Shrouded Planet

I

The last thing that would have entered Norvis peRahn's mind would have been a ceremony centering around his esteemed classmate, Dran peNiblo Sesom.

Dran peNiblo being honored for something? Impossible, Norvis thought. Dran peNiblo was a bedraggled little Nidorian from the slums of Tammulcor, and, as far as Norvis knew, he had done nothing in his two years at the Bel-rogas School of Divine Law but occupy space in the classrooms.

Norvis shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs away. He had only had three hours of sleep; he had just gone through a long, hard night of brooding and work—mostly brooding, unfortunately—and he took it most unkindly when young Krin peBor Yorgen, the first-year boy who did the waking-up duties for Norvis' floor of the dormitory, awakened him an hour before the usual Bel-rogas reveille. Norvis was thoroughly unhappy at the sight of Krin peBor's shining young face peeking in the door an hour ahead of time.

"Rise and greet the Great Light, Norvis peRahn!" Krin exclaimed in an all-too-cheery voice.

Norvis opened one eye and squinted out the window. It was still gray outside; the Great Light was not yet bright in the sky.

"What in the Name of Darkness are you doing here at this hour?" Norvis asked irritatedly. "I've got an hour to sleep yet—maybe more."

"Not today," Krin said brightly. "Special ceremony this morning. Smith himself just came round to tell me to get everyone up early."

"Oh,'' said Norvis. He sank back under the covers, thinking that Smith had a lot of nerve calling a morning ceremony when he knew that Norvis had been up most of the night. He shut his eyes hard, trying to pretend it was all a dream.

A moment later, he opened them cautiously. Krin peBor was still standing there, arms folded.

"You'd better get up, Norvis peRahn," he said. "This is something special, according to Smith."

"He's not going to miss me," Norvis told him. "The School's big enough that they'll never notice I'm not there. Go away."

He slumped back and shut his eyes a second time, only to find Krin peBor shaking him vigorously by the shoulder.

"Will you go away?" Norvis asked peevishly. "I want to sleep—and you can tell that to Smith if you feel like it."

"Sorry,'' Krin said cheerfully, "But Smith gave me special instructions that you were to be there. So I guess you don't have any choice."

"I guess not," Norvis grumbled. Wearily, he dragged himself out of bed. "What's going on, anyway? You have any idea?"

"Sure," said Krin. "They're honoring Dran peNiblo. Giving him the Order of Merit, Smith said."

It took a moment to register. Then Norvis said: "What?" He sat down again on the bed. "Dran peNiblo? Being given the Order of Merit? For what? That fumblewit can't even find his way to class without having trouble."

Krin peBor shrugged. "I don't know why, either," he admitted. "But the Earthmen do funny things sometimes. '' He gave Norvis a look intended to convey deep meaning, but which merely seemed ridiculous on his youthful face.

Norvis shook his head. "Dran peNiblo! I don't get it."

It was, on the face of it, incredible, Norvis told himself as he reluctantly stood up again, still red-eyed from his long night of wasted effort.

"Well, at least that woke me up," he said, reaching for a fresh vest. "I couldn't get back to sleep without knowing what Dran peNiblo has done to deserve the Order of Merit."

Krin peBor, seeing that Norvis was definitely up to stay, smiled politely and ducked out. A moment later, Norvis heard him thundering on the next door down the hall.

Norvis stared balefully at the heap of papers on his desk, at the two or three scratched notes that had been the only products of his night's labors. His project was rtearing completion—that was obvious—but last night he had come to the jarring discovery that, with the end in sight, he was not at all anxious to finish.

His specialty was biochemistry, and he had been working fairly closely on his project with Smith. Both he and the enigmatic bearded Earthman were sure that the project would probably make him a popular hero, a member of the Order of Merit, and all the other things, but some nagging doubt at the back of his mind had kept him from handing in the completed work to Smith. The worst part of it was that he didn't know why; he was simply reluctant, and until he found the source of his reluctance he was determined to go no further on the project.

He scooped up the papers, shoveled them into his file, and clicked closed the combination lock. Then, smoothing his golden facial down with his palms to make himself more presentable, he started downstairs. From outside, he could hear the sounds of the gathering which had started to form in the Square.

He still didn't believe it. Dran peNiblo being honored? For what? What was the little, two-legged hugl capable of, Norvis wondered, that could ever make him the center of any such affair?

For a bleary-eyed moment, Norvis considered the possibility that it was all a hoax instituted by Krin peBor for some obscure motive. It was unlikely, but it seemed more conceivable than the idea that Dran peNiblo had done something worthwhile.

Yet, when he emerged from the dorm and crossed the Square to the main building of the School, he discovered that all was actually as Krin peBor had said. On the little platform usually erected for such events, Norvis could see the tall, solemn-faced figure of the Earthman Smith, the rotund figure of Morn peDrogh Yorgen, Head Grandfather of the Bel-rogas School, and, standing between them, looking impossibly thin and meek, was Dran peNiblo Sesom.

It just doesn't figure, Norvis told himself as he drew closer. It just doesn't add up at all.

He joined the outermost edge of the throng, edging in to a little clump of upperclassmen who were standing together. They greeted him morosely; they were obviously almost as sleepy as he was.

"Did I hear right?'' Norvis asked. "Are we all down here to see Dran peNiblo get glorified?"

"Precisely," said a tall, bored-looking student named Kresh peKresh Dmorno, who was from the western coast of the large landmass that was the larger of Nidor's two continents. "We are just discussing the utter improbability of it."

Norvis nodded and flicked a glance at the platform. Smith, Dran peNiblo, and Grandfather Morn peDrogh were standing there waiting for the School to assemble.

Smith, who had guided the School for years, who had been there in the days of Norvis peRahn's parents, was standing there, stroking and .smoothing his graying beard, waiting calmly and patiently. Grandfather Morn peDrogh was darting nervous glances around, and occasionally turning to mutter something to Smith, at which the Earthman would hold up a hand in pardon.

Apparently the priest was apologizing for the tardiness of his students; Morn peDrogh was much more of a stickler for promptness and proper decorum than his predecessor, old Gils peKlin Hebylla, had been.

As for Dran peNiblo, the little fellow looked utterly ill at ease. As usual, his golden body hair seemed waterlogged and unkempt, and his eyes were dull and dreamy. It had long been a mystery to Norvis—and, apparently, to some of the others—how Dran peNiblo had managed to get past the Examiners. The Bel-rogas School of Divine Law was supposed to accept only the best, the cream of Nidorian youth. How did Dran peNiblo fit into that category? Some of the students had decided that Dran was unnaturally shy and afraid of people, and that made him seem stupid but the Earthmen's tests had shown his true worth. But Norvis had never subscribed to that rationalization.

Still, if he were going to get the Order of Merit, didn't that prove something?

Norvis shook his head. He still couldn't buy the theory. Dran peNiblo was fit to raise peych beans, like any other peasant, or perhaps work in the stables, tending deests. And yet, there he was, up on the platform, planted between Smith and the Head Grandfather.

Grandfather Morn peDrogh stepped forward and raised both his arms above his head. The crowd stilled. Norvis leaned forward to hear better. He was curious to find out just what this was all about.

"My children," the Grandfather said in his solemn voice, "Your attention, please." The priest waited for the low hum of conversation to die out, smoothing his hands against his blue tunic impatiently, then went on.

"We are here this morning to ask the blessings of the Great Light upon one of our members. Let us pray."

Everyone turned to face the east, where the morning glow of the Great Light was already showing a pearly gray through the eternal cloud layer of Nidor.

"O Great and Shining Father," the priest intoned, "Favor us this day by shedding Your Holy Light and Your Ineffable Blessings upon us all. And favor especially those of us who have diligently worked in Your Holy Cause. And favor especially one of our members whom we, Your servants, are to honor today for his work in Your Great Plan.

"Favor us, then, O Light of the World, by giving special grace to Your servant, Dran, the son of Niblo, of the noble Clan of Sesom, for the work he has done for Your people."

The invocation was over. As one, the crowd turned back to look again at the platform.

Dran peNiblo still looked as snivelly as ever and as stupid as ever. Norvis felt it quite unlikely that the Great Light had paid any attention to the prayer.

Smith, the Earthman, stood up. "In order that all of you may understand what this young man has done," he said carefully, "we must take a look at the world's food supply and examine its fundamental nature.

"The principal crop, which is the basic plant food of all Nidor, is the peych bean,'' Smith said. "Now, while it is truly written, 'We do not live on peych alone,' it is, nevertheless, our most important crop. Because of its versatility, it may be used for many other things; its leaves provide us with fiber for our clothing; its stalks can be used as fuel or deest-fodder."

Norvis exchanged wry grins with the man standing next to him. "Next he'll be telling us that the stuff we breathe is air, and how important that is, he whispered.

"No," the other whispered back, "I think, after judicious consideration, that he will remind us that water is, after all, very wet."

From the platform, the Earthman's voice went on. "You can see, therefore, what a boon it would be if some method were to be discovered to aid the farmer in producing peych beans. Dran peNiblo has been concentrating on an approach to this problem.

"Those of you who have been studying agronomy know how the soil is enriched by fertilizers, of course. What Dran peNiblo has done, very briefly, is discover a way to increase the per-acre yield by nearly one hundred percent, by means of a new growth hormone which—"

Norvis peRahn's wandering attention snapped back suddenly to what the Earthman was saying. Growth hormone? It couldn't be! That was his own pet project!

He strained his ears to hear Smith's words more plainly.

"—which permits the plant to make more efficient use of the soil. Although the cost of producing this new substance is high, very little is needed for each plant—a matter of a few drops sprayed over the leaves of the plant itself.

"Naturally, the exact process will remain a secret, to be kept in the possession of Dran peNiblo and his descendants in order that he may reap the proper profit due him by virtue of his brilliant work.''

Norvis peRahn felt the golden fuzz on the back of his neck prickle. Smith had quoted almost exactly the words in his own notebook, locked upstairs in his file! He sputtered in rage. Why, that little sneak of a Dran peNiblo had stolen his work!

Norvis rocked back and forth for a second or two, much too bewildered to be able to say or do anything at all. The events of the entire morning had been insane, unbelievable.

On the platform, Smith, with a great show of ceremony, had taken a small box from his voluminous robes and had handed it to Grandfather Morn peDrogh. The Grandfather turned to Dran peNiblo, who had yet to open his mouth. He was standing there, smiling insipidly.

Grandfather Morn opened the box and brought forth a magnificently embroidered ribbon with a gleaming bronze medallion dangling from it. The assembled students suddenly became terribly quiet.

"Dran peNiblo," said the priest sonorously, "kneel."

The little man knelt humbly. Grandfather Morn looked upward, where the Great Light gleamed through the ever-present clouds, and then down at the kneeling Dran peNiblo. Norvis froze.

Solemnly, the Grandfather said: "The Blessings of the Great Light be upon you, Dran peNiblo, for the brilliant work you have performed here at the Bel-rogas School. It is only fitting, then," he continued, starting to slip the ribbon around Dran peNiblo's thin neck, "that we, by virtue of the power vested in us by the Council of Elders, do hereby invest you with full and unqualified membership in the Gracious Order of—" Norvis could take no more.

"Stop!" he roared.

The sound of his voice broke the dead silence that had prevailed in honor of the investment. Norvis heard the single word ricocheting off the buildings and echoing back, bouncing around the Square.

All eyes turned on him. He felt terribly alone in the midst of the crowd.

"What does this interruption mean?" Grandfather Morn asked sternly. His eyes were blazing with rage.

Norvis took a step backward, only vaguely noticing that everyone around him was edging slowly away, leaving him standing, a solitary figure, in the midst of a cleared circle. He tried to speak, but he could find no words.

