Adaptation | Page 9

to Stevens, "I think you're our youngest. How old are you?"
Stevens grinned, "Hundred and thirteen, next month."
Mynor opened his mouth, closed it again. No man but would prolong his youth. Of a sudden he felt old, old.
Plekhanov turned back to Taller. "Most of the progress we have to offer is beyond your capacity to understand. We'll give you freedom from want. Health. We'll give you advances in every art. We'll eventually free every citizen from drudgery, educate him, give him the opportunity to enjoy intellectual curiosity. We'll open the stars to him. All these things the coming of the State will eventually mean to you."
Tula's Khan was not impressed. "This you tell us, man from First Earth. But to achieve these you plan to change every phase of our lives and we are happy with ... Tula ... the way it is. I say this to you. There are but eight of you and many, many of us. We do not want your ... State. Return from whence you came."
Plekhanov shook his massive head at the other. "Whether or not you want these changes they will be made. If you fail to co-operate, we will find someone who will. I suggest you make the most of it."
Taller arose from the squat stool upon which he'd been seated. "I have listened and I do not like what you have said. I am Khan of all the People. Now leave in peace, or I shall order my warriors ..."
"Joe," Plekhanov said flatly. "Watson!"
Joe Chessman took his heavy gun from its holster and triggered it twice. The roar of the explosions reverberated thunderously in the confined space, deafening all, and terrifying the Tulans. Bright red colored the robes the Khan wore, colored them without beauty. Bright red splattered the floor.
Leonid Plekhanov stared at his second in command, wet his thick lips. "Joe," he sputtered. "I hadn't . I didn't expect you to be so ... hasty."
Joe Chessman growled, "We've got to let them know where we stand, right now, or they'll never hold still for us. Cover the doors, Watson, Roberts." He motioned to the others with his head. "Cogswell, Hawkins, Stevens, get to those windows and watch."
Taller was a crumbled heap on the floor. The other Texcocans stared at his body in shocked horror.
All expect Reif.
Reif bent down over his father's body for a moment, and then looked up, his lips white, at Plekhanov. "He is dead."
Leonid Plekhanov collected himself. "Yes."
Reif's cold face was expressionless. He looked at Joe Chessman who stood stolidly to one side, gun still in hand.
Reif said, "You can supply such weapons to my armies?"
Plekhanov said, "That is our intention, in time."
Reif came erect. "Subject to the approval of the clan leaders, I am now Khan. Tell me more of this State of which you have spoken."

IV
The sergeant stopped the small company about a quarter of a mile from the city of Bari. His detachment numbered only ten but they were well armed with short swords and blunderbusses and wore mail and steel helmets. On the face of it, they would have been a match for ten times this number of merchants.
It was hardly noon but the sergeant had obviously already been at his wine flask. He leered at them. "And where do you think you go?"
The merchant who led the rest was a thin little man but he was richly robed and astride a heavy black mare. He said, "To Bari, soldier." He drew a paper from a pouch. "I hold this permission from Baron Mannerheim to pass through his lands with my people and chattels."
The leer turned mercenary. "Unfortunately, city man, I can't read. What do you carry on the mules?"
"Personal property, which, I repeat, I have permission to transport over Baron Mannerheim's lands free from harassment from his followers." He added, in irritation, "The baron is a friend of mine, fond of the gifts I give him."
One of the soldiers grunted his skepticism, checked the flint on the lock of his piece, then looked at the sergeant suggestively.
The sergeant said, "As you say, merchant, my lord the baron is fond of gifts. Aren't we all? Unfortunately, I have received no word of your group. My instructions are to stop all intruders upon the baron's lands and, if there is resistance, to slay them and confiscate such properties as they may be carrying."
The merchant sighed and reached into a small pouch. The eyes of the sergeant drooped in greed. The hand emerged with two small coins. "As you say," the merchant muttered bitterly, "we are all fond of gifts. Will you do me the honor to drink my health at the tavern tonight?"
The sergeant said nothing, but his mouth slackened and he fondled the hilt of his sword.
The merchant sighed again and dipped once more into