Iflatun Faruq broke off and grasped Brisson's wrist.
"There! Do you see what I see?"
"What?"
"That man! The one in green shorts."
"What about him?"
"Ricardo Holm!"
"Oh, ah!" Brisson gulped the rest of his drink and looked. The man in question was a big heavy-set fellow with abundant gray hair. He plowed up to the bar, said something to the bartender, drank the resulting drink at a swallow, and swept the room with a bloodshot glance. Then he started out.
Brisson muttered: "I'll see about that filthy beast or my name is not Jean-Pierre Amaury Jules-Cesar Michel Perigord Brisson!"
"Hey!" cried Faruq, but without effect. Before he had finished reciting his own name, Brisson had leaped up, ignoring the crash of his glass to the floor and the fact that he had not paid for his drinks, to rush after the disappearing governor.
Brisson arrived at the entrance to the Northern Cross just as Governor Holm was getting into his automobile. With a howl of "Assassin!" Brisson hurled himself into the vehicle beside the astonished governor and grasped the latter's lapels.
"Now one has you!" yelled Brisson."Species of dirty animal, you shall not escape the penalty of your crimes! There is no hope!"
The chauffeur-bodyguard in the front seat squirmed around and poked a pistol into Brisson's face.
"Do I shoot?" said the bodyguard.
Brisson, red-faced and breathing hard, released the governor's jacket.
"Go ahead, shoot!" he said. "One more to your numberless atrocities, what difference?"
"Would you mind telling me what this is all about?" inquired Holm.
"You are the rascal who has been holding up my exit permit, so you can rob me of my archaeological finds! But you shall never succeed, if I have to spend ten thousand years here!"
"Oh. And who are you?"
Brisson identified himself.
"I see," said the governor."Of course I expect courtesy for courtesy... But right now I've got other things on my mind. I can't worry about your exit permit, or your antiques either."
"Ah?" Brisson became aware of the strained and stricken face of the governor."May one ask?"
Grief showed through the governor's self-possession."They got my wife."
"Who?"
"The damned natives. She would run off—that is, ah—she went sightseeing in the Tshimvi country and got caught in a battle."
"The battle of Khye Pass of which we have been hearing rumors?"
"Yes."
"But how it is frightful! Was she killed, my poor friend?".
"No. Horko's got her, but she wasn't hurt."
"Ah!" said Brisson in a less sympathetic tone."Sometimes I wish somebody would seize my wife like that. But since the Kteremians are bark-eaters exclusively except at the mating season, and as that is far distant, I don't think you need worry about the fate of the unhappy Mrs. Holm."
Ricardo Holm looked at Brisson with compressed lips, then said: "There's a hell of a lot more to it than that. You know that country pretty well, don't you?"
Brisson shrugged."I've been over it, yes."
"Do you know those chiefs, Horko and Zhewha?"
"But yes! In fact I think that I am the only earthman who has ever gained the confidence of the Znaci."
"Treacherous devils."
"So would you be, if you'd been treated as they have."
Holm made an impatient motion."And you want your exit-permit without any strings attached, don't you?"
"Of course. That is what I am pushing cries about."
"Well, come on over to my place and maybe we can make a deal. Home, Lin."
THE bodyguard drove furiously to the governor's mansion, clearing the way with his siren. Inside, Brisson whistled at the gleam of the many archaeological treasures, gold and jade and crystal, that Governor Holm had amassed, hung from the walls and otherwise disposed about. Holm said:
"A pretty swell little collection, isn't it? Even if I say so myself."
"I don't suppose you ever kept records of where and from what strata these finds were taken, did you?"
"Wasn't interested. Maybe the guys who gave 'em to me know."
"So, as a result of your unprincipled rapacity, the clues that make these objects of value to the interpretation of the past are scattered and lost for all time. It is the cow-heads like you—"
"Look here, damn it, I didn't bring you here to lecture me! Anyway this planet's got enough ruined cities to stock every museum on earth. So let's get down to business."
"Well? I attend."
Holm lit a cigarette."Do you—did you know a man named Ivan Dolgoruki?"
"A trader, no? I encountered him once at Severak, but I shouldn't say I knew him."
"Was, you mean. He was killed in the battle."
"So?"
"But my Euphemia was captured by Horko, who's holding her as hostage."
"What does he want you to do?"
"To recognize his claim to the ownership of the whole Sveho Purchase. He claims title to the tract on the ground that the sale to the earthmen by the Tshimvi was invalid because his people owned the land before the Tshimvi drove 'em out. Now that he's chased the Tshimvi clear out of the whole damned country, he claims the Znaci ownership of the Purchase is still valid."
"Ah," said Brisson."And does he expect all the earthmen in Sveho to pack up for home?"
"No, he'll settle for a lease. But I can't admit anything but outright, legal, incontestable ownership, or some day in the future some windbag will persuade the natives to try to drive us off the whole damned planet. You know, the old foreign-devil gag."
"Did the Znaci own the tract at one time?"
"Depends on who you're talking to. They say yes; the Tshimvi say no, mostly, I think, just to spite the Znaci. As neither of 'em have any written records it's a tossup which is the bigger set of liars. The Znaci claim their ancestors built Ozymandias."
Ozymandias was a huge statue on a sort of natural pedestal, a few miles outside the city of Sveho, well within the bounds of Sveho Purchase. Nobody knew who had carved it. The Kteremian tribes had various stories of its origin, but these were either obvious myths or were suspiciously designed to serve the interests of the tribes that told them, and in any case they were wildly contradictory. The name "Ozymandias" had been casually conferred by an Earthman who, though evidently a person of some culture, could not be bothered with mastering the grunts and whistles of the Kteremian languages. Holm continued:
"I sometimes wonder, how come these natives worked up to civilization so many times, but always went back to the way they are now? Maybe you know the answer?"
"It seems to be the nature of the beast. They are intelligent but emotionally unstable, much subject to envy, feelings of inferiority, and destructive impulses. We have those qualities too, of course, but not to the same degree. That's why every time a tribe has raised itself to a standard above its neighbors, the latter have attacked it and pulled it back down. They cannot bear that another should surpass them, which also accounts for the rancorous feelings they often hold towards earth-men even when they have been well treated. It also explains why they have never been able to achieve a political unity—with a few exceptions like the Hrata Empire—larger than the tribe."
"Just as good for us. If they all got together... But to get back to our deaclass="underline" The tribes aren't all in on this plan of Horko's by a long shot. They're afraid it'll lead to open war, they don't want their trade disrupted, and they're afraid of our fire-power. On the other hand they're afraid of the Znaci, since these are the strongest tribe. So they're calling a conference of chiefs at Gdoz to thrash the matter out. Now, I want you to go there and get Euphemia away from them."
"What?" cried Brisson."Am I a magician? How am I supposed to do that without an army?"
"Oh, you'll figure out a way. Promise anything you like; shoot Horko in the back; I don't care, so long as you get results and don't start a general holy war against earthmen."