"I repeat," the Grandfather said. "What did that outburst mean? By what right does a student irreverently interrupt a Ceremony of Investiture?"

Again Norvis struggled to speak, and this time the words were there.

"Dran peNiblo is a thief!" he shouted. "The growth hormone was my project! He stole it from me!"

Some of Grandfather Morn's rage seemed to be replaced by shock and wonderment. "That is a very serious and unusual charge," he said cautiously. "What proof can you offer?"

Norvis pointed a golden-haired finger at the tall Earthman. "Ask Smith, Grandfather! Smith knows! He knows I was working on it! I'm almost finished with it! Go ahead, Smith!" Norvis stopped suddenly. The Earthman was saying nothing, but there was a look of detached surprise on his alien face.

"Well?" said Norvis hoarsely. "Go on, Smith! Tell him! Tell them all that Dran peNiblo stole my project!''

Norvis felt his hands quivering. He was no longer afraid, not even of the Earthman; he was burning with righteous indignation. "Goon!" he shouted. "Tell him all about it!''

Smith looked almost sorrowfully pained. "Dran peNiblo has been working on this project for over a year," he said quietly. "He has been reporting to me regularly. I know of no other project in the School which is even remotely similar."

Grandfather Morn peDrogh frowned. Obviously, the whole scene was very distasteful to him, and he was unsure of how he was going to recapture the dignified tone of the ceremony.

"You have heard the Earthman?" he asked sternly.

"It's a lie!" Norvis yelled. "I was working on the project! Dran peNiblo wouldn't know a hormone from a deest's bray without a picture-book! That was my project, and he stole it—and Smith knows that! Smith's lying! Lying!"

Overcome by rage, Norvis pushed his way through the crowd, heading blindly for the platform, where Smith awaited him, arms folded calmly.

Norvis kept repeating, over and over again, "Smith is lying! The Earthman is lying!"

Then, quite suddenly, a powerful hand was clamped over his mouth, and two more seized his arms. He struggled, kicked wildly, bit at the hand. It had the alien odor of an Earthman's skin, and then Norvis sensed the acrid taste of an Earthman's blood. But the hand remained where it was.

He was in the grip of two of the Earthmen, and they were dragging him away, back from the platform, then further away and into one of the buildings. He continued to fight and struggle, and, as he was hurled, still protesting, through an open door, he heard the droning voice of Grandfather Morn peDrogh proceeding with the ceremony as if nothing had happened.

II

The long road that led from Holy Gelusar, the capital, to the great eastern seaport of Vashcor veered to the southeast to avoid the Mountains of the Morning, a branch of the mighty range of the Ancestral Mountains that ran east-and-west across the continent, separating the rugged northern province of Sugon from the more fertile plains of the south.

The traffic was not heavy along the road; the easiest method was to take the river packet from Gelusar, traveling down the Tammul River to the southern seaport of Tammulcor, and then take a coastal ship around to Vashcor. But that cost money, and Norvis peRahn had precious little of that. He had six twenty-weight notes in the wallet of his vest, and two six-piece coins in his pocket, making a hundred and twenty-one weights in all. Not much money to last a man very long.

He tried not to think of his personal problems, but with every loping step of the long-legged deest beneath him, they kept pushing their way back into his mind. A glance at the bleak crests of the Mountains of the Morning reminded him of the story his mother had told him long ago—about a secret place of magic that the Earthmen had hidden somewhere in those jagged peaks. Sindi iRahn had told the story many times, always cautioning young Norvis not to tell anyone else, and at the same time instilling in him a certain uneasiness about the Earthmen—a suspicion that had been more than amply confirmed now.

The sight of the mountains, reminding him of his mother, reminded him in turn of her tears when she learned that he had been expelled from the Bel-rogas School as a result of the scene he had caused that day.

The first student expelled in the four-generation history of the school had received a lukewarm reception at home. His father had tried to understand, but it was obvious that he did not believe Norvis peRahn's story. After all, would an Earthman lie? And where were the notebooks that Norvis claimed to have kept? Why weren't they in his locker?

Norvis had tried to explain that they had been stolen—taken by the Earthmen while he was out of his room, watching the ceremony. But his explanation had fallen on deaf ears.

Grandfather Kiv peGanz had been positively icy, but just. The gruff old man had given him money for the trip, and asked him to take himself as far from Gelusar as he could get. There were no jobs open for young men who had publicly disgraced themselves, their family, and their Clan by calling an Earthman a liar and trying to take credit away from a deserving fellow student.

And so, alone and more than a little bewildered, Norvis had left Gelusar, all his proud hopes ended.

The road to Vashcor was not a short one to begin with, but even the easy loping gait of the deest he was riding could not soothe the anger that boiled up inside him, and that anger only seemed to make the journey longer.

Why had the Earthmen lied? Why had the notebook been stolen? And why, above all, had the secret been given to that runted little blockhead, Dran peNiblo Sesom? Obviously, Dran had thought that the hormone process had been invented by himself. Smith had, therefore, been giving the little hugl information from Norvis' notes for nearly a year, and making the fumblebrained Dran think it was his own work. But why? Was it because his great uncle was Grandfather Golis peGolis Sesom, one of the most powerful of the Elders? But what difference would that make?

None of it made any sense. The only thing that made sense was his deep hatred for the Earthman, Smith. And the other Earthmen, too. McKay and the others must have known what Smith was doing. They must have known that Norvis peRahn would denounce the theft—otherwise, why would two strong Earthmen have been standing in readiness, prepared to drag him away from the ceremony as soon as he had opened up?

For some reason known only to themselves, the Earthmen had contrived to ruin his life. They had stolen the secret that would have made him famous, and they had stigmatized him in the eyes of the world forever. Why? What went on in the alien brains behind those strange eyes?

Norvis peRahn turned the problem over and over in his mind during the long journey, but he never seemed to come up with an answer.

The Grand Harbor of Vashcor shimmered greenly in the diffuse illumination of the Great Light. Here and there, like queerly geometrical trees, were the tall masts of seagoing vessels, and dotted among the bigger ships were swarms of smaller boats rolling lazily on the incoming tide.

Norvis peRahn watched one ship as her sails caught the wind at the harbor mouth and she moved majestically out into the open sea. The Grand Harbor was almost ideally sheltered, surrounded as it was by high cliffs which protected the bay from the wind. The little paddle-wheeled steam tags pulled the bigger ships out to the harbor mouth, past the cliffs, to where the wind could push them out to sea. Then they would wait until other ships came into the channel and tug them into port when their sails dropped and sagged idly in the still air of the harbor.

It was almost unbearably hot, even for Norvis, who was used to this sort of weather. The humidity made his body hair cling to his skin; he felt sticky and uncomfortable. He also felt hungry.

He wasn't quite sure whether he should eat immediately or wait until he got even hungrier. He was beginning to wish he hadn't been in such a hurry to sell his deest. After eighteen days, his money was getting low, and he hadn't found a decent job yet. Oh, there were plenty of jobs around, if a man was willing to do just any sort of thing. Street cleaning, stable sweeping, bilge washing, hull-scraping work at the drydocks— none of them appealed to Norvis, and none of them offered any chance of advancement. Still, if things got much worse, he might have to take on a menial job just to eat and pay the rent on the small hole-in-the-wall room he had found.

The trouble was, all the decent jobs were pretty well sewed up by the guilds. Of course, the letter he had from Elder Grandfather Kiv peGanz Brajjyd might allow him to get past the guild barrier—but he thought not. It would have, ordinarily, but the news of his expulsion had already preceded him to Vashcor. No one would want anything to do with him when they found out who he was.

There was one other way. It was rough work, but if a man had brains, he could get somewhere eventually. Norvis watched the flying sea-lizards floating lazily in the faint updrafts and thought the proposition over.

Finally, he took a three-piece coin from his shorts pocket and flipped it into the air. The bronze disc twinkled as it spun up and dropped back into his hand.

If it came down "prayers," he'd try job-hunting for another five days; if it came down "price," he'd go to the Shipmaster's.

He grabbed it out of the air and slapped it down on the back of his arm. He looked down, wondering if he'd see the lettering of the prayer inscription or his graven figure 3.

The number looked up at him from below the triangular hole in the center of the coin. It was "price."

The Shipmaster's was a huge, square building that had been erected a thousand years before. The stone, like that of any other ancient building, was weathered and pitted, and the stairs that led up to the main entrance were deeply worn by the passing of hundreds of thousands of shod feet.

The man behind the desk marked Mercantile Enlistments was wrinkled and old; his facial down was silvery with age.

"Good day, Ancient One," Norvis said politely. "May the Great Light bless you."

"Bless you, too, son," said the oldster sharply. "What do you want?"

"Enlistment in the Mercantile, Ancient. Any openings?"

The old man narrowed his eyes. "There's always openings for a man who likes the sea. What's your name?"

"Norvis peKrin Dmorno," Norvis lied. The Dmorno Clan was large and mostly concentrated in the far west; it was a safe alias.

"Can you read and write?''

"A little," Norvis admitted cautiously. He didn't want to admit that he had had much schooling, but it might be difficult to completely conceal the fact that he was literate.

"I have an opening for a scrubhand, usual four-year terms. Do you know what that means?"

"Stay on four years. Money is paid at the end of the enlistment. If I skip ship, I forfeit all rights to the money."

"That's it," said the old man. He pushed a piece of paper and pen across the desk. "Sign the bottom line.''

Norvis glanced over the paper and then looked up. "This is an eight-year contract. I only want four, Ancient One."

The old man pulled the paper back. "You can read, I see. All right, try this one." He pushed out another paper. This time, Norvis signed.

It was an old trick; if a man couldn't read, they'd hand him the longer term contract. He would think that he was free after four years and come to the office to collect his pay; often he'd miss his ship. Then—no money.

Norvis knew that his first ship would be going to the Bronze Islands for metal cargoes. They wouldn't take a chance on giving a new man a ride around the coast; he simply might be trying to get back home again for nothing. They couldn't let him skip ship at his home port after only one voyage.

The old man gave him a slip of paper. "Go back to Room Thirty-four. You'll be assigned to the Balthar, under Captain Del peFenn Vyless."

Norvis nodded and headed for Room Thirty-four.

Four years of life at sea helped Norvis become sure of himself. He started out cleaning ship and waiting on the crew. The sailors, all guild members, did nothing but sail the vessel; none of the dirty, grimy jobs for them. That was for the swabhands, not for skilled labor.

It wasn't an easy life, not for a man used to the comparative luxury of the School. He took orders, but he didn't take them happily at first. But he was careful always to carry them out to the best of his ability; it wouldn't be wise to get jugged out of his sole remaining source of income.

After the first two trips, he found himself starting to rise aboard ship. He grew in responsibility, and the sailors began to accord him the privilege of a greeting. It was obvious to all, particularly to Captain Del peFenn Vyless, that this was an unusual swabhand; he quickly rose to first rank among the swabbers—a small victory, true enough, but a victory, nonetheless.

At the end of his first year aboard the Balthar, Norvis was eligible for membership in the guild, and he was voted in by overwhelming acclaim of the full-fledged sailors on board, with Captain Del's hearty approval. They gave him his certificate on the first really long journey they undertook, out around the coast to the distant seaport of Sundacor. Someone had painstakingly inscribed "Norvis peKrin Dmorno" on it, and he smiled over it; for all intents and purposes, Norvis peRahn Brajjyd was now dead and forgotten. It was just as well.

He rose rapidly in the guild; at the end of his second year, he was elected Spokesman by his fellow crew members, in deference to his eloquence and superior intelligence. By now, there was more than a little speculation aboard ship on the topic of Norvis peKrin's doings before joining the Mercantile, but he said nothing, and no one asked.

