F. Wilson: Wheels Within Wheels

“So it comes right back to a lack of respect again,” Junior observed.

“Right! But try to convince the legislators in the capital about that! They’re getting together a bill to combat the so-called discrimination against the Vanek, and it looks like it’ll pass, too. But that won’t make Terrans respect the Vanek and that’s where the real problem lies.” He kicked a stone out into the middle of the street. “Damn fools in the capital probably don’t even know what a Vanek looks like! Just trying to make political names for themselves!”

“But if it helps the Vanek get more equality-” Junior began.

“Lip-service equality!” Heber declared angrily. “A forced equality that might well cause resentment on the part of the Terran locals. I don’t want to see that. No, Mr. Finch. If equality’s going to come to Danzer and other places like it, it’s gotta come from the locals, not from the capital!”

Junior made no comment. The man had a good point, but one could never know whether it was sincerely meant or just an excuse to oppose some legislation that interfered with his racial prejudices. He noted that Heber made no alternative proposals.

Heber glanced at the sun. “Well, time for me to get back to my job,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“I’m the_government in town, you might say … mayor, sheriff, judge, notary, and so on.” He smiled.

“Nice to have met you, Mr. Finch.”

“Nice to have met you, Mr. Heber,” said Junior. And he meant it Heber was a pleasant man, but Junior wondered why he had taken so much time to explain the TerranVanek situation to him. Politics, maybe. If enough outsiders could be turned against the pending Integration Bill, maybe it wouldn’t pass. Whatever his reasons, Heber had been very informative.

Junior walked across the dusty street to the general store. A land-rover passed close behind him as he crossed. Ground transportation was common here, possibly because flitters were too expensive to buy, run and service. It was hard work living off the land on Jebinose and the rewards were minimal. The farmlands were a depressed area as far as economics went. That would help explain a part of the poor TerranVanek relations; the Terrans were in control as far as numbers and technology were concerned and they owned all the businesses. But the Vanek held a superior economic position through the sale of their crude little statuettes. The Terrans broke their backs to keep their heads above water, while the Vanek did quite well by merely sitting around and whittling. The situation was tailor-made to generate resentment.

He approached the general store-restaurant building. The foodstuffs and supplies piled out front in their shiny, colorful plastic, or alloy, containers struck an odd contrast to the weather-beaten wood of the store. All the buildings in Danzer were handmade of local wood; prefab probably cost too much.

A hand-lettered sign proclaiming that Bill Jeffers was the proprietor hung over the doorway and Junior’s nostrils were assailed by a barrage of smells as he passed under it. Everything from fertilizer to frying food vied for the attention of his olfactory nerve.

His retinas had not yet adjusted to the diminished light of the store interior and Junior bumped into someone just inside the door. Straining his eyes and blinking, he saw that it was a young Vanek.

“Sorry,” he said. “Can’t see too well in here just yet.” He made his way to the main counter in the back, not noticing the intense gaze he was receiving from the Vanek.

“Yes, sir!” said the burly bear of a man behind the counter. “What can I do for you?”

“I’d like something to eat. What’s on the menu?”

The big man winked. “You must he new around here. You don’t get a meal here, you get the meal: local beef, local potatoes and local greens.”

“All right then,” Junior said with a shrug. “Let me have the meal.”

“Good. I’m Bill Jeffers, by the way,” the man said and stuck out a paw.

Junior shook hands and introduced himself.

“Staying around here long, Mr. Finch?” Jeffers asked.

Junior shook his head. “No. Just wandering about the area.” Again the questions about who you were and how long you were staying.

Jeffers nodded and then looked over Junior’s shoulder. “What’ll it be?”

“The meal, bendreth,” said a sibilant voice behind him. Junior turned to face the Vanek he had accidentally jostled on his way in.

“Hello,” he said with a nod.

“Good day, bendreth,” replied the Vanek. He was young and slight with piercing black eyes.

“How are you today?” Junior asked in a lame effort to make conversation. The Vanek interested him and he wanted very much to get into a conversation with one. But finding a common ground for a discussion was no easy matter.

“We are mostly well,” came the reply. Junior noted the plural pronoun and remembered what Heber had told him. It might help to open a conversation.

“‘I’ve heard that the Vanek always use the word ‘we’ in the place of ‘I’ and I’ve been wondering why that is so.”

“It is the way we are,” came the impassive reply. “Our teachers say we are all one on the Great Wheel. Maybe that is so, we do not know. All we know is that we have always spoken thus and no doubt we always shall. There is no Vanek word for a single man.”

“That’s too bad,” Junior said without thinking.

“Why do you say that, bendreth?” The Vanek was showing some interest now.

Junior would have to come up with a tactful yet honest answer. “Well, I’ve always thought that a race progressed through the actions of individuals. The progress of the Vanek seems to have been terribly slow. I mean, you’ve gone nowhere in the past few centuries. Maybe that’s the result for having the word I’ absent from your functional vocabulary.”

The Vanek eyed him closely and was about to speak when the meals arrived. Each paid for his meal and Junior expected the Vanek to follow him to one of the small tables situated in the corner. Instead the alien turned toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Junior asked.

“Outside. To eat.”

“It’s too hot out there. We’ll sit at one of these tables.”

The Vanek hesitated and glanced around. The store was empty and Jeffers had disappeared into the back. Wordlessly, he followed Junior to a table.

Both were hungry and once seated they began to eat. After swallowing two mouthfuls, Junior said,

“Now, what were you about to say?”

The Vanek looked up and chewed thoughtfully. “You may be right. Once we might have said that we have progressed as far as we desire but that doesn’t hold true any more. The Vanek seem to have proved quite willing to accept the benefits of a civilization technologically far superior to their own. So perhaps it has not been by desire that our culture has been stagnated. But it is our culture and-”

“Hey!” came a shout from behind the counter. “What’s he doing in here?” It was Jeffers. He was pointing to the Vanek.

Without looking around, the Vanek picked up his plate and walked out the door. Junior watched in stunned silence.

“What was that all about?” he asked. “I was talking to him!”

“We don’t allow any Vaneks to eat in here,” Jeffers told him.

“Why not?”

“Because we don’t, that’s why!”

Junior could feel himself getting angry. He tried to put a lid on it. “Just who are the ‘we’ you’re referring to?”

“Me!” said Jeffers as he came around from behind the counter and approached Junior’s table. “It’s my place and I’ve got a right to call the shots in my own place!”