III 
The steady trade breeze caught them, and the humidity on deck dropped quickly to a tolerable eighty percent while the temperature plunged to one-oh-five. Etienne took advantage of the much cooler weather to move out on deck. Occasionally he turned to smile and wave to Lyra, who remained inside the transparent dome handling the instruments.
Intakes mounted on the front of each foil sucked in water and fed it to the electric jet astern. The jet forced the water through twin high-pressure nozzles, sending the boat skimming over the surface at high speed. The hydrofoil had been designed to function as a river runner but could handle open ocean reasonably well as long as the waves didn’t crest dangerously high.
Behind them the Skatandah Delta was a long line of green marking the horizon. Lyra sent them flying southwestward, toward the great city-state of Losithi. They were careful to stand well out to sea, clear of the heavy commerce that crowded the waters beyond the harbor.
A thousand kilometers and more to north and south, the eight-thousand-meter-high cliffs of the Guntali Plateau probed the sky. From the Losithi-Po Rabi area, distance and planetary curvature made them invisible, though there were places where the cliffs dropped sheer to the sea, a sight unequaled on any other inhabited world. Only where rivers like the Skar had cut their way to the ocean were cultivation and urbanization possible.
Lyra’s voice sounded through the intercom membrane built into the cockpit dome. “I’ve got something on the scanner, a few degrees to starboard. Want to run over and check it out?”
“Sure, I want to check it out. What Porlezmozmith doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” He clung to the railing and watched the foils slit the surface of the sea.
Lyra smiled back at him as she angled the boat slightly to starboard. The moving dot on the scanner was soon within sight—a triple-decked trimaran, a big merchant cruiser and a fine example of Mai shipbuilding. Her three hulls rode low in the water, bursting with trade goods gathered from her journey around the circular sea. If she wasn’t based in Losithi she would have just arrived from distant Ko Phisi and before that, Suphum. From here she would move on to Po Rabi on the other side of the Skatandah, thence around to Chienba and points east.
She was making good speed with the wind at her back. The trade winds moved eternally clockwise around the circumference of the Groalamasan. Only in the vicinity of the warm southern pole could a native captain test confused winds and sometimes shorten the homeward journey around the great ocean.
Gesturing and chattering, sailors were already lining the upper decks and scrambling into the rigging for a look at the strange alien vessel. More exciting to a Mai seaman than the hydrofoil’s silhouette was the fact that it moved at impossible speed and against the wind, not to mention without sails. As Lyra raced the hydrofoil around the massive merchantman for a thorough look, Mai sailors and passengers rushed from deck to deck to keep them in view.
After recording the merchantman for their journal, the Redowls passed among a fleet of shallow-hull fishing boats reaping the rich harvest of life that thrived where salt water mixed with fresh.
As they slowed to thread more easily between the first islets and clusters of pseudopalms, one large craft suddenly moved toward them. Its occupants brandished eager expressions together with long gaffs, axes, and pikes. The Mai would gladly have slit the throats of the two humans in order to gain possession of the invaluable hydrofoil. Etienne experienced unscientific thoughts as Lyra nudged the accelerator and left the would-be pirates in their wake.
“Nasty little bastards,” he muttered as he stared astern.
“That’s not being very understanding of a primitive culture, Etienne,” Lyra said disapprovingly.
“All right, so they’re primitive nasty little bastards.”
“Avaricious, not vicious,” she insisted. “You must try to view them in light of their society’s laws. A typically primitive plutocratic culture where personal wealth signifies an individual’s social standing. You can’t let your own viewpoint affect your observations.”
“Like hell I can’t. Porlezmozmith feels the same way about the Mai.”
“She’s an administrator, a bureaucrat, a byte-pusher who knows nothing of xenology and cares less.”
“All I said was that some of their ingrained habits could stand some modification.”
“Environment dictates their actions, not personal choice.”
“What environment?” He made a sweeping gesture toward the nearing line of high trees. “This is a warm, lush land. How do you go from that to a highly combative society?”
“They sublimate most of a natural aggressive drive in competition for commerce and trade. Isn’t that better than organized war between the city-states?”
“It’s healthier, sure, but from the standpoint of what’s civilized there’s something to be said for slugging it out with your neighbor toe to toe instead of trying to steal him blind.”