From there, the step up to the hierarchy was rapid and inevitable. He was made second mate by Captain Del peFenn—a powerful, dynamic man with an overbearing bass voice and a vivid contempt for some of the most deeply-rooted Nidorian mores. Captain Del came from a long line of ship-owners, and the seamen of Vashcor had always been fairly detached from the theocratic mainland life.

For long hours, as the Balthar, wind in its billowing sails, moved in dignified fashion over the sea, Norvis would sit, watching, quietly nodding, while the Captain would express opinions which would undoubtedly have resulted in his stoning, were he a landsman. Gradually, the Captain unburdened himself more and more bluntly. He feared the power of the Council of Elders, who had immediate control over his cargoes and were always happy to tithe him at both ends. He bitterly resented this, as had his father before him and his father, no doubt, but it was the first time Del had had a chance to unload this resentment to another.

Norvis, without committing himself, managed to let the Captain see that he was at least in partial agreement. It took an effort occasionally, for Norvis did not actually hold the same animosity toward the Council that the Captain did, and when Del peFenn spent the better part of one evening attacking the Elder Grandfather Kiv peGanz Brajjyd, it was all Norvis could do to restrain himself. After all, honor and love for one's ancestors was set forth on the very first page of the Scriptures, and, as little as Norvis cared for old Kiv, he still respected him, both as an Elder, and as his mother's father.

Del peFenn's grievance against Kiv was a simple one; his father, Fenn peFulda Vyless, had held a stranglehold on the shipping of Edris powder from one part of the world to another. When the youthful Kiv's revolutionary hugl-killing methods had ended the entire Edris industry, old Fenn peFulda's contracts had been voided, leaving him temporarily bankrupt.

Even though his fortune had been rebuilt, and his son Del had increased it twofold, he had retained this bitterness until he died, and his son had carried it on. Captain Del peFenn returned to the subject of Kiv peGanz Brajjyd more than once.

As the months moved on, the Captain and his former swabhand grew quite close. And when, in the third year of Norvis' first enlistment, a prematurely lowered boom carried Charnok peDran Yorgen, the Balthar's first mate, overboard, never to be recovered, who else would be the logical replacement but Norvis peKrin Dmorno?

As first mate, Norvis moved up to the second-best cabin, just next to the Captain's, and his wage went up considerably. In odd moments, it pleased him to contemplate the amount of money that was accumulating for him, to be paid in a lump at the end of the four-year voyage.

Each time the ship put into port, it was his task to supervise the loading and unloading of cargo, and to break in the new men Del peFenn was forever hiring. The swabhands had the occasional habit for jumping contract, apparently preferring to lose their pay for a year rather than sweat out three more of the same, and hardly a stop went by without some new swabhand coming aboard. They were generally tall, gawky boys, too restless to make good farmers, and not clever enough to get into Bel-rogas.

After a while, Norvis came to realize why his rise to the top had been so easy; he was a veritable intellectual giant among sailors. Since every sailor began as a swabhand, and since the swabhands were always green boys, without education or any particular ability, a man with several years of the Bel-rogas School behind him stood out aboard ship like the Great Light over the mountains.

And then, on a warm afternoon in Norvis' final year of duty, Ganz peKresh Danoy joined the crew.

"We've got a new swabhand," Captain Del told Norvis. "He's down on the forward deck now, getting some of the smell of the sea into his lungs."

"Another green kid, eh?" Norvis said. "Well, I'll try to make a sailor out of him."

The Captain smiled. "You'd better go down forward and see him before you make any decisions." There was a strange light in the Captain's eyes, and when Norvis got his first look at Ganz peKresh Danoy, he understood.

Ganz peKresh was no green recruit—not by thirty years or so. He was a man of middle age, short, stooped, and not very intelligent looking. His blunt, flat face had the blank and bewildered appearance of a man whose life had been shattered after fifty years of complacent routine.

"You're the new swabhand, boy?" Norvis asked, just barely managing to conceal his disbelief.

"That's right, Ancient," said he, "Ganz peKresh Danoy, Ancient." He spoke in a dull monotone, and his voice had the nasal twang of a farmer from the bleak, hilly province of Sugon.

"You're older than our usual run of men, you know."

"I know. But this is all I'm fitted for." He spread his hands in an eloquent gesture of defeat and despair. Norvis felt a sudden twinge of premonitory fear.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Sir, you don't know? What's happened to us, I mean?"

Norvis' expression became grim. "No," he said slowly. "Suppose you come back to my cabin and tell me all about it. I'm somewhat out of touch with things." It was not the custom for officers to invite swabhands to their cabins, but Norvis wanted to be sure this was a private conversation—and his respect for custom was rapidly dwindling, anyway.

III

The story Ganz peKresh unfolded was a gloomy one. He had been, as Norvis had guessed, a farmer from Sugon. He had had a small tract of barely marginal land in the southern tip of the province, in the foothills of the Ancestral Mountains. The farming there had never been profitable in the first place; the hundreds of small farms there, raising peych-beans almost exclusively, operated on just the flimsiest dividing line between profit and loss—with loss meaning starvation.

Norvis knew the situation in that part of Sugon; he had studied it, back in those almost forgotten days when he had been working on the growth hormone project. He suddenly grimaced at the memory. He had succeeded in burying it deep, the whole sordid business of the trumped-up ceremony for Dran peNiblo, his own expulsion and discrediting, and everything else. And now it came flooding back and hit him hard.

"Something the matter, sir?"

"No—no," Norvis said. "Suppose you get on with your story. How come you left your farm?"

"Well," Ganz peKresh said hesitantly, "it—it was this new thing. The new thing the Elders have. I don't know what it is, but all of a sudden I couldn't sell my crop."

Norvis stiffened. Those Earthmen! he thought savagely. All the old hate and bitterness surged up again now. He set his jaw. "Tell me." he said, trying to seem sympathetic. "Tell me all about it."

"There's not much to tell. The Elders got something from that School to make their farms prosper, and suddenly the price of my beans dropped to nothing. I—I—I had to sell my farm. I couldn't meet the competition."

"Coming from the School, eh? And they gave it to the Elders?"

"That's right, Ancient. There was a big ceremony at Gelusar, I remember. I heard that people came from all over. And one of those Earthmen presented whatever this was to the Council and—and the next I knew, Elder Danoy bought my farm from me. The only way I could support my family was to go to sea. So here I am." He smiled with a false gaiety; it was a weak, pathetic attempt at expressing an emotion he did not feel.

Norvis stood up. ' "The Elders kept it themselves, eh? Just like them," he muttered. They took my hormone, he thought, and of course produced it in a limited supply-all of which the Elders took for themselves. He paced up and down, ignoring Ganz peKresh. So the Elders are getting richer, and the small farmers are being squeezed off their land.

He turned. "All right, Ganz peKresh. That'll be all for now. I'll explain your duties in the morning."

Norvis sat alone in his cabin for a while after the ex-farmer had gone, struggling to control himself. He felt, once again, the same righteous indignation he had experienced on that long-gone day in the square in front of the main Bel-rogas building, when he had shaken his fist at an impassive Smith and called him a liar in front of the whole School.

What did the Earthmen want? Why were they doing this? It could only be the Earthmen. They were the ones who had stolen his notes, who had trumped up his expulsion, who had seen to it that the Council of Elders had managed to get control of the growth hormone. Naturally, with the already rich Elders growing wealthier, and with the greater supply of peych-beans bringing down the asking price and cutting the small man out of the bidding, the Earthmen's actions were going to have disastrous consequences for Nidor's carefully balanced economy, which had been happily stable for thousands of years. There was no room in it for a small, tight group of very wealthy men, and a large group of itinerant, landless ex-farmers. And that was exactly the situation that was being created.

Deliberately! The Earthmen were deliberately changing the old ways, twisting, distorting, burying the Scripture and the Law under the weight of their innovations and manipulations. Norvis shivered with the strength of his realization; it occurred to him that he might be the first Nidorian ever to suspect that the Earthmen were not as virtuous as they claimed to be. It was a staggering thought.

"But it's not too late to return to the old ways," Norvis said aloud. The Earthmen had been on Nidor not ninety years, and ninety years was but a moment in Nidorian history. Surely the vast weight of four thousand years of tradition could overcome less than six cycles of meddling. The damage could be undone—if someone acted in time.

Norvis blew out the candle and went on deck to find the Captain. Del peFenn liked to stand this watch himself; it was a long-ingrained custom of his.

"Hoy, Captain!"

"Hoy, Norvis.'' The Captain was standing alone on deck, with the evening drizzle beginning to dampen him. He was staring out into the grayness; the Lesser Light was out, and its faint beam illuminated the harbor of Gycor.

"I've just been talking to the new man, Captain."

"Oh?" Del peFenn did not look around, but continued to stare out at the shore lights of the sleeping city. "Did you find out what a man his age is doing signing up as a swabhand?"

"Yes," Norvis said. Quickly, he explained how Ganz peKresh had lost his farm, not bothering to mention his own part in the development of the growth hormone.

Captain Del cursed vividly when he heard the whole story. "Those Elders! It's a wonder the people don't fight them! How many thousands of years is it that we've lived so infernally at peace?"

"The Elders aren't at fault, sir. It's the Earthmen who are responsible," Norvis asserted.

"Hmmm. Maybe so," the Captain said, after some thought. "But I've never trusted those old men anyway. They're probably conniving with the Earthmen right down the line."

"Sir—"

"What is it, Norvis?" "We're heading for Tammulcor next." "That's right. Straight around the coast to Tammulcor. Why?"

Norvis nodded. "I'm going to ask for my release when we get there. I think I could do something about this whole business—at least I'm going to try."

"You're crazy," Del told him calmly. "You can't fight the Elders. The whole world's bound to them hand and foot. It's always been that way."

"I'm not thinking of fighting the Elders, sir. I don't want to fight anyone. I just want to open people's eyes! They 're all blind, every one, and they 're being led right over a cliff!''

Captain Del was silent for a long while, and there was no sound aboard the ship but the steady splatter of the rain against the wooden hull of the ship, and the plinking of the drops into the water of the harbor. After a while, he said: "You'd be smarter to stay with me. My son is just a baby, Norvis; I need help now. If you stay with me, you might just find yourself a shipowner yourself, some day.'' He turned from the rail and faced the younger man. "I've been thinking of buying another ship. I'll need a good man to be her skipper.''

Norvis shook his head slowly. "No, sir, "he said. "I appreciate all you've done for me—but I think I've got a job on the mainland."

"Very well," the Captain said. "I won't hold you back. I'll give you your release at Tammulcor. But I want you to know I'm not anxious to lose you."

"Thank you, sir."

"And when you come creeping back here with your tail tucked between your legs, remember that there'll be a place for you aboard this ship any time."

"You don't seem very confident that I'll get anywhere, do you, sir?"

"No," said the Captain. "No, I'm not."

The rain continued to pour down. Neither of them said anything further.

Norvis went ashore at the huge port of Tammulcor, four years' pay weighing down the pockets of his sea-man's tunic. The first thing he decided to do was spend some of it on clothes; a sailor's uniform would be somewhat conspicuous in inland Gelusar, and he had no intention of calling attention to himself until he had made a few inquiries.

He bought several well-tailored vests and shorts, and packed them into a new clothing carrier. Then he checked on the schedule of the next river packet upstream to the Holy City. He found he had a few hours to kill.

So, still wearing his uniform—common in a coast town like Tammulcor—he strolled into a waterfront beerhouse and ordered a glass of the heavy, warm brew that was the favorite drink of Dimay Province.

"The Great Light illumine you, barman," he said. "What's the news from Holy Gelusar?"

