“Only you don’t happen to feel like engaging in it right now, I suppose?”
“Your skepticism,” said Mula- ay steadily, “shows a closed mind. You humans do not empathize lightly, and neither do we engage in sana easily or casually. I would no more consider you a subject of sana on the basis of our casual acquaintance here, than you would be likely to empathize with—say—Bone Breaker, or any of the Dilbians, on the slight basis of the acquaintanceship you have with them so far.”
Bill stared at the Hemnoid. Mula- ay was apparently being as frank and honest as it was possible for him to be, in his own terms. And the Hemnoid’s argument was convincing. Only, just at that moment, something inside Bill suddenly clamored like an alarm bell in denial of something Mula- ay had just said.
“So—you understand,” Mula- ay was going on, “and you can put your own interior human fears to rest on that subject. Just as,” Mula- ay chuckled again briefly, “you can abandon the idea that I brought you here to make some kind of deal with you. My dear young human, you are not one of those with whom deals are made. You are only a pawn in the game here on Dilbia—an unconscious pawn, at that.”
He stopped speaking and sat beaming at Bill.
“I see,” said Bill, while the back of his mind was still busily digging, trying to identify the note of misstatement he had sensed in Mula- ay ’s earlier explanation. Suddenly he wanted very much to hear more from the Hemnoid. “I’m supposed to ask you why I’m here, then? Well, consider I’ve asked it.”
“Oh, but you haven’t, you know,” chuckled Mula- ay , gazing upward at the fleecy clouds spotting the blue sky above the treetops surrounding their clearing.
“All right!” said Bill. “Why did my superiors send me here—according to you?”
“Why,” Mula- ay brought his gaze back from the clouds to Bill’s face, “to get you killed by Bone Breaker in a duel, of course!”
Bill stared at him. But Mula- ay did not seem ready to offer any more conversation without prompting.
“Oh, sure!” said Bill at last. “Do you think I’ll believe that?”
“Eventually. Eventually, you will…” murmured Mula- ay , still watching Bill’s face. “Once you let the idea sink in and consider the fact that you are alone here, with no communication off-planet to your superiors. Yes, I know about that. And committed to the duel I mentioned. Don’t you think it strangely coincidental that the Resident should be off-planet with a broken leg just when you get here, and that your young female associate should be an involuntary house-guest, so to speak, in Outlaw Valley? Don’t you think it strange that you should be placed in the almost identical position of that earlier young human whom the Dilbians call the Half-Pint-Posted, who had a hand-to-hand battle with a native champion in another locality? Come, come now, Pick-and-Shovel; surely your intelligence is too adequate to blink those facts away!”
In fact… in spite of himself a distinctly cold feeling was forming somewhere under Bill’s breastbone. The facts were overwhelming—and they were the very facts he had been facing as he had sat in front of the communications console earlier this day. It was unbelievable that there could exist an official human conspiracy to get Bill himself killed. But nonetheless the facts were there and…
“Why?” said Bill, as if to himself. “What reason could they have? It doesn’t make sense!”
“Oh, but it does, Pick-and-Shovel,” said Mula- ay . “The situation here between Resident Greentree and myself has become—how shall I put it—stalemated.” Mula- ay chuckled again, softly, as he used the very word Anita had used to Bill the night before. “There’s no further gain to be gotten from this Muddy Nose Project for you humans. The local farmers won’t accept your help, and the outlaws under Bone Breaker are only enjoying the situation—with my modest help.”
He beamed at Bill.
“The best thing for your superiors, in fact,” he went on, “is to close this ill-planned project before it turns even more sour. But how to do that without losing face, both with the Dilbians and on an interstellar level? It would be like acknowledging we Hemnoids have won a round here at Muddy Nose. The answer, of course is to close the project—but first to find a suitable excuse for doing so. And what would make the most suitable excuse?”
He stopped and beamed once more at Bill.
“All right,” said Bill grimly. “I’ll ask. What would?”
“Why, for some untrained, unfortunate youngster to join the project, and—through no fault of his own, but through a series of unlucky accidents—make an irretrievable mess of the situation with the local Dilbians. To the extent, in fact, of getting himself involved in a duel and killed by the local champion, Bone Breaker.”
Mula- ay stopped and chuckled so heartily that his whole heavy shape shook.
“What a perfect situation that would be!” he said. “For one thing, it would require the humans to close down the project and withdraw its personnel, temporarily—of course, it would never be started up again, nor would they return. For another, there would be no loss of face with the Dilbians; for, even though their foolish young man got himself killed, still he did show the combativeness necessary to tangle with Bone Breaker, and therefore the Shorties’ record for personal courage on this world would not be impaired.”
Bill stared at him.
“You seem pretty sure I’m bound to lose,” he said although the cold feeling was back under his breastbone again. “The Half-Pint-Posted didn’t.”
Mula- ay chuckled, undisturbed.
“To be perfectly frank, Pick-and-Shovel,” he said, “that is one small caper pulled off by you humans that we haven’t been able to figure out, yet. But we have no doubt—and you need have no doubt either—that there was something more at work in that victory than simply one of you small creatures outgrappling a Dilbian. In fact, you hardly need the assurance of our belief. I ask you—can you picture a human who could win such a victory, without some unseen, unethical advantage?”
It was true, Bill could not. The cold feeling under his breastbone increased.
“No, no…” Mula- ay shook his head. “The very thought of a human winning any physical fair fight between himself and a Dilbian is unthinkable to the point of ridiculousness. But don’t worry, little Pick-and-Shovel. I’m going to save you from your cruel and heartless superiors, as well as from Bone Breaker.”
Bill stared at him.
“You…?” he began, and then remembered to hide his emotions just in time.
“To be sure,” said Mula- ay , rising softly to his feet and cocking his ear toward the noises of the forest behind him. “And here, unless I am mistaken, comes the means of that rescue, now. Reassure yourself, Bone Breaker won’t kill you.”
“Oh, he won’t?” said Bill, speaking as coldly and unconcernedly as he could. For at that moment, he had heard what Mula- ay had just heard. It was the noise of heavy Dilbian feet approaching.
“No, indeed,” said Mula- ay , “you will lose your duel and your life, instead, to the most feeble and decrepit Dilbian that the local area provides. Let your superiors try to save face, after that—following your foolish challenge of the best fighter for miles around!”
He half-turned from Bill. At that moment there burst into the clearing two female Dilbians and a scrawny, tottering male so old that his body fur was gone in patches. Of the two females with him, one was short and plump—and disturbingly familiar-looking, and the other was younger, somewhat statuesque of build, and almost tall enough to be a male.
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