Ayns leaned back, transferred his gaze to the ceiling, and spoke meditatively. “It’s tricky. For that matter, getting appointed ambassador to anything is tricky these days. We fell into this, so the question is what we can make of it.”
“I knew Uncle wasn’t just ‘playing ambassador.’ ”
Ayns nodded. “We’ve got the political pull, but that isn’t enough, not in the diplomatic service, certainly not for a choice appointment like Binoris. We’ve got to make a sensational record here, and we have less than two years to do it. The ambassador to Binoris retires next year.”
“Ah! So that’s why the drainage ditches and the rafts.”
Ayns nodded again. “We have to transform this world and make vital improvements in the people’s living standard, and we have to do it in ways that make good copy for the diplomatic press. We have very little time. And the natives give us no cooperation whatsoever.”
“But what a prize if you can bring it off!” Talitha enthused. “High-class society, the arts—”
“Nonsense!” Ayns scowled at her. “Binoris has huge mineral reserves, and no one is in a better position to influence mining concessions than the Federation ambassador. The appointment is worth a minimum hundred million a year.”
Wembling returned carrying a sheaf of papers, and Talitha said sympathetically, “Poor Uncle! So much at stake and the natives won’t cooperate. Haven’t they accepted any of your suggestions?”
He sputtered indignantly. “Of course they have! Haven’t you seen my ferries? Solved their river-crossing problems—like that. Come on. I’ll show you.”
He rushed her out of the building and across the flower-choked meadow toward the forest. At first she was too startled to protest, but when she found herself dashing along a forest path she began to eye the trees uneasily, looking for clusters of vines. “How far is it?” she panted.
Her uncle did not even break stride. “Another kilometer or two.”
“So what’s the hurry?” she demanded. “It’ll still be there if we walk, won’t it?”
He slowed his pace, and they moved along the meandering forest path at a fast walk. It ended at a riverbank, where Wembling turned, beaming with pride, to study her reaction.
Nearby was a native boat, and at each end was an inverted V over an overhead rope. Other ropes were tied to trees on either side of the stream. To cross, one simply pulled on the appropriate rope and coiled it into the boat. The other rope payed out as the boat made its crossing. The overhead rope kept it at the crossing site.
Wembling handed Talitha into the boat, pulled it across the narrow stream, pulled it back again. “Well, what do you think of it?” he demanded.
“It’s very—clever,” she murmured.
“We’ve got them at all the main crossings,” he said. “I’ve had real good publicity on it—action photos made the news transmissions on eight worlds, including Binoris, and—”
He broke off, staring at her. “Tal—you can help me! Pose for some pictures. A picture of this thing with you in it in that bathing costume would make the news transmissions on a hundred worlds. Drat it—I should have brought my camera. What d’ya say?”
She was too indignant to speak. Fortunately Aric Hort called to them from the bank before the silence became embarrassing.
“I wondered where you two were going in such a rush,” he said. “There’s a delegation of natives at the embassy waiting to see the ambassador.”
“That’ll be the official invitation to the festival,” Wembling said. “I’ll have to hurry back.”
Hort helped him out of the boat, and as he scrambled ashore he said, “Give her a ride, Aric, if she wants it. Let her try it out as much as she likes.” He trotted off along the forest path, and a moment later, before either of them had moved, he was back again. “Let her pull the rope herself, Aric.”
“I will,” Hort promised. “Both ways.”
Wembling grinned, nodded, and turned away with a wave of his hand.
“Gracious! Isn’t he proud of it!” Talitha exclaimed.
“Come out of there! Quickly!” Hort snapped.
Startled, she scrambled ashore, and he helped her from the boat and into a place of concealment behind some bushes. An instant later two natives emerged from the forest on the opposite bank. Without breaking stride they walked through the river, which was only waist-deep, and disappeared into the forest.
“Don’t they use it at all?” she asked bewilderedly, when the natives had passed out of hearing.
“Only when they think one of us is watching,” Hort said. He led her back to the boat, and so that she could wax properly enthusiastic about it without an uncomfortable amount of lying, she gave herself a round-trip crossing while Hort watched from the bank.
“You know—he really is trying to help the natives,” she said when she’d returned to him. “But I suppose it’s human nature to resist change.”
“There’s much more to it than that. At one time this must have been a horribly dangerous world for humans. The first settlers probably survived by an eyelash. There are still plenty of ways humans can die on this world, but it’s a relatively safe place because over a long period of time the natives found out by trial and error what the dangers are and how to avoid them. No outsider can come in and instantly know better ways of doing things than the natives have learned from generations of costly experience.”
He got into the boat and took a seat at the opposite end. “I’m worried about the natives. Your uncle is being wonderfully patient, but that won’t last forever. Eventually he’ll start maneuvering to make them do what he tells them, and he has the influence and the political and legal connections to find ways to force them. If he does, he stands an excellent chance of destroying them.”
She stared at him. “Destroying them? Nonsense! Uncle is no monster.”
“Have you noticed anything unusual about the feet of those on the embassy staff?”
“They’re all badly scarred,” she said. “I’ve wondered about that.”
“Your uncle had this notion of eliminating the muddy village streets. He tried to talk Fornri into paving them with gravel. Fornri nixed the idea emphatically. So your uncle demonstrated his wisdom by having the staff members bring in enough gravel to pave the paths between the embassy buildings—just to show the natives how it ought to be done. It turns out that there’s a fungus that thrives in gravel and has an unfortunate affinity for human feet. Now the entire staff has scarred feet, and the paths between embassy buildings are muddy again.”
“The entire staff except you,” she remarked, inspecting his feet.
“Well—I suspected something like that, so when your uncle graveled the paths, I didn’t walk on them. The natives know this world and we don’t, and when they say something shouldn’t be done, I’m not going to do it. Look at this.”
He pointed to the strangely convoluted lashings by which the ferry apparatus was attached to the boat.
“What about it?” she asked.
“I thought that knot was so interesting I was going to send an example to the Anthropological Institute. While I was writing my report, one of the crewmen from the courier ship happened by, and he laughed himself silly over it. This is a very common knot. It was developed to secure wires in spaceship construction to avoid problems caused by vibrations in faster-than-light travel. Anyone who’s had much to do with ships will know this knot. Obviously our expedition wasn’t the first to discover these natives.”
He paused and looked expectantly at her. She resented being treated like a backward child in one of his classes, and she said icily, “If you expect me to believe that this knot is somehow connected with the fungus—”