"May he illumine us all," replied the barkeep. "I've heard nothing much, seaman. Just about the same as yesterday.'' It was the common reply, and meant nothing. If there was any news, it was yet to come. "That will be one piece and two," he went on, setting down the tankard of foaming brew.

"One and two?" Norvis repeated in surprise. "That's rather cheap isn't it?"

The barman nodded as he took the money. "It is. A tankard has sold for one and six as long as I can remember. My father, great be his name, sold it for that, and so did his revered fathers before him. It covered expenses well. But now, with the peych-bean selling so cheaply, making the brew is cheaper, too. Others cut their price, so I had to as well. But it doesn't matter; the profit's the same, and that's all that matters."

Then he paused and looked toward the north. "News from Gelusar? There is some,.! think. There have been more farmers who have lost their holdings all over Nidor, of course, but most of them have been around the Holy City. However, it's been said that the Elder Grandfather Kiv peGanz Brajjyd is still holding out. He won't use the new fertilizer-stuff on his own farms; he says it's not according to Scripture." The barman grinned. " 'Course, he hasn't said anything about it in the Council. I dare say he ain't intending to get the other elders riled."

"I've been at sea for four years," Norvis said. "How come only the Elders get the whatever-it-is?"

"Oh, it's not just the Elders. There are others who are getting some of it, but not many. Seems as though the stuff was invented by one of the Elder Grandfathers' nephew, or some such. Anyway, it took a lot of money to build the equipment to make it, so this Elder got some of the others together, and they chipped in to back the boy. The understanding was that they could get first crack at it, and what money they made would be used to make a bigger plant so the other farmers could get the stuff, too. It's a long-range plan, of course, but it's a good one. After all, I understand there was difficulty three hundred years ago, when they brought the steam engine in. It'll take time, that's all. Just time."

"I suppose so," Norvis agreed. So Grandfather Kiv peGanz is still holding out, eh? Interesting.

He finished his beer and laid coins on the bar. "Here you are, barman. That's the extra four you should have made."

"May the Great Light illumine you, sir." He scooped the coins off the bar with a practiced hand as Norvis strode out of the bar.

Norvis spent the rest of the time before the riverboat left walking the streets of Tammulcor, thinking over what he'd learned. So little snot Dran peNiblo was in business now, eh? Making himself quite a pile, too, no doubt. And by stealing another man's work!

Well, we'll see about that, me buck! The Earthman, Smith, was pulling a fast one on all of Nidor. Of that, Norvis was sure. The setup was obvious. What they intended to gain, he didn't quite know—but then, who could ever figure out how an Earthman thought?

According to them, they had all come from Heaven, the abode of the Great Light, but Norvis wondered if they might not have come from the Outer Darkness— the Edge, far out across the Eternal Sea, where the sky met the water. Weren't there demons out there, according to Scripture?

Demons or not, whatever and whoever they were, they were trying to ruin the old, tried-and-true ways of Nidor. By giving the growth hormone to the Elders, they were running the little farmer out of business and making the Elders richer. It was all right for a man to make money, and a monopoly was all right, too, but not when it threatened the lives of thousands of little men.

Something would have to be done.

When the riverboat arrived in Gelusar, Norvis peRahn no longer looked like a sailor. He was just another well-dressed middle-class citizen. After he found a small room in a hotel, he took a walk toward the capital's produce district, where the great peych-bean warehouses were. There, he could find out more about the situation.

It didn't take him long to find out; he could hear the hubbub all up and down lower Temple Street.

Farmers with deest-carts loaded with threshed peych-beans were blocking the street, straining, sweating and swearing. He could see how it would be on Chilz Street, where the cut stalks were taken, or in Yorgen Square, where the long, fibrous leaves were pulped and made into cloth.

Pushing his way through the throng, he headed toward the Trading Building. There was a great deal of milling about, but Norvis' attention was caught by a large group of men who were listening to a red-faced peasant talk in an emphatic voice.

"I tell you," said the peasant, "something's got to be done! We'll have to petition our Elders—all of us! We're being ruined! I'm sure the Elders will change their minds when they see what's happening here!"

A chorus of "Yeas" went up approvingly.

"It would be different if things were getting better,'' he went on. "But they're not! They're worse! Two years ago, when I brought my crop in, they said the warehouses were full—-full! And for thousands of years, our warehouses have only been seven-tenths full! They refused to buy, except at a lower rate! 'A quick sale,' they told me, 'so we can unload the warehouse.'

"But they haven't unloaded! This new thing the Elders are using makes the beans ripen earlier, so they sell their crop first! It just isn't fair, I tell you!"

"What should we do, Gwyl peRob?" shouted one of the crowd.

"Petition! That's what! We must all get together! They'll understand!'' He nodded his head vigorously.

"All right," said another, "we'll petition and ask them to reconsider their plans. I'm a Sesom! Who'll go with me to speak to the Elder of our Clan?'' Several of the crowd moved off with him, and another man stood up and declared his Clan as well.

Finally, Norvis stood up. "I'm no farmer," he said N loudly, "But I'm a Brajjyd! And I say the Clan must stand together! I'll go with you!"

"Who are you?" It was the red-faced speaker, Gwyl peRob.

"My mother's father is Elder Grandfather Kiv peGanz Brajjyd," Norvis said evasively.

"Good, Clansman!" said Gwyl peRob Brajjyd, "You'll be our spokesman, then! Come, we'll round up others, too!"

It took two days for the committee to get an audience with the Elder Grandfather. None of the farmers paid any attention to the name "Norvis peRahn" when its owner finally admitted to it, and he decided that all the scandal about his dismissal from the School had either not penetrated to the farming class, or else had simply been forgotten.

But he knew Grandfather Kiv peGanz had not forgotten. When the two days, which Norvis had used for private investigations of his own at Dran peNiblo's factory, were up, and the acolyte took Norvis and his little delegation into Kiv's study, the look on Kiv's face had none of the friendliness one might expect from one's mother's father. Norvis met Kiv's cold glare for a moment, and seeing that four years had not altered the old man's sternness, he knelt in the ritual bow.

"The peace of your Ancestors be with you always,'' Kiv said. His voice had no warmth in it.

"And may the Great Light illumine your mind as He does the world. Ancient Grandfather,'' said Norvis. He stood up. "How is my mother, Grandfather Kiv?" He wished, suddenly, that he had gone to see her; perhaps—

"What do you want?" asked Kiv bluntly, ignoring the question.

Just as bluntly, Norvis replied: "I want to talk to you about this hormone business. I want you to talk to your fellow Council members. You've got to show them what this new hormone is doing to Nidor."

Kiv smiled delicately. "My fellow Council members are well aware of what they are doing, Norvis peRahn." He paused. Norvis saw that the old man was waiting for the ritual apology; but that was the last thing he would do. The Scripture, Norvis decided, would have to be put aside for the sake of getting something done.

He waited just long enough to make Kiv uneasy and the rest of his delegation thoroughly uncomfortable, and just when everyone was beginning to fidget, he said: "These people are Brajjyds." He indicated Gwyl peRob and the other farmers with him.

Kiv nodded. "I assumed they were Clansmen," he said.

"They're starving," said Norvis loudly. "The new hormone, and the almost exclusive use of it by the Elders—don't you see what it's doing to them? They can't sell their crops! The warehouses are full!"

"I know,'' said Kiv in a quiet voice. "My own farms do not make use of the new hormone, and my overseers are reporting difficulties along the lines you mention.''

"How does the stuff square with Scripture?" Norvis demanded.

''I— don't know,'' said Kiv. He stared past Norvis, focusing his eyes on the symbolic lens of the Great Light in the niche in the wall above Norvis' head. "That is why I have not used the hormone myself."

"But the Council—"

"The Council as a group has approved use of the hormone, on the recommendation of Smith." He spread his hands. "I am a minority."

"Can't you fight?" Norvis asked.

"I have yielded to their greater numbers,'' said Kiv.

"They are willing to trust the word of the Earthman, and I do not wish to quarrel. I prefer not to use the hormone myself, but I cannot publicly take a stand against the will of the Council as a whole."

Norvis looked from one member of his delegation to another. They were standing in a tight clump, and it seemed they were more awed by the immediate presence of the Grandfather than they were concerned with their own pressing problems. Norvis told himself that they had not been through the same embittering experiences he had, and thus they were still able to cling to the old faith.

He looked back at Kiv. "You won't help us, then?"

Kiv smiled. "You haven't made it clear just what help you require, Norvis peRahn."

"Certainly I have,'' Norvis retorted hotly. His words reverberated loudly in the little chamber, reminding him of that day when they had echoed through the Square at Bel-rogas. "I want you to go before the Council and demand abolition of the hormone!"

He felt Gwyl nudge him gently with an elbow. "Norvis—you're speaking to an elder," he said in a frightened whisper.

"Let me handle this," Norvis muttered. "Well?" he asked aloud.

"I have told you." Kiv spread his hands. "I have yielded to the Will of the Council.'' He closed his eyes, as if he would brook no more debate.

"But it's ruining Nidor!" Norvis shouted. He was angry now; the obstinate old man was deliberately refusing to see beyond the end of his nose. "Forty years ago, you nearly ruined everything with your Edris adaptation, and now you're letting the same sort of thing happen—only we won't recover so quickly!"

The Edris reference evidently stung Kiv. He straightened in his seat, and what had been the remainder of his earlier smile sharpened into a grim frown. "I can do nothing. The Council has decided. This audience is at an end."

"You can't throw me out like this!" Norvis sputtered. "Why won't you think? Why won't you look at—"

"This audience is at an end,'' Kiv peGanz said icily.

Norvis started to say something, but he felt the pressure of Gwyl peRob's hand on his arm, and subsided. Drawing a deep breath, he said: "All right. If you won't do anything, I will. I'll take the matter into my own hands."

"Please go," Kiv said. Suddenly he seemed very old and tired. "This audience is at its end."

Norvis, still raging, barely managed to control himself. "I'll go," he said. "But remember—the Council has had its chance. From now on, this is in my hands!''

He turned and stalked out, pushing the door open himself, without waiting for an acolyte to do it for him. The delegation of Brajjyd farmers followed him.

When they were outside, Gwyl peRob confronted him.

"Norvis peRahn, you failed us. That was a most irreverent way to address a Council Elder! Particularly your own mother's father."

"Failed you? I haven't yet started! You heard what I told him! From now on, this is in my hands. I'll talk to Elder Grandfathers the way they ought to be talked to!"

"I don't like it," the farmer said stoutly. "It seems to border on blasphemy. Why should you talk in such a way?"

Norvis realized then that at least a part of his anger at his grandfather had been caused, not by the old man's present attitude, but his attitude of four years before.

But he brushed the thought aside; there was other work to be done.

"Gwyl peRob, I think you'll find that our failure was not my fault. I'll be willing to bet that none of the other delegations have had any more luck with their Clan Elders than we Brajjyds have. We've got to do something big—something forceful, that will make the Council sit up and look at the problem of our people— all the people, not just Brajjyds or farmers, but all Nidorians. I want you and the others to help me get the people together so that I can talk to them. Will you help?"

Gwyl peRob turned it over in his mind for a moment. Then:

"I will help, yes. The people of the Clans have a right to know what you are planning. But they might not like what you say."

"Don't worry; I'm not advocating any violence; all I want to do is show them how to act peacefully, within the Law, to get justice. Now, come on; we've got work to do."

IV

The mass meeting had been called for late evening. Every farmer in town had been asked to show up at Shining Lake Park for a special address by Norvis peRahn Brajjyd, whose mother's father was the Elder Grandfather of the Brajjyd Clan.

Word had spread throughout the city that something was to be done about the worsening of the peych-bean situation, and by the time the Great Light had gone to rest, a sizable crowd had gathered in the park. Torches had been set up in the holders that ringed the Speakers' Platform.

