Alan Foster - The Icerigger Trilogy

“No, something else is needed. Something that’ll prevent any fiscal insularity from even getting established. And something that’ll just incidentally slice this present unfair setup into pieces the size of those the Slanderscree ’s runners cut out o’ the ice.

“Young feller-me-lad, the Tran need Commonwealth representation.”

Ethan halted. “That’s impossible, Skua! It would’ve been done by now if survey had thought it possible. Sure, associate membership would be wonderful for them. They could deal with traders on a world-wide basis, spread the wealth and advances they could obtain evenly across the entire planet. But it’s just not feasible.”

“Better to try than to leave them open to the kind of exploitation that’s goin’ on here, lad. I think it can be done. First we’ve got to talk to the local Commissioner. “But you’re leaving in a few days. No need to worry yourself about something you’re convinced is impossible anyway.”

“I’ve got a few days, like you say.” Ethan resumed walking. “It won’t give me a depressex if I tag along and see the Commissioner with you.”

The office of the Resident Planetary Commissioner was located in the main administration building, northwest of the port complex. Privately, Ethan thought it too ornate for a world where humanx population and interests were comparatively slight.

Five single-story buildings projected outward like the spokes of a wheel from the central structure, a three story pyramid of white and black stone done in checkerboard pattern broken only by windows. The five subsidiary structures were living quarters for the administrative staff.

The main entrance to the pyramid was another double-door arrangement with the halfway climate maintained between for interaction between human and Tran. That section was smaller than the one they’d previously encountered, and logically so. There was little need for Tran to come here, since all trade and commerce were handled at the port.

Inside the circular main lobby a small, glowing directory hung suspended in midair. The Commissioner’s office was located on the third floor. They had to wait their turn at the small lift.

At the top they discovered that the Commissioner’s suite was the third floor. They stepped from the lift directly into busy outer offices occupied by a great many large machines and two subsized humans, one male, one female. No one else was in sight.

Ethan’s first impression of excessive ornateness was reinforced by the carpet. A glance showed his trained eye that it was strictly luxury material, an import—probably from Mantis or maybe Long Tunnel. Genetic manipulation had produced a natural substance with the look and feel of grass, the resistance of rubber, and the durability of dilyonite. The result was a pleasant-smelling and remarkably buoyant floor covering. It was very expensive. And though he wasn’t conversant with diplomatic purchasing guidelines, somehow he didn’t think that verdidion weave was standard decor for minor offworld offices, even that of a Resident Commissioner.

A young man who looked as if he could stand a dozen good meals occupied the desk nearest the lift. His fingers danced over and across machinery and consoles with controlled jerkiness.

Ethan’s eyes rose ceilingward, encountered the expected mosaic. Four circles of equal size met to form a crude square. The two nearest him were marked with stylized representations of continents, showing both hemispheres of Terra. Tangent to these two, the other pair had similar maps inlaid. These represented the two hemispheres of Hivehom, the home world of humanity’s partner in the Commonwealth, the insectoid thranx.

Centered among these four larger circles and tangent to all of them was a single smaller circle. A vertical hourglass of bright blue, symbolizing Terra, was crossed by a horizontal hourglass of brilliant green signifying Hivehom. They formed the shape of the ancient Maltese cross, and where they merged the colors blended into aquamarine, the signet hue of the United Church. Since this was a Commonwealth and not a Church installation, the cross was surrounded by a field of crimson, the color of the Commonwealth.

The straw man seemed to take notice of them. He turned, greeted them indifferently, hands still jerking and darting as if hunting for a rest never to be granted.

“May I help you, sirs?” His eyes narrowed slightly then and he concentrated a touch more intently on them. “I don’t think I know either of you.” He had assumed a faintly disapproving air. “I thought I knew everyone in the outpost.”

“We didn’t arrive via the visual channels,” September said.

Ethan tried to make himself sound important. “We’d like to see the Resident Commissioner.”

The man wasn’t impressed. “Concerning?” He spoke to Ethan, but his gaze remained fixed on September.

Ethan thought a moment. “Possibly crucial developments involving native affairs.”

“What kind of developments? Are you two attached to the xenology team here?” A hand brushed back straight blond hair, rubbed at the side of a small sharp nose, moved down to pull at the hem of his shirt and work up the other side to brush once again at the unruly hair.

Actually, the itch was concentrated not in hair, nose, or shirt. Instead, it was permanently located in the man’s mind. Since he couldn’t scratch that very well, he settled as did many others for rubbing parts of his anatomy that had nothing to do with his condition.

“We’d rather tell it to the Commissioner,” said Ethan, trying his best not to sound difficult.

“Do you have an appointment? I don’t recall any appointments scheduled for this afternoon.”

“Blessed!” snapped the woman at the other desk, speaking for the first time. She was a stout lady who looked slightly older than September, and she sounded exasperated with her colleague. “If they’re strangers here, then they must have come in on that big native ship.” The straw man showed no reaction. “Didn’t you hear about it?”

“I’ve been at my desk for the last several days, Eulali. You know I don’t listen much to post gossip.”

“No wonder you never learn anything,” she sighed. “Anything they have to say could be important. Never mind that they came in on that ship. Just the fact that they’re strangers.”

“Okay,” the man replied doubtfully. “I guess they can see Trell. But I won’t break procedure.”

“You and your damn procedure.” Eulali turned back to her own complex instrumentation resuming her work.

“Procedure says you’ve got to have an appointment,” the man insisted, rubbing the other side of his nose.

“Oh, all right.” Ethan couldn’t keep the impatience from his voice. “We’ll make an appointment.”

Turning back to the console before him, the man punched a button. Scribbled words appeared on a display screen. “Don’t get excited. I said I wouldn’t break procedure, and I won’t. You can have an appointment for… five minutes from now be okay?” He smiled. It changed his face completely.

“That’ll do,” Ethan admitted.

“The nature of your business involves native affairs, right?” Ethan nodded once. “Names please?”

“Ethan Frome Fortune.”

“Your home world or planet of origin?”

“Terra.”

“Profession?”

“Salesman, general manufactured goods, small, representing the House of Malaika.”

“Thanks.” He glanced perfunctorily over at September. “Name?”

“Skua September.” The words were grunted out, reluctantly.

“World of origin or birth?”

“I don’t know.”

“Now look here…”

“I’m telling you honestly, son. I don’t know.”