Human-alien encounters -- Fiction; Life on other planets -- Fiction; Science fiction; Short stories; Trading posts -- Fiction
"Because it is an easier death than the knife and the arrow," she said,
and added, "When you were Kotasa, you were--a good man for me. Drink
the wine." She said it pleadingly. He shook his head.
"I am sorry," Shallra said, and there is nothing harder for a Kya to
say. But she added something even harder for a Kya woman to say; his
name, his proper name, which she had always known but could never use.
Then she walked away, and out of Grady's life, because he was now a man
without a name.
He set the pot down carefully on the agency's steps and went inside. As
he closed the door, there was a high, whistling noise, and a sharp thud
against the door planks. He did not need to look to know that an arrow
stood in its wooden panels.
* * * * *
Grady closed the heavy wooden shutters carefully, not even jumping when
a second arrow whickered through the last shutter as it swung. He lit
a table lamp and took the heavy, seldom-used rifle from the wall. He
did not need to check it; he had oiled and cleaned it once a week for
two years. Instead, he laid it on the table and took a book down from a
shelf.
"General Code of the Federation Authority," Grady read the words on the
spine, and opened it. "Extent of responsibilities of individuals on
mandated planets...."
Under the circumstances, Grady discovered, he could kill any number of
Kya if he were so inclined. The Authority would require a full report,
in quadruplicate, of the circumstances--and as another arrow struck the
door, Grady wondered wryly who would make out that report.
Also, Grady was not in the least inclined to kill any Kya. If doing
so would have saved his life, he would have shot any number of them
without any particular qualms. But there were no reasons at all to
think that killing any of them would do Grady any good. And Grady
thoroughly understood why it was that they had to kill him. He was no
more angry with the Kya than he had been with the Imperial Guards,
five years before, when they had come up Kanno Hill with their band
playing and their bayonets gleaming. He could remember how military
and colorful they had looked, in comparison to the overalled, grimy
rabble who stood beside him; and how they had come up that hill again
and again, fewer of them each time, and the band losing a bit of verve
on the last. Grady's anger then had been at the damned fool, whoever
he was, who ordered those useless charges; and his anger now was with
himself, because it had been his own mistake.
There was a growing murmur outside the agency. The villagers were
gathering in the street, and in the yards behind the building. There
was no way out now, and nowhere to go if there had been a way out.
Grady got up, and walked to the door. He opened the sliding panel a
crack and peered out.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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