It was something new to the people: a speech given without a formal occasion. Normally, the platform at the lake's edge was used for scheduled rituals or for concerts held by the various musical groups in Gelusar who wanted to perform for the public.

At the appointed time, Norvis stood up on the platform and raised his hands to silence the murmuring of the crowd. They were used to being addressed by a priest or a public official, so they quieted down immediately, despite the fact that Norvis peRahn was, properly speaking, nobody.

"In case you don't know who I am," Norvis began, "I'm Norvis peRahn Brajjyd. You all know what our trouble is: this new thing the Earthmen have given out. This new-fangled hormone that doubles the crops of the Elders and robs those who don't have it of their proper share of the crop money."

He paused and surveyed the crowd. It was growing larger by the minute, and it was a restless, shifting group of people. All the better, Norvis thought; it meant they were unhappy with the state of things.

"Farmers are being ruined!" he roared. "Men who have held their land all their lives—whose families have held it for a hundred generations, since the times of our many-times-great-grandfathers—these men are losing their land! They are being forced to leave that sacred ground!"

As the crowd began muttering, Norvis smiled inwardly; he was beginning to reach them.

"We know what is wrong, and we know that something has to be done about it. The question is: what are we to do?

"We have petitioned our Elders, and we have been put off. Our requests have been denied. And do you know why? I'll tell you why! We've been going about it the wrong way! We've been asking for help and not getting it because we haven't been attacking the problem in the right way."

He raised his voice to continue, "What does the Scripture tell us? 'To destroy a thing, cut at the root and not at the branch!' And what is the root of this evil? Where has this spawn of Darkness, this demoniacal growth hormone come from? What is the source of this substance which has been ruining our lives and is beginning to ruin our very culture?"

Norvis waited a moment and then shouted: "From where? From the Earthmen! It is they—not the Elders—who must be approached! The Elders do the bidding of the Earthmen! When an Earthman says jump!—they jump!''

The crowd was growing angrier and angrier by the moment. Norvis saw black frowns, heard mutters of wrath. He noticed, then, that Gwyl peRob was moving through the crowd, whispering something to people, stopping at a small knot of people, talking, and then moving on to the next.

Norvis grinned inwardly. The little, red-faced farmer was probably telling them how he had been treated by the Elder Brajjyd.

Norvis watched their anger grow. He saw that it was his moment to spur them even further.

"They are trying to ruin our lives! You all know how things have changed in Nidor since they came; our old system is breaking down! A hundred years ago, no Elder would have ignored a proper petition from his Clan. I say we must destroy this evil! And we can only do that by destroying the Earthmen! Their Bel-rogas School is a sacrilege against the Name of our Ancestors!

"The Earthmen—"

He got no further. A clod of dirt struck his chest, and he was astonished to hear someone shout: "Blasphemy!"

"Do you know who this Norvis peRahn is?" yelled someone else. "He's the blasphemer who was expelled from the School four years ago!"

"That's true!'' shouted another voice. Norvis turned his head to look. It was Gwyl peRob! "I found it out only an hour ago! It's the same man! Twice he has smeared the Light-given Name of Brajjyd!"

Another man roared: "I'm a Ghevin! Slandering a name is one thing—but to slander the Great Light is blasphemy!"

Norvis blinked. "But I didn't say—"

"Stone him!" cried someone. "False prophet!"

"Blasphemer!" cried another.

Norvis was paralyzed. He hadn't realized—

He snapped out of his shock when a rock thudded against his ribs, almost knocking the breath out of him.

Amid shouts of "Sacrilege!" and "Blasphemy!" and "Kill him!" Norvis peRahn Brajjyd turned to run. Another rock struck his back. The crowd, spurred on by a few of its more vociferous members, was beginning to get murderous.

"He preaches against the Great Light!"

"Stone him!"

Norvis leaped off the back edge of the platform, clearing the balustrade that ran along its rear edge. Twelve feet below him was the water of Shining Lake. As he hit the water, stones splashed all around him, thrown by some who had swarmed up on the stage to get at him.

"Get the torches!"

"Bring lights!"

"Find the blasphemer!"

"Someone call a peaceman! Call a priest!"

Norvis ducked underwater and swam as though his life depended on it—which it did. There was only one way to go; directly across the lake. It was long and narrow, and he could make it across before anyone would be able to get around it. And he was fairly sure no one would try to swim after him.

They didn't, but there were a few pleasure boats tied up at the shore, and some of the pursuers got into them, carrying torches raised over their heads to illuminate the water.

Norvis came up for breath and saw that he was far enough away from the boats to chance swimming on the surface.

"Where is he?" someone shouted. "I think a rock hit him!"

"Yes! I hit him with a rock just before he went down!"

Someone was trying to make himself a reputation, Norvis thought.

"Maybe he's drowned!"

"Let's keep looking! We've got to make sure!"

Norvis swam rapidly and quietly for the opposite bank, hoping he'd come out of the lake alive.

When he reached the Grand Harbor of Vashcor a good many days later, after a torturous and unpleasant hitch-hike with a foul-breathed deest-peddler who had been heading that way, he made his way almost immediately to the small, squat little hotel down in the fishermen's quarter of the city. He was in a dismal mood.

He registered under the peKrin Dmorno alias and was shown to a dingy room overlooking the sea. His room was unpainted and smelled of fish, but it represented the first sanctuary for Norvis since his flight from Gelusar. He had barely managed to get out in one piece, and he was glad of a place where he could sit down and rest.

The outlook was gloomy. He had botched things on all sides; Bel-rogas had long ago been lost to him, and his abortive crusade to prohibit the use of the growth hormone had only resulted in his alienation from both sides; the people had stoned him as a blasphemer, and were now perfectly content to let the Elders squeeze them dry in the name of Scripture.

It was a bitter ending; now, he realized, he had accidentally pushed the Elders into a stronger position than they had been in before. The populace was always ready to do something irrational if they could find theological grounds to do it on, and he had given them grounds with his' blasphemous talk. They still held firmly to the old beliefs, and they'd keep on doing so, even if it ruined them—which it was doing.

He frowned and walked to the window. There was a cluster of ships in the harbor, and he squinted out, trying to search out the familiar masts of the Balthar. He didn't see it, but his way seemed clear; he would abandon the pack of them. Nidor and its Elders could go their merry way to Eternal Darkness; Norvis would throw his lot with Del peFenn or some other free sea-captain and hope that things didn't get too bad during his own lifetime. It was an unheroic way out, but he was a miserable failure as a hero.

The next day, he made inquiries. No, the Balthar was not in port, he was told. Yes, it was due back soon from the Bronze Islands, and have you heard about the blasphemer who was killed in Gelusar?

Norvis got that bit of news from one of the men at the Shipmaster's Building. He pretended he had heard nothing, and was told the whole tale, with most affecting and grisly particulars.

"A grandson of the Elder Brajjyd, eh?" he said, shaking his head. "What's that Clan coming to?"

"It's a disgrace, an utter disgrace," his informant agreed.

Norvis nodded. "But they killed him?"

"Of course! Bashed his skull in with a rock! Blood all over the water. He never came up again."

"Well, then, we needn't worry," Norvis said, "His ideas stand no chance of being spread, then."

"A blessing indeed," agreed the other.

Norvis was overjoyed at the report of his death. The excitement of the mob, the exaggerations of witnesses, the boasting of a couple of rock-throwers, and the red gleam of torchlight on the water had added up to death. It meant that no one had seen him slip out of the far side of Shining Lake and make his way out of Holy Gelusar. He was free, now, to bury Norvis peRahn Brajjyd forever and live on in security as Norvis peKrin Dmorno.

Norvis waited impatiently for the return of the Balthar. The quicker he got off the land and back to sea, the better he'd like it. He spent most of the time walking the streets and throwing ineffectual stones at swooping sea-lizards. At least that gave him some satisfaction; the small-brained flying seathings were similar to the stupid peasants of Gelusar—nothing on their minds but food and the following of their ancient instincts.

At the end of the third day, he saw a familiar face. Down at the end of the Fishermen's Docks, busily cleaning scales from a newly unloaded cargo of fish, was Ganz peKresh Danoy, the middle-aged swabhand from the Balthar.

"How come you're here?" Norvis asked. "Skip ship or something?"

The elderly ex-farmer was even more washed out than he had looked aboard ship. "No," he said. "When the ship rolled, I became sick." He demonstrated with a vivid gesture. ''I am too old to learn to stay aboard a ship."

"Sorry to hear that," Norvis said sympathetically.

"What happened then?"

"It was impossible for me to remain aboard ship," Ganz said, "So Captain Del agreed to release me from my contract, pay me some money, and find me a job here on the docks. I am very grateful to him."

"Captain Del is a fine man," Norvis said. "I'm waiting for the Balthar to come back myself, right now."

"Oh? Then your venture in Gelusar didn't work out?" the peasant asked innocently.

Norvis grinned. "I'm afraid not. I'm hoping to get my berth back on the Balthar. "

"That is sad," Ganz peKresh said. "Tell me: how is it, in the peych regions? Are many of the farmers being—being driven out?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Norvis said. "And it'll get worse. The Elders have their own farms treated with this stuff, and they 're turning out enough peych to fill the warehouses. The small men like yourself who can't afford the treatment are being pushed out."

Ganz peKresh's faded face became even more unhappy looking. "I can't understand how the Great Light will permit His Elders to do such a thing."

"I don't know, either, Ganz peKresh,'' Norvis said. He pulled together his cloak. At this time of year, the wind blew in from the sea, directly through the narrow, rock-bound channel. The combination of the sharp winds whipping in and the pungent odor of fish was becoming a little too much for Norvis, and he decided he'd best move on.

"They are so wise,'' Ganz peKresh said reflectively. "They hold our world in their hands. They should see what they're doing."

"I guess there's no answer," Norvis said. "Not when the Elders are becoming so wealthy."

As Norvis turned to leave, Ganz smiled wistfully and said: "It's too bad the growth treatment can only be given to the few; how wonderful it would be if all farmers could share equally in its bounty."

"Yes,'' Norvis said politely, barely listening to what the old man had said. "Well, I must be moving on."

"May the Great Light bless you," Ganz peKresh said.

"May He illumine your mind," responded Norvis. He had gone more than a hundred paces before he realized that the old farmer had given him the answer.

V

Norvis spent the next two weeks in his dingy hotel room, scribbling over page after page of calculations and formulae of the new mathematics he had learned at the Bel-rogas School, trying frantically to dig out of his memory the things he had striven so hard to forget for four years.

Fool! Why hadn't he seen it before? Of course, it simply wasn't done; it was unethical, dishonest, and a downright dirty trick. He grinned gleefully as he worked. Sure it was a low blow, but the Scriptures said: "Those who transgress the Law shall fall before other transgressors." That was justification enough.

Finally, after he had all his notes down and was absolutely sure they were correct, he had one more problem to solve. He knew he could make the new hormone, but he had to make more of it, and faster. And, if possible, cheaper.

Now, let's see. What's the thing that makes the process so slow? He considered: it's got to be fermented in the vats, and then ...

The Earthman, Smith, had taught him the trick of examining a problem closely to see where the solution lay. It was an Earthman kind of thinking. The first thing to do was to see what the problem really was. "Get back to the basic concept,'' Smith would say over and over again.

Norvis hadn't tried to use the method in years, because he hated everything he'd learned at the School. But now he saw that that kind of thinking was necessary if he were going to beat a man who thought that way. Smith and Company were going to be tripped by their own feet.

When Captain Del peFenn Vyless strode down the gangplank of the Balthar, he saw a familiar figure standing on the deck. His weathered face broke into a grin.

