Frederik Pohl - O Pioneer!

Giyt enjoyed walking around the town when he had the time for it. He liked seeing the new buildings going up—Delts installing the electrical connections. Slug crews running the machines that dug trenches for the sewer and water pipes. There was a human bakery cheek by jowl with a Kalkaboo brewery, offering two distinct smells, both interesting. He passed the human ecumenical church, reminding him that, since he was the mayor, after all, probably he and Rina ought to go there once in a while, and a Centaurian home with the little males bossing children around.

But the day was no longer fine. It had clouded over while he was in the store with Rina, and he wasn’t halfway to the Hexagon when he heard thunder. The storm came on fast, and it was a big one, thunder crashes like artillery fire and startling displays of lightning flashing through the clouds. The rain had already begun and he was drenched by the . time he got a cart. He got drenched again when it let him out at the Hexagon. So as the meeting of the Joint Governance Commission started, he was soggy and no longer had the feeling of being entirely comfortable about it.

He was right about that, too. The meeting was a mess. The Petty-Primes’ Responsible One was in the chair, and he appeared to be having a private feud with the Principal Slug. The meeting got off to a late start because the Principal Slug and the Petty-Prime were off in a corner squeaking and slobbering furiously at each other; and then, when finally the Responsible One climbed into his doll-sized chair and declared the meeting in order, Mrs. Brownbenttalon seized the floor to complain about the delay. “Have wasted expensively irreplaceable time of important and very busy persons here most shockingly,” she declared—or so the translation button in Giyt’s ear made her say. “Personally possess great forbearance or would propose immediate motion of censuring!”

It went on like that. The pelt General Manager complained that the Slugs had damaged some of the electrical connections in digging sewers for the new houses; the Principal Slug announced the Delts were unreasonable, almost as bad as the Petty-Primes; the Petty-Prime in the chair declared the Principal Slug out of order. They were all at one another’s throats—even the Centaurian, Mrs. Brownbenttalon, whom Giyt had regarded as the most sensible of his colleagues on the commission. He could not imagine why. Even the audience, surprisingly numerous this day, seemed restive, chattering among themselves. He caught a glimpse of Olse Hagbarth sitting with her arms folded over her chest, looking amused and unsurprised; she winked at him, as though at a shared joke. But Giyt didn’t know what the joke was. So he sat there, listening in wonder, until the Kalkaboo High Champion got his chance to say that the proposals of the other races for reducing their wasteful use of power were totally unacceptable. Then Giyt managed to get in his announcement that the Earth humans had an expert coming to study the whole question of the power plant, the Petty-Prime declared the meeting adjourned, and everyone flocked for the door.

By the time Giyt got to the exit the rain had slackened off to a steady drizzle and most of the waiting carts were already taken. Olse Hagbarth was waiting for another in the shelter of the doorway and she grinned at him. “Real catfight today, wasn’t it?”

“What was it all about?” he asked.

“Oh, didn’t you know? It’s the six-planet meeting coming up. They’re all antsy because they want to look good for the VIPs from home—ah, here’s my cart,” she finished as one last vehicle rolled up to the curb.

She was heading for it before Giyt could react. He hastened after her. “Look, Olse,” he said, “I need to get to the terminal.”

“Of course you do,” she said sunnily, one hand on the cart door. “Have a nice time.”

“Well—what I mean is, any chance you could give me a lift?”

She looked surprised. “I wish I could help you out, Evesham, but I’m going the other way. Anyway, it isn’t that far to walk, is it? And, look, it’s hardly raining at all anymore.”

Actually the rain had almost stopped by the time Giyt got to the Sommermen terminal and so he was only mildly soaked this time.

What surprised Giyt was to see how many people, and nonpeople, had gathered at the terminal, most of them sitting warm and dry in the cars that had brought them. (Which explained how so few cars had been available at the Hexagon.) He caught sight of Hagbarth and Wili Tschopp standing by Hagbarth’s portal control, but before he could go there, squeals from one of the carts attracted his attention. He turned to see the Divinely Elected Savior of the Centaurians, Mrs. Brownbenttalon, poking her long nose out toward him. The translator in his ear piped, “Apologetics, Mayor Large Male Giyt. Should have to offered the sharing of transportation from Hexagon. Trust you scurried well through raindrops.”

“Thanks. Actually I was glad for the exercise,” he lied.

It seemed to Giyt that Mrs. Brownbenttalon was giving him a skeptical look—as much as a curly-haired anteater could manage a look of that kind—but Wili Tschopp was shouting at them to stand back. The golden glow was beginning to surround the terminal. Almost at once it began to flash blue and white.

The transmission from Earth was arriving. No, had arrived; the portal lights went out as the sharp puff of displaced air startled Giyt. He blinked, and when he opened his eyes again, fifteen or twenty large crates were stacked in the bay. A woman was sitting on the edge of one of them, tapping her feet and frowning impatiently, and behind her were three other rather worried-looking adults and a small child, all of them holding suitcases, purses, and each other’s hands.

It was time for Giyt to carry out his mayoral duties. He advanced on the newcomers, hand outstretched. “Welcome to Tupelo,” he said. “I’m your mayor, Evesham Giyt, and this gentleman over here”—waving toward Hagbarth, hurrying in their general direction—“is your Ex-Earth representative, Hoak Hagbarth. Hoak will arrange for your housing, and all your other needs, so if you’ll excuse me—”

Hagbarth gave him a scorching look. “Stay here, Giyt,” he ordered. “Keep these people company while I take care of Emissary Patroosh.”

“How?” Giyt asked, but Hagbarth was already most obsequiously greeting the woman on the box.

So Giyt found himself doing the tour-guide thing for the new arrivals, while out of the corner of his eye he saw all the nonhumans getting out of their carts and swarming over the cargo. Mr. Brownbenttalon had leaped off his mate’s back and was running the fabric of some new garments through his tiny paws; four or five of the Petty-Primes were concentrating on the luggage belonging to the immigrants. One of them sniffed at a bunch of grapes suspiciously, then bit one of them in half, stared at the interior and then spit the thing out. The woman Giyt was talking to cried out, “My basket of fruit!” They all abandoned Giyt to protect their belongings as Wili Tschopp came up behind him.

“When they’ve got their stuff,” he said, “you can take them to Olse’s house. She’s sorting out places for them to live.”

“I never had to do that before,” Giyt remarked suspiciously.

“No, of course not. Usually Hoak does it for you, but this time he’s got the energy lady to take care of. And listen”—smirking again, in the way Giyt had learned to hate—“you be sure to give my regards to that really good-looking lady of yours.”

By the time Hoak Hagbarth had shepherded his VIP guest’s luggage past the inspection—with much argument and raising of voices over the scientific instruments she’d brought with her—he escorted her to the waiting cart, pausing to introduce her to Giyt. “Dr. Emilia Patroosh, Mayor Evesham Giyt. Listen, Giyt, you’ll have to take the new people to my place so Olse can—”