shango
BY JOHN JAKES
Valaya was a primitive society,
yet the natives had a
way of communicating that
had the experts stumped....
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, February 1956.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
"This," said chief Van Isaac, "is our new trouble spot." The olderman's rodlike finger probed decisively at a violet dot placed on a thinyellow line of a circle, third out from a sun. Other dots peppered thegiant glazed star map, companions of which hung on the other threewalls of the chamber. "Valaya is the name of the place," Van Isaaccontinued. "Perhaps you know something about it."
"Not much," said the other, a thirtyish, lean man by the name of ArnoldKoven. "I mean, not a great deal besides what the telefilms havescreamed for the past two weeks. Revolution, slaughter, tribe againsttribe." Koven placed a cigarette between his lips, and his eyes smiledwith gentle cynicism. "Valaya has a Creole sound."
"You'll have no vacation, believe me," Van Isaac responded. "Duringthe colonization, Valaya was peopled largely by residents of theCaribbean. The inhabitants have intermarried over the past sixty years,so there is a slight blue Martian strain. Valaya was seeded with sugarand tin to provide for economy, but left rather backward—by choice ofthe colonists." Koven moved his eyes from the star map to his superior.
"Have you localized the trouble?"
"Yes. These raids have moved from the small north continent—" VanIsaac touched one of a row of studs on the desk. An immense rearprojection lantern view on the wall where the map had been, settledinto focus.
"The raids are the combined effort of the people of the northcontinent, which is small. The attacks are focused across the channelto the larger south continent. Somehow, the people on North havebeen inveigled into believing they have a right to South. Our onlybit of information is that a man named Bruschloss—" Koven suddenlystraightened in the theatrical gloom where his cigarette smoke floatedtorpidly. "Bruschloss? The one you used to call The Hog?"
"The Hog, yes. He is a citizen of the Betelgeuse Bloc withright-of-entry to any of our planets. He claims to be solely interestedin setting up a trading company on Valaya, with headquarters at thevillage of Maru. But the attacks date from two weeks after he arrived.So," said Van Isaac, tone hardening, "I know he is undoubtedly behindall this, and I want him stopped."
"Any G. C. I. A. men around Maru?" Koven inquired.
"The local agent for the continent, named Spotwood. He says Bruschlosshas conversed privately with the local ruler. Spotwood couldn't plantcameras or sound equipment at the conferences—our own blasted codeforbids it. But the rub is that the ruler has in no way communicatedwith any of the other tribes on North. In no way," Van Isaacrepeated, with a fist on the desk for emphasis. "They have drums. Thedrums say nothing Spotwood can't understand. All perfectly innocent.They have runners. No runners. No flare signals. No secret meetings.Spotwood has hired three or four dozen breeds to do his spying, but hehas absolutely no idea of how the ruler manages to organize the othertribes into these precise, well-timed, well-generaled raids across thestrait."
"I'm to find out?" asked Koven. "And stop the proceedings?"
"Exactly. Spotwood's good, but...."
At the spaceport, Koven pus