“Well, the tunes are mutating. If we Orcans are not to become worse off, we must adapt. In the course of adaptation, we can better our lot. Although we are not obsessed with material wealth, and indeed think it disastrous to acquire too much, yet we do not value poverty, Commissioner; nor are we afraid of new ideas. Rather, we feel our own ideas have strength to survive, and actually spread among people who may welcome them.”
Desai’s cigaret was used up. He threw away the ill-smelling stub and inserted a fresh one. Anticipating, his palate winced. “You are interested in enlarged trade relationships, then,” he said.
“Yes,” Mattu replied. “We have more to offer than is commonly realized. I think not just of natural resources, but of hands, and brains, if more of our youth can get adequate modern educations.”
“And, hm-m-m, tourism in your area?”
“Yes,” Mattu snapped. Obviously the thought was distasteful to him as an individual. ‘To develop all this will take time, which we have, and capital, which we have not. The nords were never interested … albeit I confess the Companions never made any proposal to them. We have now conceived the hope that the Imperium may wish to help.”
“Subsidies?”
“They need not be great, nor continue long. In return, the Imperium gains not simply our friendship, but our influence, as Orcans travel further and oftener across Aeneas. You face a nord power structure which, on the whole, opposes you, and which you are unlikely to win over. Might not Orcan influence help transform it?”
“Perhaps. In what direction, though?”
“Scarcely predictable at this stage, is it? For that matter, we could still decide isolation is best. I repeat, my mission is no more than a preliminary exploration—for both our sides, Commissioner.”
Chunderban Desai, who had the legions of the Empire at his beck, looked into the eyes of the stranger; and it was Chunderban Desai who felt a tinge of fear.
The young lieutenant from Mount Cronos had openly called Tatiana Thane to ask if he might visit her “in order to make the acquaintance of the person who best knows Ivar Frederiksen. Pray understand, respected lady, we do not lack esteem for him. However, indirectly he has been the cause of considerable trouble for us. It has occurred to me that you may advise us how we can convince the authorities we are not in league with him.”
“I doubt it,” she answered, half amused at his awkward earnestness. The other half of her twisted in re-aroused pain, and wanted to deny his request. But that would be cowardice.
When he entered her apartment, stiff in his uniform, he offered her a token of appreciation, a hand-carved pendant from his country. To study the design, she must hold it in her palm close to her face; and she read the engraved question, Are we spied on?
Her heart sprang. After an instant, she shook her head, and knew the gesture was too violent. No matter. Stewart sent a technician around from time to time, who verified that the Terrans had planted no bugs. Probably the underground itself had done so…. The lieutenant extracted an envelope from his tunic and bowed as he handed it to her.
“Read at your leisure,” he said, “but my orders are to watch you destroy this afterward.”
He seated himself. His look never left her. She, in her own chair, soon stopped noticing. After the third time through Ivar’s letter, she mechanically heeded Frumious Bandersnatch’s plaintive demand for attention.
Following endearments which were nobody else’s business, and a brief account of his travels:
“—prophet, though he denies literal divine inspiration. I wonder what difference? His story is latter-day Apocalypse.
“I don’t know whether I can believe it. His quiet certainty carries conviction; but I don’t claim any profound knowledge of people. I could be fooled. What is undeniable is that under proper conditions he can read my mind, better than any human telepath I ever heard of, better than top-gifted humans are supposed to be able to. Or nonhumans, even? I was always taught telepathy is not universal language; it’s not enough to sense your subject’s radiations, you have to learn what each pattern means to him; and of course patterns vary from individual to individual, still more from culture to culture, tremendously from species to species. And to this day, phenomenon’s not too well understood. I’d better just give you Jean’s own story, though my few words won’t have anything of overwhelming impression he makes.