now!
He remembered the spread-out picnic cloth and the ornate jug and the appetizing food, the smooth, slick gab and the assurance of the creature. And even the methodical business of getting very drunk so that their meeting could end without unpleasant questions or undue suspicion.
And the superior way in which he’d asked if the human might know Ballic, all the time, more than likely, being able to speak English himself.
Sly Central Trading finally had its competition. From this moment, Central Trading would be fighting with its back against the wall. For these jokers in Galactic Enterprises played dirty and for keeps.
The Garsonians had been naive fools, of course, but that was no true measure of Galactic Enterprises. They undoubtedly would select different kinds of bait for different kinds of fish, but the old never-never business of immortality might be deadly bait for even the most sophisticated if appropriately presented.
An utter lack of ethics and the transference machines were the trumps Galactic held.
What had really happened, he wondered, to all the people who had lived on this planet? Where had they really gone when they followed the podars into those machines?
Could the Galactic boys, by chance, have ferreted out a place where there would be a market for several million slaves?
Or had they simply planned to get the Garsonians out of the way as an effective means of cutting off the podar supply for Central Trading, thus insuring a ready and profitable sale for their supply of drugs?
Or had they lured the Garsonians away so they themselves could take over the planet?
And if that was the case – perhaps in any case – Galactic Enterprises definitely had lost this first encounter. Maybe, Sheridan told himself, they are really not so hot.
They gave us exactly what we need, he realized with a pleased jolt. They did us a favor!
Old blundering, pompous Central Trading had won the first round, after all.
He got to his feet and headed for the door. He hesitated and turned back to the native. “Maybe, friend,” he said, “you were the lucky one.” The native did not hear him.
Gideon was waiting at the door.
“How is he?” he asked.
“He’s dead,” Sheridan said. “I wonder if you’d arrange for burial.”
“Of course,” said Gideon. “You’ll let me see the data. I’ll have to bone up on the proper rites.”
“But first do something else for me.”
“Name it, Steve.”
“You know this Tobias, the messenger that Central Trading sent? Find him and see that he doesn’t leave.”
Gideon grinned. “You may rest assured.”
“Thank you,” said Sheridan.
On his way to the tent, he passed the courier’s ship. It was, he noted, a job that was built for speed – little more than an instrument board and seat tacked onto a powerful engine.
In a ship like that, be thought, a pilot could really make some time.
Almost to the tent, he met Hezekiah.
“Come along with me,” he said. “I have a job for you.” Inside the tent, he sat down in his chair and reached for a sheet of paper.
“Hezekiah,” he said, “dig into that chest. Find the finest diplomatic transmog that we have.”
“I know just where it is, sir,” said Hezekiah, pawing through the chest.
He came out with the transmog and laid it on the desk.
“Hezekiah,” said Sheridan, “listen to me carefully. Remember every word I say.”
“Sir,” replied Hezekiah, a little huffily, “I always listen carefully.”
“I know you do. I have perfect faith and trust in you. That is why I’m sending you to Central.”
“To Central, sir! You must be joking, surely. You know I cannot go. Sir, who would look after you? Who would see that you -”
“I can get along all right. You’ll be coming back. And I’ll still have Napoleon.”
“But I don’t want to go, sir!”
“Hezekiah, I must have someone I can trust. We’ll put that transmog in you and -”
“But it will take me weeks, sir!”
“Not with the courier ship. You’re going back instead of the courier. I’ll write an authorization for you to represent me. It’ll be as if I were there myself.”
“But there is Abraham. Or Gideon. Or you could send any of the others…”
“It’s you, Hezekiah. You are my oldest friend.”
“Sir,” said Hezekiah, straightening to attention, “what do you wish me to do?”
“You’re to tell Central that Garson IV is now uninhabited. You’re to say that such being the case, I’m possessing it formally in the name of Central Trading. Tell them I’ll need reinforcements immediately because there is a possibility that Galactic Enterprises may try to take it from us. They’re to send out one sled loaded with robots as an initial occupying and colonizing force, and another sledload of agricultural implements so we can start our farming. And every last podar that they have, for seed. And, Hezekiah…”
“Yes, sir?”
“That sledload of robots. They’d better be deactivated and knocked down. That way they can pile on more of them. We can assemble them here.”
Hezekiah repressed a shudder. “I will tell them, sir.”
“I am sorry, Hezekiah.”
“It is quite all right, sir.”
Sheridan finished writing out the authorization. “Tell Central Trading,” he said, “that in time we’ll turn this entire planet into one vast podar field. But they must not waste a minute. No committee sessions, no meetings of the board, no dawdling around. Keep right on their tail every blessed second.”
“I will not let them rest, sir,” Hezekiah assured him.
VI
The courier ship had disappeared from sight. Try as he might, Sheridan could catch no further glimpse of it.
Good old Hezekiah, he thought, he’ll do the job. Central Trading will be wondering for weeks exactly what it was that hit them.
He tilted his head forward and rubbed his aching neck. He said to Gideon and Ebenezer: “You can get up off him now.”
The two arose, grinning, from the prostrate form of Tobias. Tobias got up, outraged. “You’ll hear of this,” he said to Sheridan.
“Yes, I know,” said Sheridan. “You hate my guts.”
Abraham stepped forward, “What is next?” he asked.
“Well,” Sheridan said, “I think we should all turn gleaners.”
“Gleaners?”
“There are bound to be some podars that the natives missed. We’ll need every one we can find for seed.”
“But we’re all physicists and mechanical engineers and chemists and other things like that. Surely you would not expect such distinguished specialists -”
“I think I can remedy that,” said Sheridan. “I imagine we still can find those spacehand transmogs. They should serve until Central sends us some farmer units.”
Tobias stepped forward and ranged himself alongside of Abraham. “As long as I must remain here, I demand to be of use. It’s not in a robot’s nature just to loaf around.”
Sheridan slapped his hand against his jacket pocket, felt the bulge of the transmog he’d taken out of Hezekiah.
“I think,” he told Tobias, “I have just the thing for you.”