writes him very often,” she babbled. “He must have told him you were responsible for the new music. That would make him hate you. Rini likes to irritate Irik, because he’s always been jealous of him. But the whole thing’s silly. How could you possibly make over the world’s music, even if you were—” Her voice ran down.
“An Earthman?” he finished coldly. “I suppose you went around telling everybody your suspicions, and Rini wrote that to Irik, too?”
“I didn’t tell anybody!” she protested indignantly. “Not a soul!” She met his eye. “Except Mother, of course.”
“Your mother! You might as well have published it in the District Bulletin!”
“You have no right to speak of Mother like that, even if it’s true!” Embelsira began to sob. “I had to tell her, Balt—she kept asking why there weren’t any young ones.”
“You could’ve told her to mind her own business!” he snapped, before he could catch himself. Five years, and he still made slips. It was her business. On Damorlan, it was a woman’s duty not only to have children but to see that her children had children and their children had children.
He made himself look grave and self-reproachful. “I have a confession to make, Belsir. I should have told you when I married you. I can’t have children.”
“I never heard of such a thing! Everybody has children—unless they’re not married, of course,” she added primly.
“It’s an affliction sent by the gods.”
“The gods would never do anything like that!” she declared confidently.
How primitive she is, he thought, and, then, angrily, how provincial I am! He had never stopped to think about it, but he knew of no married couple who had not at least one offspring; he and Embelsira were the only ones. It hadn’t occurred to the X-T specialists that a species whose biological assets were roughly the same might have different handicaps. Apparently there was no such thing as sterility on Damorlan.
“Are you really an Earthman, then, Balt?” she asked timidly.
She had spread the news around, ruined him, ruined the work Earth had been doing, perhaps ruined even more than that—and she hadn’t even been sure to begin with. But it was too late for recriminations. He had to salvage what little he could—time, maybe; that was all.
“Are you going to tell?” he asked.
She hesitated. “Do you swear you don’t mean my people any harm?”
“I swear,” he said.
“Then I swear not to tell,” she said.
He kissed her. After all, he thought, it isn’t a lie. I don’t mean her people any harm. Besides, sooner or later, her mother will get it out of her, so she won’t be keeping her part of the bargain.
The next time he went to Barshwat he knew he would be followed. He tried to shake the follower or followers off, but he couldn’t be sure he’d succeeded.
He found the colonel looking out of the window with an expression of quiet melancholy. If there had been any Earthwomen on Damorlan, Clarey would have thought he’d been crossed in love.
“Things are taking a bad turn, Clarey,” Blynn said. “There have been certain manifestations of hostility from the natives. Get any hint of it?”
“No,” Clarey said, taking his usual chair, “not a whisper.”
The colonel sat down heavily. “Katund’s too out of the way. We should’ve moved you to a city once you’d got the feel of things. But you do go to Zrig occasionally. Haven’t you heard anything there?”
“Only that an Earthman bought out a cloth merchant’s entire stock at one blow.”
Blynn grinned weakly. “Maybe it was rather an ostentatious thing to do, but the fabric’s beautiful stuff.”
He rubbed his nose reflectively. “Fact is, I’ve been hearing disturbing rumors. They say some fellow named Kuhak’s invented a ground car that can run without tracks.”
Clarey almost said “Guhak,” but caught himself in time. “Nonsense,” he scoffed. “The more I know of them, the more surprised I am they ever got as far as inventing the chains.”
“But they did, no getting around that. This is what Earth’s afraid of, you know,” he reminded Clarey—unnecessarily. “This is why you were sent here. And, if the rumor’s true, it looks as if you weren’t needed at all. I got the bad news by myself.”
“But why should it be that upsetting?” Clarey tried to laugh. “You look as if it were the end of the world.”
The colonel gave him a long, level look. “I consider that remark in the worst of taste.”
Clarey stopped laughing.
“Remember,” the colonel reminded Clarey, again unnecessarily, “this is the way we ourselves got started.”
“But the Damorlanti don’t have to move in the same direction. They may look human and even act human, but they don’t think human.”
The colonel clasped his hands behind his head and sighed. “There have been articles against us in the paper, and whenever we go out in the street people—natives, I mean—make nasty remarks and sometimes even faces at us. And what have we done to them? Carefully minded our own business, avoided all cultural contacts except for trade purposes, paid them much more than the going price for their goods, and gave them one or two tips on health and sanitation. As a result, they’re beginning to hate us.”
“But if you send a report, it’ll bring the staff ship in ahead of time. Maybe the whole thing’ll blow over. This way, you’re not giving it a chance to.”
The colonel chewed his lip. “Well,” he finally said, “I might as well wait and see if the rumor’s verified before I report it.”
Clarey went back to Katund. The months went by. The friendly atmosphere in the Furbush had vanished, and not as many people stopped and chatted when they came to the library. But there wasn’t any actual incident until the evening Clarey was walking home after late night at the library and a stone struck him between the shoulder-blades. “Dirty Earthman!” a voice called, and several pairs of feet scuttled off.
He didn’t mention the incident to Embelsira, not wanting to worry her, but the next morning he went to the Village Dome and informed Malesor. “Very bad,” the headman muttered. “Very bad. Whoever did it will be punished.”
“You won’t be able to catch them,” Clarey said, “and there’d be no point in punishment, anyway. Look at it like this, Mal. Suppose I had been an Earthman, don’t you see how dangerous this would be, not for me but for you? Can’t you imagine the inevitable results?”
Malesor nodded. “The Earthmen’s catapults do go farther and faster, then?”
“And maybe deeper,” Clarey agreed, pretending not to notice that it had been a question. “After the way Irik talked, I couldn’t help drifting
