Yes, Kenmuir thought, obviously most of the Bramlanders were. They were riot very intelligent. Self-selection had seen to that.
So much for background. He summoned recent news of the different settlements. It rarely got on the regular broadcasts—who cared?—but of course the sopnotects that served there passed their observations to the general database.
They reported nothing of special concern. Well, Joetown and Three Comers were at game. A pitched battle had not ended it, and now bands of men hunted each other across the fields and along the riverbanks. No weapons, oh, no, nothing but sport … with well-shaped clubs and staffs, karate chops, winked-at stones … Casualties were mounting. Avoid.
He decided on Overburg. Its mayor was at odds with Elville’s, but as yet no fights had occurred and anagreement might possibly be reached. Besides, Over-burg, larger than average, boasted an inn. Travel and trade did occur between villages, as well as visits from outside. Kenmuir instructed the volant and felt it change course.
Cultivation appeared. Inhabitants raised, processed, made various things for themselves and to sell. They called it “independence,” and perhaps it was— spiritual, another set of rituals. The actual necessities were ferried in, paid for by credit.
“Message,” announced the volant. Kenmuir tautened. Into the screen before him sprang a man’s face. He was thin, pale, and stiff-lipped. A headband curled upward in a silvery filigree, a necklace with a pendant hung over his blouse. Badges of office, Kenmuir supposed. “Po’t Commissioner f his Pot’ncy Mayor Bruno o’ Great Overburg,” he identified himself in Anglo of sorts. “Y’r ve’icle signals intent to land. You got clearance?”
“I beg your pardon?” Kenmuir said.
“Clearance. Permission. You don’t? Who you, se-fior? What you’ business?”
“Since when has a public field demanded a permit? Are you having a problem?”
“You will, if you try. Name y’self an’ state y’r business.”
Kenmuir checked his temper. Bureaucracy, too, was a way to make people feel important. “No offense, sir. My name is Hannibal, I’m on my way from the west coast, and I’d like to stop here for a day or two. I can’t be the first person to come without asking leave beforehand.”
“You don’t soun’ No’merican.”
“I’m, uh, European, and—What the Q? May I land or may I not?”
“Awright. You’ll have to go befo’ the Mayor. Temporary pe’mission granted.”
The town was in view. The houses along shaded streets didn’t look very different from those Kenmuir had spied earlier, archaic design in modern materials, steep-roofed and slab-sided. At the center was a paved square, surrounded by larger buildings. Kenmuir assumed those were for markets, assemblies, storage, and the like. The biggest, ornately pillared, must be city hall or the mayoral palace or something of that kind. A small airfield, with garages and terminal, lay just beyond the habitations. He set down, took in hand the suitcase Aleka had bought him, and debarked into humid warmth.
The port commissioner awaited him, with four burly men in attendance. In this weather, their garments were loose and gaudy. Long, braided hair trailed below fillets beaded in patterns that presumably signified rank or descent. Each bore a sheath knife and a staff topped with a bronze ball that could fracture a skull. “This way fo’ customs ‘spection,” said the commissioner, and strutted off to the terminal.
It was a standard automated structure, deserted save for his party. He made Kenmuir open his bag and pawed through the contents. They were what Aleka had supplied, a toilet kit and some changes of clothing. Almost reluctantly, he returned it and said, “I phoned. His Pot’ncy’s gracious pleased t’ receive you right away. Esco’t him, Jeb.” A slim, graying man, alone and unarmed, didn’t need much guarding.
It was a ten or fifteen minute walk to the centrum. Kenmuir’s attempt at conversation fell flat. Jeb was too full of the dignity of his assignment. A few cars passed by, but traffic was mainly pedestrian. Women wore flowing gowns and often carried baskets. Groups of them went chattering together, sometimes with one or two of the few, cherished children. Men likewise stayed with their own sex, or sat on porches drinking and playing games. A number of them were elaborately tattooed, and none seemed to have had scars eliminated. Emblems of pride, then.