"Hoy! Norvis peKrin! By the Light, I thought you'd be back; once the sea gets into a man's blood, it's there to stay!" He shook the younger man's hand heartily. "What happened in Gelusar? I heard they stoned a man to death there for blasphemy, I hope you didn't get mixed up in it."

"No; I'm still alive. I saw what could happen to a man who tries to stir up trouble that way, so I decided on different tactics."

"Oh, so? Still trying to buck the Council?" The sea captain shook his head. "That's like trying to dim the Great Light Himself. Give it up, my boy."

Norvis shook his head. "I'm not giving up yet. I've got an idea, Captain. I've got a little scheme that will make the Elders uncomfortable and make us some money at the same time. It may be a little underhanded, but it's perfectly legal. Do you want to hear it?"

"Won't do any harm to listen," Del peFenn said.

"Come along to the Seaman's Guild Hall. I'll stand you to a drink." "Right."

The public room of the Guild Hall was crowded with sailors who were relaxing after long voyages or bracing themselves for a new one. Norvis and the Captain managed to get themselves a table, and after the drinks had been brought, Norvis began to outline his plan.

"You know this new hormone that's being used to make peych grow better and mature faster? Well, I've got the formula for making it."

"But I thought some kid from the School held a monop—"

"Sure," Norvis interrupted. "But what does a hereditary monopoly guarantee? It guarantees that if someone else makes the stuff, the owner of the monopoly must get the same profit as if he had made it himself, and the quality must be as good or better than the quality of the good turned out by the original monopoly holder. Naturally, most people don't try infringing because they won't be able to get any profit. And if they do find a method of making it more cheaply, the original monopoly holder soon finds out about it, changes his own methods, and cuts out the newcomer by reducing his price and getting the same profit."

"Certainly," snorted Del peFenn. "But what good does that do us?"

"Well, I've got a method of producing the stuff that is cheaper than the Dran peNiblo process, and it requires an entirely different kind of factory. In order to do it our way, they'd have to scrap most of their present factory and rebuild entirely. That will take time and money, and by then we will have made our own little pile."

"I'll grant that, but reluctantly," the Captain said.

"Go ahead."

"All right; the way I see it, we'll make the hormone cheaper than the Gelusar plant is turning it out, and we'll sell it to the small farmers. We can give it to them at a lower cost, and still make enough to pay Dran peNiblo his proper profit, thereby keeping within the Law. That way, the schemes of the Earthmen will bounce right back on them, and we'll keep the Elders from becoming too powerful. We might even be able to drive the Gelusar manufacturers out of business, in which case, the monopoly will revert to us! All we need is a handful of men who will keep our process secret.''

The Captain looked highly skeptical. "I've got men on my ship I'd trust anywhere," he said. "But how do you propose to do it? And what makes you think you have the right formula? And how can you produce more of it than the Gelusar plant can?" He gestured with a sinewy hand. "Why, it took several of the Council Elders to put up enough money to build that one little plant. How can we build more than that? I don't have that kind of money, Norvis. Nor do you."

Norvis stilled the Captain's rising flood of objections by raising his hand. "I'll prove that I know the right formula by making some for you. We'll try it on some peych and see.

"As for building a producing plant, I've got a new idea, as I said. A different way of doing things."

"How?'' The Captain seemed a little more interested now. His hard, keen eyes were wide open.

"The trouble with the Gelusar plant is that it produces the stuff in big lots, which ties up all their equipment for weeks at a time. They use what's called a 'batch process' to turn it out. Now, if you can get the men on the ship to chip in with us, we can build the right kind of plant—one that will produce the stuff in a steady stream."

The Captain blinked. "The men chip in? But they haven't much money! It's unheard of!"

"They don't have much individually, but they have a lot collectively. We'll promise each man a share according to the amount he puts in, you see. That way, we'll get enough money, and if they have an interest in profits, they won't be likely to give our secret away."

"That makes sense,'' the Captain agreed."But what about this new process? I don't see—"

Norvis pulled out a sheaf of papers covered with sketches and with explanatory notes in a large, scrawling hand. "See here; we make the process continuous instead of whipping up batches. Instead of making one big glob at a time, we'll start the process at this end and feed in the various ingredients at different points along the line. Then we—"

He spent the better part of the afternoon explaining it, and when he was through, he looked up at the Captain. "Well, what do you say?"

Del peFenn scowled. "To be honest, there was an awful lot that I didn't understand. But it sounds as though you know what you're talking about." He paused while Norvis anxiously watched him chew over the idea in his mind. Finally, Del said: "What you want is a sort of regular contract. You supply the brains, and the men and I supply the money. Fifty-fifty."

Norvis nodded.

"I'm sorry," said the Captain, "I just can't risk—'' Norvis stopped him. "Now, wait a minute. You're the one who's taking the risk; I'll grant that. So I tell you what you do; you take control, too." "What's that?"

"You see to the buying of the equipment and everything. I'll just tell you what I want and how much I'll need. For my part of it, you can pay me a salary— whatever you think I'm worth. I trust you."

The Captain chewed that over, too. Hesitatingly, he said: "Well-1-1—I don't know. It sounds good, but— well, how much would it take?"

"Better than half a manweight," Norvis admitted.

Captain Del peFenn winced and shook his head. "More than forty thousand weights! I don't know. Let me think about it for a while."

It took Norvis better than a week to talk the sea officer into investing his money and recommending to his men that they put their own savings into it, but during that time he bought some small flasks and a few other things and ran off a batch of the hormone right under the Captain's eyes. The process worked just as Norvis had theoretically constructed it, back at Bel-rogas.

There were only a few drops, but it was enough. Norvis bought two potted peych seedlings and sprayed the stuff over the leaves of one, where it was absorbed by the stomata and went into the circulatory system of the plant.

"One thing we'll have to warn our customers about," Norvis said, "is using too much of the hormone. They'll tend to overdose at first, and if they do, they'll not only waste it, but probably ruin the plants.''

"You've got this stuff figured out pretty well,'' Del peFenn said. "I knew you were sharp, but I didn't think you were as good as all that."

"Hold it," Norvis admonished. "Let's wait and see how sharp I am before you go passing out compliments like that. We'll know, one way or another, in a few days."

When, within a space of five days, the treated plant was noticeably different from its twin, Captain Del peFenn decided it was time to sink his money into the new project.

Three months later, the first substantial yield from the new process came through the factory hidden in the foothills of the Ancestral Mountains near one of the smaller rivers in Pelvash Province. Norvis and Del were confronted with the stuff early one morning, when Drosh peDrang Hebylla, the tall, thin young man who was the foreman of the factory, came dashing up the end of the dock and hailed the nearby Balthar.

"Here it is!" he cried enthusiastically, after the dinghy had conveyed him from shore to ship. He leaped out and held up a small wooden box.

Norvis took it, lifted the lid, sniffed, and replaced the lid. "Ugh,'' he grunted, "it's not going to be its lovely odor that'll be the selling point, I'm afraid."

"You should come out and spend some time at the factory," said Drosh peDrang. "If you think this sample has a bad smell, you ought to hover around the end of the feed line for a while."

"That's all right," Del peFenn boomed. "There must be something in the Scripture someplace about being able to put up with nasty smells for the sake of turning an honest few weights."

Norvis thought for a moment. "No; I can't think of any."

"Nor can I," said Drosh peDrang. "Nevertheless," the Captain maintained, "there must be something, something in that wonderful book to cover everything!"

"Well," said Norvis, "There's that part of the Fifteenth Section where Bel-rogas is lecturing against phony piety. He says: 'Appearances are nothing; it is the thoughts behind them that count. Often a sweet-smelling savor disguises a rotten evil beneath.' Well, if that's so, why not the other way round?"

The others laughed. "Why not, indeed?" said Del peFenn. "I think we have Scriptural backing for our project right there; we could probably find others."

"I wonder how the Elders are going to hide their red faces when we get our stuff out to the common people," Norvis said.

"They 're not going to like it much,'' said Del. "But I think we'll be able to step on their toes so hard that it'll hurt for a long time." He turned to Drosh peDrang. "How long will it be before that 'sweet-smelling savor' is ready to ship?"

"The men should be packing the first load now," the foreman told him. "The barges will start down river to here as soon as they're loaded."

"Good. We'll take the Balthar to Lidacor as soon as we get her loaded; we might as well start distributing it at once. The people up there are so hungry they'll hail us as saviors."

"Fine," said Norvis. "Lidacor's a good place to begin. Besides, it'll be pleasant to get away from the eternal fish odor here in Vashcor. I like Lidacor."

"Oh, I forgot to tell you," Captain Del said. "You're not going with us, Norvis."

"How so?'' Norvis asked, puzzled and a little disappointed.

"You're heading in the other direction, taking a cargo of the stuff to Molcor and Sundacor—and Tammulcor as well, I guess. You'll be aboard the Krand."

"The Krand? That's Captain Prannt peDel Kovnish's ship, isn't it?"

"It was," Del corrected. "It's now Captain Norvis peKrin Dmorno's. I entered your name on the Roll of Captains this morning. It's my new ship. I've decided to expand operations, now that there's the prospect of good business ahead. I'm now a two-ship man, and I couldn't think of a better captain for my new one than you, Norvis."

"I'm very grateful," said Norvis sincerely. He was tempted to add something of the Great Light, but decided against it; it wouldn't carry much weight in thanking Del, who didn't seem to set much store by the Scripture.

"You're sailing west with the second load, then," Del told him. "We ought to return rich men."

Norvis grinned. "Even with the share we'll have to give the Gelusar company, we'll make more profit than they will."

Del nodded. "And we ought to be able to get rid of the first two loads in no time."

They did. The hungry farmers of Sugon practically swarmed all over the Balthar as soon as word went round that a ship had arrived bearing the same wonderful mystery that had resulted in such marvelous production on the Elders' farms.

Del peFenn found people bidding frantically for the cargo, and one rich land-owner offered to buy the whole shipment for use on his farms. But Del kept in mind the carefully laid plan of Norvis peKrin, which was to distribute the hormone evenly according to acreage, and he resolutely held the price down and rationed out the quantity. He returned to Vaschor with an empty hold and a full purse.

As for Norvis, his first experience as captain of his own ship was an equally successful one. He guided the Krand flawlessly around the coast, heading in a westerly direction toward the southwestern port of Sundacor, and at each of the three stops along the way he disbursed a part of his cargo.

Del peFenn had been back in Vashcor for several days when the Krand returned. As soon as his ship was docked and anchored, Norvis made his way to the Balthar, but was told that the Captain was at the hormone factory.

A swift deest-ride took Norvis there. It was a tall and fairly imposing building, and he allowed himself the luxury of a sensation of pride at the sight of it.

He entered, and a busy-looking workman directed him up the stairs and around a corridor, where he opened a door and found Captain Del in conference with Foreman Drosh peDrang.

He sniffed as he entered. "It doesn't smell any better in here than it does in the rest of the plant."

The two men, startled, looked around. "Norvis!"

"Hoy, Del. How was business?"

Hurriedly, the two men spilled out to each other the story of the success of their respective voyages.

"It's going well, isn't it?" Norvis said. "Good, good. We'll teach the Elders they can't corner a valuable commodity like this and expect to keep it cornered." He turned to Drosh peDrang. "How are the local sales going?"

"We've established a center in Elvisen," he said. "The farmers have been coming from all over Pelvash to buy the stuff. The money's coming in faster than we can get it into the bank."

"Hmmm. We don't want to get too rich out of this thing," Norvis said slyly. "Next thing we know, the Elders will be coming to us, looking for a loan." "What's wrong with that?" Del asked. - "Looks bad in the public eye," explained Norvis. "The people are pretty much sold on the Elders, and we don't want to appear to be showing them up too badly. Remember what happened to that prophet fellow in Gelusar."

