Chapter 2: Council of Kee

Pete didn't try to hurry as he made his way toward the main building. He had been up since just after the sunrise of EssChad's long day, and had worked straight through two full shifts on the repairs to his helicopter. EssChad's thirtytwo hour rotation made for too long a day for most people to adapt to, but he wasn't tied to any regular schedule. He had found that most days he could get along all right by following the usual base custom of taking three or four hours around midday to rest, if not to sleep.

The company compound was set up along the lines of a frontier fort, with a log palisade on three sides of an open court. Buildings were set along the fourth side, their foundations cut into the face of a steep hill. Since the natives had so far been friendly, much of the post's outdoor activity now took place outside of the main gate, where a steep rise between them and the nearby swamp helped to keep off the larger swamp creatures.

He looked up as doors slid open across the face of the building that housed their dimensional transfer apparatus, the 'gate' their project depended upon. A tractor emerged with a soft hum of its electric motors, pulling a sweeping tail of wagons laden with a fresh shipment of supplies and equipment. He detoured around a stack of empty wooden crates that was awaiting shipment back to Earth, and opened the door to the administration unit. The air inside was cool and fresh, with most of EssChad's alien smells filtered out.

"Oh, Mr. Riley. Mr. Johnson is waiting for you," the pretty brunette secretary greeted him.

"Thanks, Nancy, but didn't we agree that you knew me well enough by now to call me Pete?" He leaned on the corner of her desk, smiling down at her.

"Not during office hours. Now, behave yourself. Don't keep the boss waiting, Pete." Her eyes twinkled at him as she turned back to her typing.

Inside the office, Sam Johnson was intently studying a large map that was spread out on a drafting table. "Come here, and see what this looks like to you."

The map was a photomosaic of the surrounding area, a rectangle covering some thirty by fifty miles. He bent to study an overlay of colored lines that made a regular pattern across its surface.

"Is this from the series of magnetometer flights you had me make last week?"

"Yes, these are lines of magnetic field intensity. This really big jog, right here, is our installation. The rest of the pattern seems to be natural."

"I see what you mean. It really is odd, isn't it? The line of hills behind our base shows practically nothing, but the deeper you get into the swamps, the stronger the field is."

"You've got it. We don't have the usual orbital photos to work from here. Too much fog and cloud cover. But, when you map a large enough area, you can see that this range of hills has an almost constant curvature. When we integrate that curvature against the magnetic field, they match fairly closely. The science boys back at company headquarters say that this whole swamp area could be what's left of an ancient ringwall."

"A meteor crater? But, it would be almost a thousand miles across!"

"More like about six hundred, actually. There are larger ones known or suspected on Earth. The geologists guess that it's about a million years old, give or take a few hundred thousand, and that there's enough meteoric iron buried under the center to give a barely detectable magnetic field. It's not enough to affect a compass, and we'd never have detected it, except that EssChad's own magnetic field is practically nonexistent."

"We haven't done any exploring out that way, have we?"

"Not yet. The swamps merge gradually into a shallow sea in that direction. One of EssChad's moons is pretty fair sized, even if you don't get to see it very often through the clouds, but these swamps have only slight tides. There's probably only a couple of small openings from this sea to the ocean."

"If the sea is that shallow, would it be worth our while to mine for the remains of the meteor?"

"Not for us, Pete. There are too many worlds with all the iron we need. The natives might want to, though, since iron is a rare metal here. That brings us back to the same problem again. We've got lots of things they would want, but what do they have that we need? Have you gotten any ideas from your young friend?"

"Not yet. So far, he's learned more from me than I have from him. I did learn one thing today that you should know before we talk to their council."

"What's that?"

"We were talking about your request for permission to trade. Well, KeeBar says that the council can't give you an answer right away. They have to get approval from a group or tribe that they call 'Great Ones'. KeeBar doesn't know much about them, except the name. The village council sends messengers to them whenever there is a big decision to be made. The answer comes back in about sixteen days."

"What are they, some kind of central government?" Sam straightened up with a grunt, massaging the small of his back. "I was told that we were dealing with a completely independent tribe."

"I don't think that's what these 'Great Ones' are. They never send out messengers of their own with orders, they just answer questions and give advice. They sound more like some kind of a priesthood. KeeBar couldn't tell me much, since it seems to be almost a taboo subject for anyone but adults."

"That's all we'd need, to get a priesthood down on us. The project is moving too slowly for comfort already. Well, let's get ready to go to that council meeting. We'll just have to take our chances with these 'Great Ones', and hope that they'll go along with our plans. You're sure that you know enough of the language to talk to the council?"