“Their attempts at thievery are governed by a strict code of rules, Etienne, which is more than you can say for war.”
“Leave me to the structure of the planetary crust, not Mai society. It’s cleaner.”
“You mean simpler, don’t you? There are so few variables in geology. It makes it easy for you, but I don’t envy you. There’s no personality, no joy in studying the daily activities of a rock.”
“Oh no? Let me tell you …”
It went on in that vein for another few minutes before Lyra finally ended it, as she always did. So many of their discussions lately seemed to end that way.
“Well if you’re going to act like that then I’m just not going to talk about it anymore.” And she turned her gaze resolutely away from him, directing her attention to the scanner.
He fumed silently all the way back to the station.
A services officer was waiting for them in the boat bay. Etienne shinnied up a cable, prepared to send down the couplers. The officer moved to stand next to him.
“Excuse me.” Her symbospeech was rough and unpolished, a good sign that Horseye might be her first off-world post. She clung with tru and foothands to a nearby pillar and her four legs were spread wide. Her whole body shied away from the open bay.
That was understandable. Thranx were good floaters but poor swimmers and their breathing spicules were located on the B-thorax below the neck. A standing thranx could drown in shallow water while still being able to see and hear clearly. That was the only reason why Tslamaina was not a popular duty station among the thranx. The climate was perfect but much of the terrain threatening.
So Etienne didn’t ask why the officer was clinging to the pillar for dear life, understood why nothing more was said until the hydrofoil had been drawn up into the bay and the double doors closed beneath it.
“What is it?” he finally inquired as Lyra moved to join them. She adjusted her halter top, did not look at him. Her expression was frosty.
“An ambassador from Po Rabi is due to arrive shortly,” the officer announced. “Word has come ahead via courier boat. You have been granted permission to travel Upriver through the Delta along those branches of the Skar controlled by the Moyt of Po Rabi.”
Etienne let out a whoop and did a back flip, much to the interest of the thranx working in the bay area. Such a gymnastic feat was beyond them. Lyra stood and smiled at the officer. The argument that had accompanied them back to the station was completely forgotten.
“It’s about time,” she murmured. “Did the courier say anything about the long delay we’ve suffered, why or for what reason?”
“Nothing additional was mentioned,” the officer said, adding a brief gesture of negativity coupled with third-degree empathy.
“I’ll bet I know what finally happened,” Etienne declared. “Steamer Station’s actually situated a little closer to Losithi than it is to Po Rabi. They must have decided that it was time to forget about hard bargaining and grant clearance before we struck some sort of deal with the Losithians.”
“I am sorry to dump dirt on your theory,” the thranx said apologetically, “but it would appear they still insist on some kind of token payment.”
“But we’ve been through that a hundred times,” Lyra pointed out. “They want advanced technology and we’re not allowed to give it to them. Don’t tell me they’ve decided to accept our nontech trade goods?”
“No. Commander Porlezmozmith has devised a method of satisfying them without contravening any of the regulations governing commerce with Class Four-B natives.
“Many areas of high ground do not benefit from seasonal floods of the Skar and so do not receive deposits of fresh silt or yield the crops they otherwise might. The commander has reviewed this with representatives of Po Rabi and they understand the implications quite well.
“Salvenkovdew, who is in charge of the station’s chemistry section, has agreed to rig equipment to produce high-quality natural fertilizers for such highland fields. Under current regulations this type of fertilizer does not qualify as a high-tech commodity, so it can be traded to the natives, and the Po Rabians have agreed to accept it as payment.”
“Good old Porlez!” Etienne exclaimed. “She’s been working on our problem all along and never breathed a word of it.”
“Probably didn’t want to get our hopes up,” Lyra said. “I hope the form of payment isn’t to be taken as a comment on the value of our expedition.”
“Who cares? We’re on our way at last! Thanks,” he told the officer. Twin antennae dipped and bobbed by way of gracious reply. “When’s this ambassador supposed to get here?”
“The courier could not be certain. Perhaps tomorrow, perhaps several days from tomorrow. I am much gladdened for you both.”
“Thanks again. We’ve been ready to leave for months, though I suppose we can find a few last-minute things to take care of.”
