Pump Six and Other Stories(36)

"They had no letters before us, nor basic hygiene. They were starving. Now they are fat and comfortable."

"And indistinguishable from Keli people. Pasho came and gave them letters and now they are not Kai." He spat again.

Raphel inclined his head. "You call my knowledge Keli knowledge, and yet, if we leave the knowledge for Keli alone, only then will you be right. If we use it for Jai purposes, then it is Jai. Knowledge knows no master. You complain about Keli electrostatics, but you won't use my knowledge."

"The Jai will not work in factories. We are not traders. We plant in the wet season. We war in the dry season. That is Jai."

"Then the Jai will pass into memory, and Keli will flourish."

The old man laughed. "No, Keli will burn, and we will write their epitaphs in the mud of that sweltering place. Already I send hook hands to the corners of the basin. Thousands answer the call. Don't look so surprised. Keli encroaches too much. Their fat wheels, their scarves, their liquor, and their transmitter stations invade on every side. If you are Jai, you will help us raze Keli once and for all."

"Pasho are neutral. We do not deal in war."

The old man waved a hand at Raphel in irritation. It was glazed red with the residue of dried chilies. "You think you don't deal in war? Just because blood doesn't flow down our alleys? Electrostatics and cosmetics from Keli one day, earbuds the next? Your Pasho gifts to Keli kill us day by day. Where does this end? With the Jai eating fish? This is certainly war, whatever you Pasho and your protégés claim." His black eyes turned hard as he stared up at Raphel. "If you are Jai, you will use that knowledge on your skin for Jai purposes, and you will make war."

Raphel frowned. "What knowledge do you want so badly, Grandfather? Something to leak radiation into Keli's lakes and fish, something to sicken their women and sterilize their men? A virus keyed to their climate? Something that will leave corpses on their water bridges, and nothing but wind on the thousand lakes?" Raphel waved his hand toward the edge of the village. "What does the old city tell us, if we seek so much destructive power? I sit five paces from you even now, thanks to ancient follies."

"Don't lecture me, boy. I learned the first one thousand stanzas myself."

"Before trying to destroy everything the Pasho built. A frustrated child, breaking clay because it wouldn't mold to his satisfaction."

"No! I would not mold to theirs! Their grand design is the death of the Jai. In a thousand years, will there be anything to distinguish us from Keli? Will our women wear silver belts, and theirs perhaps wear gold bangles on their wrists, and what then? What of the Jai?"

Raphel shook his head. "I cannot give what you ask for. A few knowledgeable men could sweep the planet clean of all that remains of us. We Pasho guide knowledge now. Our ancestors moved quickly, quickly, as impatient as ants. We move slowly now, with care. We understand that knowledge is simply a terrible ocean we must cross, and hope that wisdom lies on the other side. It is not some toy casually used for our pleasure."

Old Gawar made a face. "Elegantly spoken."

"Rhetoric. A Pasho must speak well, or die in distant lands."

"You speak well to cover black deeds. You let children die of the yellow sickness and men bleed dry from war wounds. We guess at knowledge you already possess. We know that you hold keys to a thousand locks, and that you part them out sparingly, according to Pasho design." The old man picked up a chili and dropped it into his mortar bowl. He picked up another and dropped it in with its cousin. "So sparingly."

He looked up at Raphel. "I don't want the knowledge the Pasho call appropriate. I want the Jai to survive. When the Keli are forgotten and the Kai are remembered as slaves, I want the Jai to write history. Jai drink mez. We wear gold not silver. We write dust epitaphs for our vanquished enemies and watch them blow away in the desert wind. This is what it is to be Jai. The Pasho would rub all this away and blend us into a toothless race of servants. I will not allow it. I tell you, Grandson, Keli will burn. Best of all, it will burn because the Keli never managed to pry war knowledge from your selfish tattooed fists." The old man smiled thinly. "If nothing else, I must thank you Pasho for your neutrality. It serves me nearly as well. Go back to Keli, Grandson. Tell them Gawar Ka' Korum is coming again."

"A Pasho must always be respectful on his circuit. It is natural for a people to resist the presence and ideas of an outsider. In all cases, patience and subtlety are the Pasho's best tools. Our work is already generations long, and will be many more generations before it is complete. There is no hurry. Speed is what brought our ancestors to ruin. We guess, we move slowly, we wait. If we are not welcomed in a new place, we must pass on and wait for invitation. If we meet challenges, we must bend before them. Knowledge and influence are fragile things. Our reputation for neutrality, morality, and humanity must take the place of steel and sonics. Men make war. Pasho never."

—Pasho Nalina Desai, CS 955.

(Lecture 121: On Circuit Travel Etiquette)

On the ninth day of Raphel's return, the rains came. Thick gray clouds banked on the horizon, building until they filled the southern sky. They came across the basin, their bellies heavy with water. Slowly they opened and the gray paint of falling water streaked the air. The yellow plains darkened as the sun disappeared behind the onrushing clouds. Dust puffed where fat raindrops struck. Minutes later, dust turned to mud as water thundered out of the sky. By the tenth day of Raphel's Quaran, a fine bright sheen of grass, nearly phosphorescent in its new life, covered the yellow plains outside the village as the rains continued to pour down.