“She is Vaemar’s guest, and also his Ph.D. supervisor,” said Leonie. “He has placed a guest-house in his palace at her disposal. She has the use of the laboratory and instruments. I believe ARM is aware of the situation.” And has probably planted something the size of a grain of rice under the skin between her shoulderblades, thought Nils, to track her movements and to detonate if she looks like leaving the planet without permission. Neater than a Zrrow. But it would be tactless to mention that now.
The testimony of the Rykermanns, and the name of Dimity Carmody, had done much to swing the meeting.
“He may need a bit of coaching,” the bearded man said eventually. “But there are quite a few kzin around here, and a helluva lot more spread around the planet. I say we should go for him. And just think of the look on the chancellor’s face when our boy gets up to speak.”
Vaemar and the abbot got out of the air-car and looked at the stockade. “You are sure this is in my electorate?” Vaemar asked. “It’s a long way to the abbey and Grossgeister Swamp.”
“Your electorate is pretty open-ended. I don’t think officialdom knows about this place yet, it’s too far away. But the villagers have been trading gold and precious stones for some months now, and buying all manner of things from horses to newspapers.”
“Will they still hate all kzin, do you think? They must have come here to escape the Occupation in the first place,” Vaemar wanted to know.
“There’s your answer.” The abbot pointed to a tall, bulky figure coming down to the stockade from the hills. It walked lithely and confidently. It saw them and headed straight for them. Vaemar moved in front of the abbot and patted his holster.
“Ho, kzin warrior, what do you here? The kzin is a mighty hunter!” Vaemar asked in the formal tense. The kzin’s eye caught the red fur on Vaemar’s chest, and his ear-tattoos. He began to go down in the prostration until Vaemar stayed him with a gesture. “Dominant One…” he began in the old style.
“That is not necessary,” Vaemar reassured him. “We live in modern times now.”
“Greetings, then, Great One and Human. I am Rrhougharrrt, the sheriff of this town. I keep the Judge’s Law.” Ruat showed them his badge with pride.
“I am standing for election for this district,” Vaemar explained. “I would like to talk to the town, if that can be done without alarming the people here.”
Ruat gave a very human shrug, although on rather a large scale. “I know nothing of elections and districts, Great One. I will take you to the judge, who will decide. Follow me.”
They followed him to the gate, which was opened to allow them in by a gatekeeper who addressed Ruat in familiar tones. “Hi, Ruat, got some more visitors to join us?”
“I know not, Hans, but the Hero is of royalty. I take them to the judge.”
Boniface and Vaemar were admitted with a polite nod, and the gate closed behind them. They looked around. It was somewhere halfway between a shantytown and a well-designed minor city. The houses were a bit rough but were in the process of being spruced up. Children and kzin kits played together in the streets, the kits with buttons on their claws and Vaemar had seldom seen anything like it: man and kzin living together and a kzin sheriff who seemed to be on good terms with everybody. The kids showed not the slightest fear of him; they seemed to see him as a protector. They waved at him and smiled. And the kzin waved back and flipped an ear at them. Unbelievable.
“Judge, I have found some strangers. They came by aircar, it is outside the wall. The Hero wants to talk to the town, for reasons I know nothing of. You must explain it to me later.” The judge looked up at them. He was sitting on a rocking chair on the porch of his house and smoking a pungent cigar.
“Lord Vaemar-Riit, as I live and breathe! And of course you are the abbot. I have never met you, but I have heard a lot about you. I knew your predecessor. I owed him a debt.”
“But you have met Vaemar before?” the abbot inquired.
“Indeed I have, although under embarrassing circumstances, and with luck he does not recall me.” The Judge was grave, so Vaemar decided not to recognize him formally, although it was not hard to recall the circumstances. Vaemar had been a mere kit at the time, but the events had been, ah, memorable.
“I have been selected as the conservative candidate for the Grossgeister electorate,” Vaemar explained. “I would like to tell your people why it is important to vote for me. It seems a very vulgar thing to do, but I am assured that it is proper.”
“Hey, you’re going into politics? That’s wonderful! Some of the men are out hunting or farming, but they’ll all be back later. Can you wait two hours? We can have the whole town lined up for you by then. Not a whole lot of folk, of course, less than two hundred all up, but we are growing at the expense of some of the other villages further out. We can thank Ruat for that. He found gold and precious stones near here, which means we’re rich now, and the word gets out.”
“You have prospered,” said Vaemar, as the villagers assembled.
“Indeed.” It was obvious to the judge that Vaemar recognized him, despite the years that had passed. “And the sergeant…Rarrgh?”
“He heads my household…my palace staff.”
“You have a palace? Times have indeed changed, O’ Vaemar-Riit!”
“Only a small one. But I find it is big enough. It is not on the scale of my Honored Sire’s, but I find it is big enough for contentment.”
“Then you are fortunate, as I have been.”
Vaemar didn’t need a soap box to stand on, had such a thing been available and strong enough to bear his weight. He checked with the abbot, who nodded.
“People, Heroes and humans, I am Vaemar-Riit. If you will vote for me next week, then I will represent you. My duty is to do what I can to help you help yourselves. I will do this if I am elected, whether you vote for me or not.
“I will have a say in the making of the laws. I will try to pass laws which I think are good for all this world. I shall exercise my best judgment.”
There were six, no, seven kzin standing at the back, with men and women among them.
“If you want to ask me questions, I will try to answer them. Thank you.”
It was probably the shortest campaign speech on record. It seemed to work. A kzin called out: “What is this voting? I have heard of it, but it meant nothing to me.”
“You will be given a piece of paper with some names on it. There are little spaces after the names. To vote for me, you make a mark with a stylus after my name. If enough of you do this, I will become your representative.”
“And if we have some trouble, we may come and ask your help?” a kzinrett asked.
“Yes.” Vaemar was firm. “It will be my duty to give you help if I can.”
The crowd digested this. “Will you favor the kzin? They are your kind,” a human voice pointed out.
“No, I will do justice. I will be representing all of you, not just the kzin.”
The crowd started discussing this with each other. Vaemar looked at the abbot, who nodded.
“Did I do that properly?” Vaemar asked the abbot on the way back.
“Looked pretty good to me,” Boniface told him comfortably. “Think of it as practice for the rest of the speeches. Some may be a little longer when you’re closer to Grossgeister. Tell them about the swamp.”
“That will be good,” Vaemar agreed. “I thought perhaps I could have spoken more, but could think of nothing to say.”
“Doesn’t stop most politicians,” the abbot said drily. “I found it very refreshing.”
“Ain’t for me t’ tell you how t’ vote, Bill.” The judge yawned.
“But you are gonna vote fer a kzin? I don’t know I want to stay in this town, we got kzin all over the place, and I hate them. I hate them all.”
“That’s your right as a free man an’ a fool, Bill Braun. How you can have strong feelins about a whole bunch of people you never even met is beyond me; I can only hate people I know pretty well, m’self.”