Gordon Dickson - The Human Edge

Ynesh parted his thin lips.

“For every grade an amount of credit commensurate with the pay scale for that grade. The interest rate is one tenth of the principal in the period of one year, proportionately decreased for shorter lengths of time. This rate and amount is set by the military Authority in Chief. Everyone but a Human would know that, Human.”

“Call me Coley,” said Coley.

“Gzoly,” replied the Yaran, agreeably.

“You wouldn’t want to risk going above the amounts or charging a greater interest rate, I take it?” said Coley.

“And lose my license to lend?” said Ynesh. He had not pulled back from Coley. They were talking, Coley suspected, with more cozy intimacy than probably any Human and Yaran had talked to date. It was marvelous what the right sort of topic could do to eradicate awkwardness in communication between the races. “I would hardly be sensible to do that, Gzoly.”

“What if somebody else would take the risks for you—say, take your money and lend it without a license, quietly, but for better than the usual rates of interest, in any amount wanted?”

“Now who, Gzoly, would do that?” said Ynesh.

“Perhaps certain soldiers wouldn’t object to acting as agents,” said Coley. “They borrow the money from you and relend to their fellow soldiers at higher rates? Under the blanket, no questions asked, money in a hurry.”

“Ah, but I wouldn’t be able to lend each one of them more than his grade-amount of credit, since it would surely be traced back to me,” said Ynesh, but in no tone that indicated that he considered the topic closed. “Moreover, where would be the extra profit? I’d have to lend to them at legal rates.” He paused, almost imperceptibly. The effect was that of a silent shrug. “A pity. But that is the Game.”

“Of course,” said Coley. “On the other hand, there are no rules set up for me. I could lend them as much as they wanted, at any rate I wanted. And also since I’m a Human, you could lend me the money originally at a higher-than-legal rate of interest.”

“Ah,” said Ynesh.

“I thought the idea would meet with your approval,” said Coley.

“It might be worth trying in a limited way, Gzoly,” said Ynesh. “Yes, I think it might. I will be glad to lend you a small trial sum, at, say, a fifth part in yearly interest.”

“I’m afraid,” said Coley, straightening up from the desk, “that you happen to be one of those real people who would cut open the insect that spins the golden nest. A fifth in interest would force me to relend at rates that would keep my agents from finding any borrowers, after they had upped their own rates to make their cut. I’m afraid I couldn’t do business with you unless I borrowed at no more than a ninth part.”

“Ridiculous. I’m laughing,” said Ynesh, without cracking a smile or twitching a facial muscle. “If you’re one of those people who always like to feel they’ve beaten a little off the price for form’s sake, I’ll let you have your first sum at five and a half.”

“Goodbye,” said Coley.

“Now, wait a minute,” said Ynesh. “I might consider…” And the classical argument proceeded along its classical lines, terminating in a rate to Coley of eight and three-quarters part of the principal on a yearly basis.

“Now, the only question is,” said Ynesh, after the rate had been settled, “Whether I can trust you with such a sum as I had in mind. After all, what proof have I—”

“I imagine you’ve heard by this time,” said Coley, drily. “The military Authority has confined me to this area. If I try any tricks you won’t have any trouble finding me.”

“True,” said Ynesh, as if the thought had just struck him for the first time….

Coley went out with money in his pocket and intrigued the Yaran who sold food in one of the eating and drinking establishments by ordering a large number of different items and sampling them all in gingerly fashion. The search was not a particularly pleasant one for Coley’s tastebuds; but he did eventually come up with a sort of a stew and a sort of a pudding that tasted reasonably good—and assuaged a two days hunger. He also tried a number of the Yaran drinks, but ended up gagging on their oily taste and settled for water.

Then, having eaten and drunk, he glanced around the establishment. Not far off across the room a Yaran soldier with the green belt of the lower ranks was seated glumly at a table holding an empty bowl and a stick of incense that had burned itself completely out. Coley got up, went over and plumped down on a stool at the same table.

“Cheer up,” he said. “Have a drink on me. And tell me—how’d you like to make some money…?”

It took about a week and a half for Coley’s presence in the commercial area and in the military establishment to make itself felt. Early the third day, Coley discovered where the girl was being held—in a sort of watchtower not far from the main gate. However, there was no getting in to her and obviously she could not get out—though from the few glimpses Coley had had of her uninterested face when it occasionally showed itself at the window of the tower when he was watching, it was a good question whether she even wanted to.

Otherwise, however, things had gone well. Every day had become a little more comfortable. For one thing, Coley had discovered that the Yaran meats, in spite of their gamey taste, were quite satisfying if soaked in oil before, during, and after cooking. In addition to this, business was good; Coley having noticed that gambling was under as strict regulations as the lending of money, had thoughtfully started a chain-letter scheme to start the financial picture moving.

A desert takes no more thirstily to one of its infrequent rain showers than the Yaran soldiers took to both of Coley’s schemes. The local money situation literally exploded; and ten days after Coley’s arrival. he was escorted to the office of the Yaran Authority who had originally passed sentence upon him.

The Authority in his silver belt was as inscrutable as ever. He waited until he and Coley were alone together.

“All my officers are in debt,” he said to Coley. “My common soldiers are become a rabble, selling their equipment to illegal buyers for money. The army treasury has been broken into and robbed. Where is all our money?”

“I couldn’t tell you,” replied Coley, who was being perfectly truthful. He knew only where about a fifth of the area’s hard cash was—carefully hidden in his room. As for the rest, Coley suspected other prudent souls had squirreled most of the rest out of the way; and that in any case the sum the Authority had in mind was entirely illusory, resulting from vast quantities of credit multiplying the actual cash reserves of the area.

“I will have you tortured to death—which is illegal,” said the Authority. “Then I will commit suicide—which is shameful but convenient.”

“Why do all that?” said Coley, enunciating clearly in spite of a slight unavoidable dryness of the mouth—for though he had planned this, he realized the extreme touchiness of the situation at this stage. “Let me and the girl go. Then you can declare a moratorium on all debts and blame it on the fact I absconded with the funds.”

The Authority thought a moment.

“A very good suggestion,” he said, finally. “However, there’s no reason I should actually let you go. I might as well have a little fun out of all this.”

“Somebody might find out, if I didn’t actually escape with the girl. Then the blame would fall on you.”

The Authority considered again.

“Very well. A pity,” he said. “Perhaps I shall lay hands on you again, some day, Human.’

“I don’t think so,” said Coley. “Not if I can help it.”