James White - Federation World

The being paused for a moment. There was no way that Martin could read its facial expression on such short acquaintance, but from a certain tension and awkwardness in the way the Teldin was holding its limbs and body, he had a strong impression that the question was an important one. Finally it came.

“Who owns you, stranger?”

BE careful, Martin thought. The alien’s understanding of the word “own” might be different from his. Could the question involve patriotism, or loyalty owed to its country, tribe, or employer? Was the Teldin using some kind of local slang which the translator was reproducing literally? He dare not answer until he was completely sure of the meaning of the question.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Your question is unclear to me.”

Before the Teldin could reply, Martin introduced himself and began describing his planet of origin. He spoke of the Earth as it had been before the coming of the Federation, not the denuded and well-nigh depopulated planet that it had since become. Then he quickly went on to talk about the lander and the much larger hypership in orbit above them and, when the Teldin expressed sudden concern, he assured it that neither had anything to fear from the meteorites. He added that he, himself, did not carry such protection nor, for that matter, any other means of defense or offense.

When he finished speaking the Teldin was silent for a moment. Then it said, “Thank you for this information which, in spite of being hearsay, could be of great importance. Does the being in the orbiting vessel own you?”

In the earpiece he could hear Beth, who was monitoring the conversation, suppressing laughter.

“No,” he said.

“Do you own it?”

“No,” he said again.

“You only act that way sometimes,” Beth said. “But be alert. Another pedal vehicle is heading out of the city toward you. It is painted brown and bright yellow, towing an enclosed trailer and flying some kind of pennant, with two people on board pedaling fast. It should reach you in about twenty minutes.”

Martin bypassed the translator momentarily to say, “The local constabulary, do you think? I can’t react until they come into sight, when it would be natural for me to ask who and what they are. But our friend here worries me with its constant harping on ownership. And what does it mean by hearsay? I can’t give it a straight answer until I know why it thinks the question is so important.”

He cut in the translator and went on to explain the relationship between Beth and himself. He was nonspecific regarding the division of their work, but he had to go into considerable detail on Earth-human social anthropology, cultural mores, and reproduction. But suddenly the Teldin was holding up two of its four hands.

“Thank you once again for this interesting hearsay,” it said slowly, as if uncertain that the true meaning of the words was getting through to Martin. “You are answering questions which have not been asked, and not answering those which must be asked.”

The brown and yellow tricycle came into sight just then. Martin said quickly, “The vehicle which approaches us at speed and flying a flag, and the beings propelling it. Is their mission important?”

The Teldin glanced at it in a manner suggesting impatience. “It flies the pennant of the Master of Sea and Landborne Communications. Their mission has nothing to do with us and is of no importance compared with the visit of an off-planet being who avoids answering the most important question about itself…”

“Just a couple of mailmen,” Beth said in a relieved voice.

“… Your status is not clear,” the Teldin went on. “Do you or your life-mate own the vessels which brought you here?”

“My status”… Martin thought. A little light was beginning to dawn. Aloud, he said, “The vessels are not our personal property, but we are responsible for their operation.”

“But they are owned, presumably, by someone who directs you in their use?” the Teldin said quickly, and added, “You must obey this being’s directions?”

“Yes,” Martin said.

The Teldin made a loud, gurgling sound which did not translate, then it said, “You are a slave, Martin. Highly placed, no doubt, considering the nature of the equipment you are allowed to use, but still a slave…”

Instinctively Martin stepped back as one of the being’s enormous hands swung toward him. But it stopped a few inches from his chin with one digit pointing at the Federation symbol on his collar.

“… Is that the emblem of your Master?”

His first thought was to strenuously deny that he was any kind of slave, and his second was to wonder what new complication would be the result of that denial. But the Federation was, in real terms, his master, as it was the master of all of its non-Citizens.

“Yes,” he said again.

The Teldin turned its hand, which was still only a few inches from Martin’s face, to display a bracelet on its thick, furry wrist. The bracelet supported a flat oval of metal on which an intricate design had been worked in several colors.

“Like mine,” the Teldin said, “your mark of ownership is small, tasteful, inconspicuous as bents a slave in a position of trust and responsibility. But why did you ignore or evade the questions which would quickly have established your status?”

“I was unsure of your own status,” Martin replied truthfully.

He remembered their tutor telling them again and again that in an alien contact situation they must always tell the truth, although not necessarily all of it at once. Measured doses of the truth gave rise to much fewer complications than well-meant diplomatic lies.

“I don’t like what I’m hearing,” Beth said. “The Federation does not approve of slavery or any form of…”

“Now I understand,” the Teldin said before she could go on. “You thought I might be a Master and were being circumspect. Like the other passers by, I thought you were a Master and could not, therefore, speak first. But contact between ourselves and an other-world species would seem to be a project too important to be entrusted to a slave, regardless of its level of ability. My position forbids me saying anything which is directly critical of your Master, or any Master, but it seems to me that it would be more fitting if-if…”

“My Master did the work itself?” Martin asked.

“That was my thought exactly,” the Teldin said.

Martin thought about their tutor and its enormous, sprawling body, and of the sheer size and complexity of any mobile life-support system capable of accommodating it, and he thought of that species’ immense lifespan. Carefully, and truthfully, he said, “My remarks should not be considered in any way critical or disloyal, but my Master is grossly overweight, very old, and has other projects demanding of its time and available energy.”

“Since we are speaking face to face I can accept this information as factual until I have been instructed otherwise by my Master,” the Teldin said, and the sudden change in its manner was unmistakable. It added, “But my Master will not accept anything you say.”

“For this reason,” Martin persisted, “I have been instructed to land on this world and gather information about your species and its culture so that my Master will know whom to approach with the initial offers of friendship and exchanges of knowledge.”

“Your Master seems lacking in sensitivity and intelligence,” the Teldin said, this time without any apology.

“Your Master might just as well have sent a radio transmitting and receiving device.”

“That has already been tried,” Martin said, “without success.”

“Naturally,” the Teldin said.