They did eat their breakfast, all of them, ravenously, leaving very little of what had looked like a large repast for twice as many people. Marjorie ran her hand around her waistband, noting that it seemed loose. With everything she was eating she still seemed to be losing weight.
The aircar, when it arrived, was overly ornamental but not actually funny, a luxurious flier, engineered for vertical ascent. Once inside it with Obermun bon Haunser as their guide, they lowered themselves into deeply padded seats and were given cups of the local hot drink—which was called, though it did not resemble, coffee—while the silent (and apparently non-bon) driver set off toward an unseen destination. They flew to the northeast as the Obermun pointed out notable landmarks. “Crimson Ridge,” he said, indicating a long rise deeply flushed with pink. “It will be blood-red in another week or two. Off to your right are the Sable Hills. I hope you feel somewhat privileged. You are among the very few non-Grassians who have ever seen anything of our planet except for Commoner Town, around the port.”
“I wondered about Commoner Town,” said Rigo. “On the maps it shows as a considerable area, some fifty miles long and two or three miles wide, completely surrounded by forest. I understand it is entirely given over to commerce or farming. When we arrived, I saw roads in and around Commoner Town, though there are none on the rest of the planet.”
“As I have previously explained to your wife, Ambassador, there is no grassland around Commoner Town. When we speak of the town, we mean the whole area, everything right down to the edge of the swamp. Here on Grass, where swamp is, trees are, as you can see if you look to your left. That is the port-forest coming up below. Quite a different surface from the rest of the planet, is it not? It doesn’t matter if they have roads in Commoner Town, because there is no grass to destroy, and they cannot get out through the swamp.” Obermun bon Haunser pointed down at the billowing green centered with urban clutter, his nostrils flaring only very slightly in what was unmistakably an expression of contempt. He had spoken of the roads as though they were something malevolent, something seeking subtle egress, like serpents caged against their will.
Stella started to blurt something but held it in as she received the full force of a forbidding glare from her father.
“You prefer they not get out?” Anthony asked, with precisely the right tone of disingenuous interest. “The roads or the commoners? Why is that?”
The Obermun flushed. He had obviously said something spontaneous and unplanned which he now regretted. “The commoners have no wish to leave the town. I meant the roads, my boy. I cannot expect you to understand the horror we have of marring the grasses. We have no fear of harvesting them, you understand, or making use of them, but scarring them lastingly is abhorrent to us. There are no roads on Grass except for the narrow trails linking each estancia to its own village, and even these we regret.”
“All exchanges between estancias, then, are by air?”
“All transport of persons or material, yes. The tell-me provides informational exchange. Information entered at your node at Opal Hill can be directed to specific recipients or to certain sets of recipients or used for correspondence with elsewhere. The tell-me links all the estancias and Commoner Town. All travel, however, all deliveries of imports or shipments of export material, are by air.”
“Imports and exports? Consisting of what, mostly?” This was Stella, deciding to be a good child for the moment.
The Obermun hemmed and hawed. “Well, imports are mostly manufactured goods and some luxury products such as wines and fabrics. For the most part, exports are what you might expect: various grass products. Grass exports grain and colored fiber. I am told by the commoners who attend to such matters that the larger grasses are much in demand for the construction of furniture. The merchants liken it to Terran bamboo. There is some export of seed, both as grain and for planting elsewhere. Some of the grasses thrive on other planets, I am told. Some which thrive only here yield valuable pharmaceutical products. Some are highly ornamental, as you have no doubt observed. It’s all done by license to various commoner firms. We bons haven’t the time or inclination to be directly involved with the business. I don’t suppose it’s very lucrative, but it is sufficient to support us and the town, which is to our advantage.”
Rigo, remembering the huge warehouses and the thriving shipping he had seen at the port, suppressed any comment. “And do I understand correctly that the grasses aren’t botanically related to Terran grasses? They’re indigenous? Not imports?”
“No. They are not even similar on the genetic level. Almost all the varieties were here when we arrived. The Green Brothers have hybridized a few to get certain colors or effects. You will have heard of the Green Brothers?” It was not really a question, for the man stared out the window of the flier, the line of his jaw and mouth expressing discomfort. Whatever they had been talking about was something that upset him. “They were sent here long ago to dig up the ruins of the Arbai city, and they took up gardening as a sort of hobby.”
Marjorie welcomed the change of subject. “I didn’t know there was an Arbai ruin on Grass.”
“Oh, yes. In the north. The Brothers have been digging away at it for a very long time. I am told it is like most such cities, flat and widespread, which makes it a long task to uncover. I have not seen it myself.” He