"The one they stoned?" said Del. "Well, they were right to stone him, I think. Wasn't he saying that the hormone should be abolished altogether?"

Norvis nodded uneasily. He was sure that Del was unaware that he was addressing that very prophet, but he wanted to make sure that the Captain never found out. Norvis peRahn Brajjyd was better off where he was.

"Well," the Captain said, "no wonder they stoned him. He was a false prophet, to say that the hormone should be abolished. That's an evil and stupid way to solve the problem! Give it to everyone! That's what he should have said."

"It probably didn't occur to him," Norvis said. "The poor devil! He didn't have enough brains to see the right way to handle the stuff—that's why they stoned him."

"I don't know why you're so sympathetic," Del peFenn boomed. "After all, doesn't it say in the Scripture that a false prophet shall be stoned? Doesn't it? I think I'm right, this time."

"You are," Norvis said. "Seventh Section. 'And men will come who will rise up and preach to the people, but unless they agree with the people, they will be called false prophets, and the people will stone them and kill them.' There was a dispute over the exact meaning of die passage a hundred cycles back, as to whether it was a prophecy or a command. The Council ruled that it was a command; they said that to call it a prophecy would eventually lead to heretical teachings."

Del was impressed. "You're quite a scholar, aren't you?"

"I've done a little reading," Norvis admitted casually. To change the subject, he got up and walked to the window. 'The point I was trying to make is that we mustn't antagonize the people by openly pitting ourselves against the Council. That's why we have to give full credit for our own operations to the Dran peNiblo Sesom plant in Holy Gelusar. We get the money, they get the credit."

Del scowled. "Well, I did as you said, but I don't like it. Those fanners took our stuff and went away full of praise for the Elders."

"Be satisfied with the money," Norvis said. "The Elders will get their comeuppance when the new crops ripen." He pointed out the window at the view of the rolling farmlands of the province of Pelvash. "Looks like they've got all their fields treated." . The fields were bright with the blossoms of the peych plants. It was easy to see that the hormone was already in active use by the local farmers.

"Yes," said Drosh peDrang. "Sales have been tremendous—just tremendous."

Norvis smiled. "It's going to be quite a surprise to the Elders when that harvest starts ripening all over Nidor, isn't it? They're not going to like it at all."

"At least we've broken their stranglehold," Del said. "And we've given those Earthmen something to think about, too."

I'll say." Norvis looked out at the spreading gray green plains, the fertile hills with the tributary of the Vash River wandering lazily among them. On every hill and in every valley, the golden blossoms of the peych shone, bright harbingers of the future.

It occurred to Norvis as he stood there that a couple of men had engaged in blunt rebellion against the Earthmen and succeeded. For the first time, possibly, in the history of Nidor, a man, an ordinary man, had taken the course of action into his own hands. And the Great Light still smiled upon him.

VI

"Wiped out!" shouted Captain Del peFenn Vyless. "Ruined! Destroyed!''

The Krand, her sails taut with the wind that pushed her across the scudding sea, vibrated with the sound of her owner's voice, and shook with the sound of his angry footsteps.

"The Balthar—burned! The factory—burned! Four of my best men—dead! Darkness take every one of the moronic sons-of-deests who did it!"

"That'd be about three-quarters of the farmers of Nidor," said Captain Norvis peKrin Dmorno. "What would we do for food without the farmers?"

The two men were sitting in the Captain's Cabin of the Krand-ov, rather, Norvis was sitting; Del sat only for restless moments before he rose again to pace the gently moving deck.

Del peFenn whirled on Norvis. "What would we eat? Great Light, man! There's plenty to eat! The warehouses are full of peych-beans! The plants are rotting in the fields! Something to eat? Go grab yourself a handful! A basketful! Nobody will begrudge you a few worthless peych-beans!

"Or perhaps you'd like a steak. Go grab yourself a nice, fat, yearling deest! Nobody would mind—least of all the farmer who owns it! The only thing it's good for is to eat up the excess peych and breed more food-deests! And the Light knows we don't need any more food-deests!"

Norvis remained silent. In the year since the first great crop of hormone-charged peych had been harvested, the economy of Nidor had literally fallen apart. The first crop had more than filled the storage warehouses, it had filled the bellies of beast and man. And still there were tens of thousands of manweights of the crop lying unsold and unused in the farmers' bins, and more yet lying unharvested in the fields.

For more than two hundred cycles of years, the amount of the staple crop that the populace was capable of using had been exactly equal to the amount grown. In lean years, the slight excesses which had been put in the warehouses during the fat years were used. And no year was either excessively fat or excessively lean.

In years gone by, an excess of peych had meant an increase in the number of hugl, which meant a decrease in the following year's peych crop.

But where were the hugl now? Where were the millions of little animals that would gladly eat the vast excesses of peych that flooded Nidor?

They were dead—killed by Edris powder that was dumped regularly into the ponds and shallow lakes to prevent their breeding. Only a few could be found in out-of-the-way ponds.

Del peFenn had turned his back and was staring out a porthole. Norvis stared at that back without actually seeing it.

First Grandfather Kiv, he thought, and now me. Is there a curse on our family, that we only help to destroy our culture when we try hardest to aid it?

"One thing I'll say," said Del peFenn without turning ,"is that we did at least part of what we set out to do. The people have at least shown those fool Elders that the Council isn't always right. If the Council had paid attention when they were petitioned, the farmers wouldn't have burned the Gelusar hormone factory."

And mercilessly hanged poor little Dran peNiblo Sesom, Norvis thought. For the first time in nearly six years, he no longer hated nor envied the man who had been given credit for Norvis peRahn Brajjyd's discovery. And that was only right; why should Norvis peKrin Dmorno carry on the hates and frustrations of a dead man?

Del said: "You know, maybe that false prophet they stoned to death was right, after all."

"How so?" Norvis asked, somewhat startled that Del should bring up the subject that had been on his own mind. It took him half a second to realize that the conversation had been heading inevitably in that direction, anyway.

"Well, maybe he saw something we didn't," said the sea captain, turning again from the porthole. "Maybe he saw that too much food is just as bad as too little; maybe he saw what overproduction of peych would do."

I wish he had, thought Norvis. Then, aloud, "If you ask me, Del, overproduction is worse. When men are hungry, they work together to produce more. When they have more than enough they squabble among themselves."

"Yes,'' said Del bitterly, "and they ruin and destroy Our factory and our ship. Our holdings have been completely wiped out!"

Norvis stood up. "Darkness take it, Del!" he said angrily. "Don't you see that you've nothing to complain about? Nothing! What have we lost? A factory that was useless to us, anyway. Did you think we could go on making money by manufacturing growth hormone? We haven't made a bit of the stuff for thirty days. What good was the factory?"

"What good are men's lives, eh? What good was the Balthar?'' Del's voice was harsh. "I suppose their loss was negligible, too?"

"By comparison, yes! "Norvis snapped. "We lost four good men, and I'm sorry; I'll see that the Service is said for them. But they weren't the only ones to die! There have been murders and mobbings all over Nidor! As many as a dozen coffins at one time have been in a Temple while the priest said a common Passing Service for them all! Four men? They are nothing by comparison!

"And the Balthar! It went to the torch, sure— because there was a load of spices aboard, and you wouldn't sell. What if you'd had a load of the hormone aboard? Do you think you'd have gotten away so easily? A lot more than four men would have lost their lives, believe me!"

"How could I sell?" Del exploded. "They offered nothing but peych in exchange!"

"Then you should have given it for peych! You'd have kept your ship, and saved four lives as well!"

Del's eyes glittered dangerously. "Now you—"

He was interrupted by a knock on the cabin door.

"Who is it?" Del roared.

There was a momentary silence, then a small, high-pitched voice said: "It's me, sir; Kris peKym."

Norvis gave Del a silencing glance. Then, "Come in, Kris."

The door came open, and a small boy entered. He was carrying a tray which was laden with two plates of food and two large mugs of peych-beer. He looked up, wide-eyed, as though terrified by the glowering face of Captain Del.

"Don't just stand there, Kris," Norvis said in a kindly tone. "Captain Del isn't going to beat you—are you, Del?"

"No, of course not," the old sea-captain said gruffly.

"Go put the tray on the table, Kris,'' Norvis ordered. "Then go back to the galley. Captain Del and I are busy."

The boy walked over to the table and gingerly lowered the tray to its surface.

"How old are you, boy?" Del asked suddenly.

The lad jumped. "E-Eight, Ancient One."

"Aren't you a bit young to go to sea?"

Little Kris didn't answer; he turned and looked at Norvis.

"As long as he does his job well, he's old enough," Norvis said. "Now you get back to the galley; that's part of doing the job right—start the next job as soon as you've finished one. Run!"

The boy nodded and did as he was ordered. His little legs pistoned under him as he ran out the door, stopped, closed it, and ran on down the companionway.

"Why'd you take on so young a kid?" Del asked curiously. "Won't his parents raise Darkness?"

"Del, there's a perfect example of what I've been talking about,'' Norvis said. He sat down and pulled his share of the food toward him. "His parents were farmers. They're dead, both of them. Marauders from the city came out and took everything of value from their farm and killed them both. That left the kid with nothing but an empty farm and a barnful of peych.

"With nothing but a pair of shoes on his feet and a pair of shorts on his body, he headed for Tammulcor to make a living for himself—at eight. He didn't have a weight in his pocket, nor a vest to cover his chest.''

"And you took him on?"

"I took him on. Where else could he go?" Norvis said nothing about feeling that he had a certain responsibility for the lad because it had been his fault, indirectly, that little Kris's parents had died; Norvis didn't want to bring up that subject!

Del nodded. "You're right, I suppose. The life's not bad for a hardy lad, and he looks as though he could take it." He rubbed a palm over the graying down on his forearm. "Just lit out for himself, eh? That takes nerve."

"Exactly. Look at what we have. The Krand, here, is still in perfect shape; we've got the new Vyothin ready to come off the ways; we've got plenty of money in the bank—good, hard cobalt; we've got merchandise stored away—bronze wood, spices, metals, laces, ornamental building stone, deest leather—all of them still worth money. We 're not ruined. We've taken a devil of a beating, yes; but we're not ruined. We're not as well off as we thought we'd be, but we've got more than we had a year ago, in spite of our losses."

Del lifted his mug of brew and sipped thoughtfully. "That sounds good, Norvis, but it seems to me that the merchants will be as bad off as the farmers in another half-year."

Norvis nodded. "They will be—if you and I don't do something."

Del looked up from his mug. "Do something? What?"

"Look at it this way, Del; things are in a pretty mess right now; they 're going to get worse. Not because they have to get worse, but because the Law and the Way aren't equipped to cope with something like this. Our Ancestors knew plenty about not having enough food, but they never put down a word in the Scriptures about having too much. Even the Great Lawyer, Bel-rogas Yorgen, didn't envision anything like this, which proves to me that the Earthmen aren't from the Great Light."

The older captain spread his hands. "If the Law can't cope with it, what can you and I do?"

"Make some changes, so that the Law can cope with it!"

Del scowled. "Now look here, Norvis! I don't have much use for that senile bunch of old Liturgy-chanters in Gelusar, but—change the Law? The Law? You can't do that; they'd have you hanging or stoned to death within a day after you started."

Norvis shook his head. "Listen to me; I didn't say anything about changing the Law. The changes I want to make are in applications of the Law.

"I remember you once said that anything could be proven by Scripture. Well, that's not absolutely true. You've got Scripture, the Ancestral Traditions, and the Law to worry about. But even so, changes in application can be made—they have been made before, except that they took so long that no one noticed them. The difference is that we need a lot of changes, all at once.''

"How do you propose to do it?"

