choices.”
The shell planer paused in mid-scrape. Bright, intelligent eyes peered directly into Pulickel’s own. “Sometimes it is not a good thing for a people to have too many choices.” Double eyelids blinked slowly. “People with too many choices might forget their kusum. We know that this has happened on other islands. The people there have changed and cannot go back. From what we hear, I do not know that they are any happier for this.” He raised a three-fingered hand.
“We cannot talk through the air as F’an does, but neither are we ignorant of what happens elsewhere. Talktravels quickly enough, Pu’il. We have heard of what has happened to some who have accepted the big gifts from your people and from the shiny-skinned ones. We have heard what has happened to the Jimeri, the Corchosi, and the Trefaria. They have traded away their kusum, which is a bigger thing than trading bags and carvings.”
Pulickel searched his memory. “There was an epidemic of food poisoning on Corchos. Commonwealth medicine saved many lives there.”
Ears flicked, indicating that Jorana was not impressed. “There were too many Corchosi. Some must die so that others may live. The Corchosi who survive do so without their kusum. They are alive, but they are no longer Corchosi. Now they must rely on their trade to feed and support them. They have become wards of your kusum. This is bad for the spirit.”
“I don’t know that that’s the case,” Pulickel responded doubtfully.
“We do. Understand,” the native continued gently, “I do not mean to criticize the decisions of the Jimeri, the Trefaria, or the Corchosi. They have done willingly what they have done. They have made their choices. But the Parramati choose the same road we have always chosen. Our kusum will stay pure. You may keep your boats that fly in air and bows that kill without arrows.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way.” Pulickel was not discouraged. After all, this was his first attempt. “Perhaps other big persons will feel differently.” At this, Seaforth shot him a warning look, but he ignored her. It had been his experience that alien aboriginals of whatever intelligence favored directness.
Jorana was not offended. “You may talk to any of the Parramati that you wish.” His left arm came up and three fingers spread wide in an eloquent gesture. “Some will not listen to you, but all will be polite. It may be that youwill find one who can be swayed by what you have to offer. But it will be only one. Even if it is another big person, it will be only one.”
“I understand. I, too, can be patient.” To Fawn he added in terranglo, “How the hell are we supposed to achieve a viable consensus here? Are they all going to be this stubborn?” As he spoke he continued to smile at the alien, who had returned to his carving.
“I hope not. I’ve had luck with some of the younger Parramati,” she told him. “Maybe with your skills we’ll be able to secure some firm commitments. I’m hoping for a snowball effect, especially among the younger and middle-level big persons, but I’ve had to learn patience.”
He nodded. “That’s the ticket. Get a fair number to come around to our way of thinking and let them do the convincing of the others. I can see why you wanted me to meet this Jorana: he’s clearly an exceptional individual among his kind. But I agree that we might do better to concentrate the majority of our efforts on the younger, more flexible members of the tribe.”
She nodded. “We can still try to convince Jorana and Ascela and the other elders. I have to confess that part of the reason I’ve spent so much time working with them is that I enjoy listening to them.”
“That’s okay,” he replied. “We need to learn all we can about their society and culture, and for that you have to speak with the local elders. But I can see already that a political solution to our problem will have to be found in working with the more malleable
The shell planer paused in mid-scrape. Bright, intelligent eyes peered directly into Pulickel’s own. “Sometimes it is not a good thing for a people to have too many choices.” Double eyelids blinked slowly. “People with too many choices might forget their kusum. We know that this has happened on other islands. The people there have changed and cannot go back. From what we hear, I do not know that they are any happier for this.” He raised a three-fingered hand.
“We cannot talk through the air as F’an does, but neither are we ignorant of what happens elsewhere. Talktravels quickly enough, Pu’il. We have heard of what has happened to some who have accepted the big gifts from your people and from the shiny-skinned ones. We have heard what has happened to the Jimeri, the Corchosi, and the Trefaria. They have traded away their kusum, which is a bigger thing than trading bags and carvings.”
Pulickel searched his memory. “There was an epidemic of food poisoning on Corchos. Commonwealth medicine saved many lives there.”
Ears flicked, indicating that Jorana was not impressed. “There were too many Corchosi. Some must die so that others may live. The Corchosi who survive do so without their kusum. They are alive, but they are no longer Corchosi. Now they must rely on their trade to feed and support them. They have become wards of your kusum. This is bad for the spirit.”
“I don’t know that that’s the case,” Pulickel responded doubtfully.
“We do. Understand,” the native continued gently, “I do not mean to criticize the decisions of the Jimeri, the Trefaria, or the Corchosi. They have done willingly what they have done. They have made their choices. But the Parramati choose the same road we have always chosen. Our kusum will stay pure. You may keep your boats that fly in air and bows that kill without arrows.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way.” Pulickel was not discouraged. After all, this was his first attempt. “Perhaps other big persons will feel differently.” At this, Seaforth shot him a warning look, but he ignored her. It had been his experience that alien aboriginals of whatever intelligence favored directness.
Jorana was not offended. “You may talk to any of the Parramati that you wish.” His left arm came up and three fingers spread wide in an eloquent gesture. “Some will not listen to you, but all will be polite. It may be that youwill find one who can be swayed by what you have to offer. But it will be only one. Even if it is another big person, it will be only one.”
“I understand. I, too, can be patient.” To Fawn he added in terranglo, “How the hell are we supposed to achieve a viable consensus here? Are they all going to be this stubborn?” As he spoke he continued to smile at the alien, who had returned to his carving.
“I hope not. I’ve had luck with some of the younger Parramati,” she told him. “Maybe with your skills we’ll be able to secure some firm commitments. I’m hoping for a snowball effect, especially among the younger and middle-level big persons, but I’ve had to learn patience.”
He nodded. “That’s the ticket. Get a fair number to come around to our way of thinking and let them do the convincing of the others. I can see why you wanted me to meet this Jorana: he’s clearly an exceptional individual among his kind. But I agree that we might do better to concentrate the majority of our efforts on the younger, more flexible members of the tribe.”
She nodded. “We can still try to convince Jorana and Ascela and the other elders. I have to confess that part of the reason I’ve spent so much time working with them is that I enjoy listening to them.”
“That’s okay,” he replied. “We need to learn all we can about their society and culture, and for that you have to speak with the local elders. But I can see already that a political solution to our problem will have to be found in working with the more malleable
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