"Pretty sure, but it won't be the same as just talking to KeeBar."

"I'm taking along some things that I hope will help. Nothing made of iron, of course, and it's all been approved back home." He pressed the intercom button. "Nancy, will you see whether those packages that just came in have been loaded on the helicopter?"

"Yes, Mr. Johnson."

"While that's being done, Pete, tell me what else you've found out about these lizardpeople. I've been spending too much time in conferences back on Earth when I should have been here running things. It's a good thing that I have someone like Nancy to see that things keep moving around here. Just how human do these natives seem to you?"

"Surprisingly so, if you make a few allowances. KeeBar is a lot like the kids I've known in primitive villages, and his tribe seems to be typical of the others in this area. They all speak the same language, too. If anything, there has been a lot less ritual and taboo than you'd expect. Until I ran into this 'Great Ones' bit, I was beginning to wonder if they had any religions or strong superstitions at all."

"Maybe those things are strictly the province of the adults."

"Yeah, I suppose it could be, but all the kids I've ever known have had their own set of superstitions. You'd at least expect them to be aware of what the adults believe."

"The helicopter is loaded, sir."

"All right, we'll leave immediately. We should be back by midnight, but we'll call in as soon as we take off on the way back, regardless of the time."

"Yes, sir. I'll have Communications stand by."

The helicopter skimmed along beneath lowlying clouds, and Pete once again had a strong sense of being out of his own time and place. The redorange sunlight gave the overcast a somber cast. Even where it broke through an occasional rift, it did little to dispel his instinctive unease. The reddish light on the deep green of the jungle gave it a mottled look, as though it had been splashed with drying blood. The only movement was the slow heaving of some herbivore's vast bulk, or the swifter prowling of an alwayshungry carnivore. In spite of its heavy atmosphere and lesser gravity, this world had produced no true fliers. Pete wondered if its low clouds and dense fogs limited their value. Often, a fanged head on a long neck would be raised to peer, puzzled, at this noisy intruder in its skies.

Ahead, the jungle thinned out. From the crest of a low hill, thin streamers of smoke rose to hang in the still air. Large boulders that lay scattered about had been connected by ridges of stone and beaten earth, a barrier against any reptile hungry enough to climb up out of the swamp. Inside this wall, huts of poles plastered with mud were placed in loose clusters, leaving only a small area clear in the center of the village. Dropping slowly through the muggy air, Pete guided the helicopter to an easy landing facing the largest hut.

The adults studiously ignored them, since they had not as yet been formally greeted by the Chief, but the children weren't expected to maintain this pose. Peeking from behind any handy obstacle, they avidly watched every move that the strangers made. After a suitable pause, the village chief made a stately approach. The other adults casually followed, drifting closer as though this visitation from the skies was the most commonplace of events.

"What brings you to the village of Kee?" The Chief's voice, a deep, hissing bass, intoned the ritual greeting.

"We ask the hospitality of the tribe of Kee." Pete's voice was equally solemn, and the villagers grunted their pleasure at hearing his correctly phrased answer.

"The hospitality of the tribe of Kee is offered to the strangers." Ceremonial greetings taken care of, the Chief lowered his voice to a more normal conversational level. "What brings you and your friend to our village?"

"My friend and Chief, ManMr.Johnson, has requests from his Chief to present at your council meeting." Pete stumbled over a phrase or two, but KeeBar's intensive coaching let him make his meaning clear. "We also bring gifts for our friends of the tribe of Kee."

"The council will meet after our evening meal. Will the two of you not join us, even though you may not partake of our food?"

"We shall be honored."

The Chief led the way to where the village cooking fires smoldered, and Pete took the opportunity to tell Sam what had been said.

"You're sure that they don't expect us to eat their food?" Sam Johnson asked anxiously.

"No, I've already explained to them why we can't. The Chief had to taste some of our food before I could convince him, but that was all it took. Our food tastes and smells even worse to them than theirs does to us. Actually, you could force yourself to eat their food. There'd be no bad effects, as long as you stuck to vegetables. It's just that the taste is horrible. Anyway, it lacks most of the vitamins and things that we need."

The amount of food being prepared proved that the village hunters and gatherers were both lucky and skilful. Mighty joints of meat hung, dripping grease, over beds of hot coals. Clay pots bubbled and steamed as women dropped in glowing hot stones. Small platters of food were placed before the visitors as a gesture of courtesy, along with bowls of clear water. Pete exchanged greetings and polite remarks with members of the tribe, and handed out the trinkets they had brought, occasionally translating their answers for Sam.