"You pointed that out yourself. The merchants will be the next to get cut down with the peych-knife. But if all the merchants band together and demand changes—changes that will help the farmer, now, when they need it, we'll have the peasants on our side, too.

"You're a well-known, respectable merchant-seaman. When we get to Vashcor, you call all the merchants together and give them our proposals; they'll listen to you."

"But what are our proposals?" Del asked, puzzled.

"I'll write them out, and we can talk them over on the way. I think we can make the Council listen to us; they're in pretty bad odor right now because they backed this hormone business. It's a good thing we kept our names out of it, or we'd be in the same kettle.

"Don't you see it, Del? If we can get the merchants and the farmers behind us, we can have the Elders jumping to our tootling, instead of the Earthmen's!"

"What are you going to be doing while I'm organizing the merchants?" There was a light in Del's eye, now—a light of excitement. He was beginning to see what could be done.

"Me?'' Norvis grinned. "I'm going to be out buying up every bit of peych I can get my hands on."

"Peych? Are you crazy? What will you do with it?''

"Put it in warehouses, dump it in rented vacant lots—anyplace I can find."

Del looked dazed. "You've lost your mind. What are you going to do with all those beans?"

"Not just the beans, Del!" Norvis corrected. "Everything. Stalks, leaves, stems, chaff, hulls— everything."

"But they'll rot!"

"I hope so; they won't be much good if they don't."

"Norvis, dammit, don't sit there grinning like an overfed food-deest!! What in Darkness are you talking about?"

"Fertilizer, Del, fertilizer."

"Fertilizer?" Del slammed his palm down on the table. "What do you need fertilizer for?"

"Have you seen the new peych-bean crop?" Norvis asked softly. "It isn't even going to blossom. The soil is worthless. Do you know how farmers have fertilized their soil for thousands of years? They've raked up the muck from the bottom of the pond that every farm had. That muck came from hugl which died at the bottom after stuffing themselves with peych.

"To the muck, the farmer adds manure from his deest-barns, and other wastes are mixed in too. Then he plows the whole mess into the ground.

"But the muck has been poor lately because of the decrease in hugl; ever since Elder Brajjyd found a new way to use Edris, the muck has become more and more worthless.

"This hormone just did the final dirty work. The soil was overburdened—depleted of its organic content— when the fast-maturing, overabundant, hormone-treated peych was grown on it.

"Oh, we'll need fertilizer, all right. That's one of the things we're going to get passed by the Council of Elders—an order for the farmers to plow their old peych back into the ground."

Del finished his mug of beer and sat for several minutes staring at the empty container. Finally, he said: "I think we can do something, at least. Yes, I think we \can. Now, what proposals did you say you wanted to make?"

The sign on the door of the big building in Vashcor said: Merchants' Council Headquarters. It was an imposing looking building; it had stood for hundreds of years, and had been newly redecorated with an imposing symbolic facade.

Outside of the Great Temple of the Holy Light at the Holy City of Gelusar, it was probably the most important building on Nidor.

In an inner office, Norvis peKrin Dmorno, Secretary of the Merchants' Party, sat behind a wide bronze wood desk and folded his hands together. "As a manufacturer, Gasus peSyg," he said, "I think you can see the point. You make cloth from peych-fiber; if people have too little money, they can't buy clothing, no matter how cheap it becomes, because they will have even less. You've got to keep your purchases of the raw material down, and keep the prices up. That means that you shouldn't buy any more from a given supplier than you bought five years ago, and you have to pay the same amount.

"That, in turn, will discourage overproduction, at the same time keeping prices on an even keel."

The heavy-set man with the steel-gray facial hair nodded. "As long as I have the backing of the other merchants, Secretary Norvis, I'll comply with the rules." Norvis nodded. "You back them, they back you. That's what the Council is for."

"Actually," Gasus peSyg continued, "I'm not being offered too much really good fiber these days. A lot of the stuff that's brought in is fiber that's been laying around in storage since the Year of the Double Crop, and fiber that's two years old isn't good for much. I've just been buying the fresh fiber, and that comes in in about the same quantities as I used to get.''

Again Norvis nodded. "Things are evening up. You're doing exactly right; force them to sell the old stuff for fertilizer. The land is getting back into shape now, but there's still areas where work needs to be done."

The cloth manufacturer stood up. "Well, I'm glad we got that little bit straightened out. Thank you, Secretary Norvis."

Norvis smiled. "Not at all, Gasus peSyg; that's what we're here for—to help the merchant and the farmer— or rather to help them help themselves and see that their rights are protected. Thank you for coming."

The broad chested merchant headed for the door and almost collided with a tall young man who had hurriedly opened the door from the outside. They offered mutual apologies, and the young man waited until the merchant had closed the door after him before he said anything to Norvis.

"What is it, Dom?" Norvis asked.

"There's an acolyte out here to see you, sir!"

"An acolyte?"

"Yes, sir; he says he represents the Elder Danoy!"

"Show him in." Norvis leaned back in his chair and smiled as the young man went out.

Well, well, he thought to himself, what have we here?

The Elder Danoy was the oldest priest in the Council now, and therefore automatically Elder Leader. The merchants' Council had been putting pressure on the Council of Elders for over a year now, and each time, they had acquiesced to the merchants' demands—but only stubbornly and unwillingly. Was there, perhaps, a change in sight?

The door opened, and a broad-shouldered, yellow-robed acolyte stepped inside. "Secretary Norvis peKrin Dmorno?" he asked, as he closed the door behind him. "I am First Acolyte to Elder Grandfather Prannt peDran Danoy, Elder Leader of the Council of Elders of Nidor."

Norvis rose. He makes it sound impressive, he thought. "Yes, I'm Secretary Norvis," he said aloud.

"Please be seated, Acolyte." He indicated the chair which had recently been vacated by the merchant.

"Thank you.'' The yellow-clad man seated himself, and Norvis sat down again behind his desk. "I was told to see Leader Del peFenn Vyless, but I understand that he is at sea, and that you are empowered to speak for him."

"That's right, I am ... ah" Norvis smiled. "I don't believe you gave your name."

"Gyls peDom Danoy," said the acolyte. "It is unimportant; I am here only as a voice for the Elder Grandfather. His age is such that he cannot travel the long distance from the Holy City to Vashcor, so I speak as Elder Leader in his stead."

"I see. I shall respect your words as such, Acolyte Gyls peDom."

"And I shall respect your words as being those of your Leader. May the Great Light illumine our minds, and those of our superiors."

"And may the Way of our Ancestors prevail," responded Norvis.

"To begin with," the acolyte began abruptly, "the Elder Leader wants it understood that he—ah—greatly deplores the tactics that are being used by your organization. You have cast doubt upon the wisdom of the Elders; you have attempted to subvert the people's confidence on our Holy Government; you are upsetting the administration of the Law by advocating countless written petitions to the Council; you have preached falsely against the Council and the Earthmen; you—"

Norvis held up a hand. "One moment, Acolyte! How have we preached falsely against the Council?"

Gyls peDom widened his eyes, as though astonished that Norvis should ask such a question. "You have said publicly that the Council was reluctant to co-operate in the rehabilitation of Nidor after the terrible decimation caused by the unwise use of the growth hormone two and a half years ago. You have blamed the use and invention of the hormone on the Earthmen and claimed that the Council was duped into allowing its use. Do you deny that your organization has said these things?"

"No," Norvis admitted. "And the question of whether they are true or not, we will leave for later."

The acolyte looked at him through narrowed eyes for a moment, as though he were going to argue then and there. Apparently, he thought better of it; his eyes relaxed, and he went on in the same tone of voice as he had used before.

"To sum up; your entire program has been offensive to the Divine Priesthood, detrimental to the spiritual health of the people, and displays such disrespect and irreverence toward the Great Light Himself as to border on sacrilege and blasphemy.

"This attitude is intolerable to His Effulgence's Holy Government. You are therefore—" He reached inside his yellow robes and withdrew a sealed, embossed, official-looking paper. "—commanded, by order of the Council of Elders, to cease, desist and discontinue any and all such unholy practices, either by the spoken or written word, or by actions tending to have the same effect. This applies both to direct insults and to indirect suggestions, insinuations, and innuendoes.

"Is this fully understood?''

Silently, Norvis opened the official document and read it. It was, if possible, couched in even harsher terms than those the acolyte had used, but it said essentially the same thing.

"All right," Norvis said quietly, "the Council has gone on record as making an official protest. What else?"

Gyls peDom spread his hands. "That's all. Henceforth, you will simply bring your suggestions to the Council, where they will be properly handled; they must be debated and justified with the Law and the Way. Contrary to the statements made in your public vilification of the Holy Council, the Elders are most anxious to see that Nidor be returned to its former state of peace and tranquility. They are aware that extraordinary measures must be taken. Representing, as you do, the merchants and many of the farmers, your advice is considered valuable, though certainly not indispensable. You must not, however, make the mistake of thinking that you are Government; such presumptuousness is so insulting to the Great Light Himself that it can only end in disaster—for you, and for all Nidor."

Outwardly calm, Norvis leaned back in his chair. "I can well understand that, Acolyte Gyls peDom. Naturally, such a decision on policy change will have to be carefully considered, but, I think you can rest assured that the wishes of the Holy Council will be complied with. We have no wish to undermine the influence of the Ancient Elders; as a matter of fact, we had already considered that perhaps our stand might be a little too strong, and now that we see that it is, shall we say, much stronger than necessary, I'm quite sure our policies will be adjusted accordingly."

"Excellent." The acolyte arose. "There is, then, nothing more to be said. You will be expected to communicate with the Elder Leader, in writing, within the next twenty days. The peace of your Ancestors be with you always."

"And may the Great Light illumine your mind as he does the world, Acolyte," Norvis replied.

Without another word, the yellow-robed figure turned and walked out the door. His message had been delivered.

For a full minute, Norvis sat, unmoving, his face expressionless, listening to the footsteps of the acolyte recede. Not until he heard the faint clatter of deest-hooves on the pavement outside did he throw back his head and shout.

"Hoyhoy!" he chortled gleefully. "Total capitulation! Absolute surrender! Hoyhoyhoy!"

The Council had saved face, but the essence of the message was simply: "If you'll shut up and stop all this rabble-rousing propaganda, we'll do what you say."

There was a rap at the door, and the young clerk put his head in. "Is something the matter, Secretary Norvis?"

"Matter?" Norvis stood up, vaulted over his desk, and did a little jig. "Something the matter? No! What could be the matter? The Great Light sheds His Brilliance over everything and comforts everyone! Nidor glows beneath His Effulgence! And you ask if anything is wrong! A shadow upon you, boy! A shadow upon you!"

The clerk, taken aback by this un-Norvis-like behavior, stepped back in wide-eyed astonishment.

Norvis stopped his antics, but kept his grin. "Dom, keep it in mind that a man can fail a thousand times, but if he keeps plugging, success may come from the most unexpected quarters!"

"Yes, sir."

"Now, attend," Norvis continued, "The Krand is due in this evening, just after lastlight. The rain will have started, but I want a man stationed down there, waiting for it, anyway. As soon as the ship pulls in, Captain Del peFenn is to be told to come here as quickly as possible; have a deest waiting for him, too," "Yes, sir."

"And I don't want to see anybody else unless it's of absolutely vital importance. Understood?" "Yes. Ancient One." "Fine. Go to it, then."

The clerk backed out the door, still bewildered.

Norvis walked over to the window and looked out upon the busy streets of the harbor city. He had won. The Council was with him now; it was only a matter of time before the Earthmen were completely discredited, And then—

"And then, Smith, "he said softly, "we'll see about you, personally."

Outside the window, the Great Light, hovering near the horizon, began to dim.