Their space lighter swooped in, nestled to the Pedagogue’s hull in the original bed it had occupied on the trip from Terra City, and her port opened to the corridors of the mother ship.
Plekhanov, flanked by Chessman and Watson, strode heavily toward the ship’s lounge. Natt Roberts and two of the Tulans remained with the small boat and busied themselves acquiring various items they wished to take back to Texcoco on the return.
The two other natives followed the Earthmen to the lounge, their eyes going here and there in continued amazement, in spite of their efforts to appear untouched by it all. They were in full uniform, in the leather jerkins and kilts that had been adopted by Chessman for his troops. At their sides were short swords. In this they differed from their Earthling officers all of whom wore pistols.
Amschel Mayer was already seated at the officers’ table. His face displayed his irritation at the other’s methods of presenting himself. “Good Heavens, Plekhanov, what is this, an invasion?”
The other registered surprise.
Mayer indicated the Texcocans. “Do you think it necessary to bring armed men aboard the Pedagogue? Frankly, I have not even revealed to a single Genoese the existence of the ship.”
Jerry Kennedy was seated to one side of Mayer, Natalie Wieliczka to the other. They were the only members of the Genoa team who had accompanied him for this meeting. Kennedy winked at Watson and Chessman and Watson grinned back but held his peace. He was trying to think of some manner in which to get Natalie aside, and for the moment, couldn’t.
Plekhanov sank into a chair, rumbling, “We hold no secrets from the Texcocans. The sooner they advance to where they can utilize our libraries and laboratories, the better. And the fact that these boys are armed has no significance. My Tulans are currently embarked on a campaign to unite the planet. Arms are sometimes necessary, and Tula, my capital, is somewhat of an armed camp. All able-bodied men—”
Mayer broke in heatedly. “And this is the method you use to bring civilization to Texcoco? Is this what you consider the purpose of the Office of Galactic Colonization? An armed camp! How many persons have you slaughtered thus far?”
Joe Chessman sent a dour look at the two Tulans who were standing in the background. He looked back at Mayer. “Easy,” he said.
Amschel Mayer spun on him. “I need no instruction from you, Chessman. Please remember I am senior in charge of this expedition and as such rank you.”
Plekhanov thudded a heavy hand on the table. “I’ll call my assistants to order, Mayer, if I feel it necessary. Admittedly, when this expedition left Terra City you were the ranking officer. Now, however, we’re divided—at your suggestion, please remember. Now there are two independent groups and you no longer have jurisdiction over mine. You can hardly expect to supervise developments on Texcoco by getting together with us once every ten years. We’ll go our own way, Mayer.”
“Indeed!” Mayer barked. “And suppose I decide to withhold the use of the Pedagogue’s libraries and laboratories to you. I tell you, Plekhanov—”
Leonid Plekhanov interrupted him coldly. “I would not suggest you attempt any such step, Mayer. For one thing, I doubt if you have the…ability to carry it out.”
Natalie Wieliczka was looking from one to the other of them in dismay. “Gentlemen, gentlemen,” she said gently. “We’re all colleagues.”
Barry Watson chuckled. “Second the motion,” he said. “What’s all this jetsam about, anyway?”
Mayer glared but suddenly reversed himself. “Let’s settle down and become more sensible. This is the first conference of the five we have scheduled. Ten years have elapsed. Actually, of course, we’d had some idea of each other’s progress since team members sometimes meet on trips back here to the Pedagogue to consult the library, or do some work in one of the laboratories or shops. I am afraid, my dear Leonid, that your theories on rapid industrialization are being proven inaccurate.”
“Nonsense!” Plekhanov rumbled in complete disgust. “The opposite is true.”
Mayer said smoothly, “In the decade past, my team’s efforts have more than tripled the Genoese industrial potential. Last week, one of our steamships crossed the second ocean. We’ve located petroleum and the first wells are going down. We’ve introduced a dozen crops that had disappeared through misadventure to the original colonists, including maize and oats. And, oh yes, our first railroad is scheduled to begin running between Bari and Ronda next spring. There are six new universities, including three Doctor Wieliczka has established to concentrate on medicine, and in the next decade I expect twenty more.”
“Very good, indeed,” Plekhanov grumbled.
“Only a beginning,” Mayer pursued. “The breath of competition, of enterprise is sweeping Genoa. Feudalism crumbles. Customs, mores and traditions that have held up progress for a century or more are now on their way out.”
Joe Chessman growled. “Some of the boys tell me you’ve had a few difficulties with this crumbling feudalism thing. In fact, didn’t Buchwald barely escape with his life when the barons on your southern continent united to suppress all chartered cities?”
Mayer’s thin face had darkened. “Never fear, my dear Joseph, those barons responsible for shedding the blood of southern hemisphere elements of progress will shortly pay for their crimes.”
“You’ve got military problems, too, then?” Barry Watson asked him. “It seemed to me you were suggesting that only we on Texcoco have had to resort to strong arm tactics.” There was an amused element in the younger man’s voice.
Mayer’s eyes went to him in irritation. “Some of the free cities of Genoa are planning measures to regain their property and rights on the southern hemisphere. This has nothing to do with my team, except, of course, in so far as we might sell them supplies or equipment.”
The lanky Watson laughed lowly. “You mean like selling them a few quick firing breech loaders and trench mortars?”
Plekhanov muttered, “That will be enough, Barry.”
But Mayer’s eyes had widened. “How did you know about that?” He whirled on Plekhanov. “You’re spying on me, trying to negate my work!”
Plekhanov rumbled, “Don’t be a fool, Mayer. My team has neither the time nor interest to spy on you. We have our own work to do.”
“Then how did you know—”
Barry Watson said mildly, “I was doing some investigating in the ship’s library. I ran into evidence that you people had already used the blueprints for breech loaders and trench mortars.” He shrugged. “I wasn’t particularly interested.”
Jerry Kennedy came to his feet and strolled over to the messroom bar. He said, “This seems to be an all-out spat rather than a conference to compare progress. Let’s try to clear the air a bit. Anybody for a drink? Natalie, you used to like dry sherry, didn’t you.”
“Good heavens,” Natalie Wieliczka said. “Is there still sherry there? I’d quite forgotten about sherry.”
Kennedy said, “Frankly, that’s the next thing I’m going to introduce to Genoa—some halfway decent guzzle. Do you know what those benighted heathens drink now? They ferment a berry and wind up with a sweetish wine that tastes something like blackberry cordial and runs about eight percent alcohol.”
Watson grinned. “Make mine whiskey, Jerry. You’ve got no complaints. Our benighted heathens have a national beverage fermented from a plant similar to cactus. Ought to be drummed out of the human race.”
Barry Watson had spoken idly, as had Kennedy, both forgetful of the two Tulan guards who were stationed at the doorway. One of the natives flushed slightly, but the other’s resentment was only deep in his eyes.