Right. That's it. Glory to the Luminaries. He was getting out of here. Going home.
He was packing to go back with the same enthusiasm he had mustered not long ago to come here.
Excellent. Just excellent.
His stay here had been… arduous, no point in hiding it. But not pointless.
The silver lining was that he'd managed to apply the knowledge accumulated at the university in practice, reaping undeniable benefits for the investigation. Theory had been polished by practice; dusty university tomes were now supplemented with real-life, if not always pleasant, lessons. And, of course, the invaluable experience for future investigations. That's where the positives ended.
There were definitely shady dealings here, hidden behind mockery and feigned simplicity. And he had received plenty of confirmation of that. The local Administration had been brazenly lying to him — no doubt about it now. Missing tools? Check. Trampled fields? All over the place. Smuggling? You bet, and a serious one at that. Something to hide? Even an innocent, at first glance, trip to the Caravans showed that yes, they did. And, by the looks of it, they were hiding quite a lot. This warranted further investigation. And it largely explained why…
The locals' willingness to cooperate was utterly nonexistent. Everything was clear without words. Through official channels — zero. Well then, that meant the work would have to go through unofficial ones. Inga would be the one coming here next.
It wasn't nice to laugh at a friend… Although… A little bit was okay.
She herself had noted in her letter that, while she disliked working in Kantine, this city intrigued her as a psychology enthusiast: one could observe rudimentary personality types not so common in Prime.
Well then… Good luck to her with her observations. At least *someone* found this backwater appealing in some way.
Not just from a casual research standpoint, but a professional one too. She and Tibby knew better than anyone how to turn the local torrent of words to their advantage. Working unofficially in a city of chatterboxes would be almost a pleasure for them.
Inga and Tibby hadn't exaggerated: working here in general was… rather challenging. Inga had asked him not to be too impressed. He thought he'd managed. And could even be proud of himself in some ways.
Kyle smirked, picturing her face during the debriefing about this "success."
A complete zero obtained through official channels was indeed unimpressive. But a full bag of unofficially obtained intel — that could be impressive.
The bag contained a heap of hastily made notes — fragments, rumors, hints of varying reliability, which now had to be assessed and assembled into a single puzzle, plus a couple of beautifully decorated pouches of delicious dried vegetables. Which weren't to blame for being conceived and created by rather limited people.
Yes, this was that very positivity they say can be found anywhere. Souvenirs acquired here for him and… his dearest loved ones?..
Perhaps. Though it wasn't certain he wouldn't eat almost all of it on the way back.
Stocking up on more to avoid that would have been a good idea.
However, things didn't go much further than souvenirs and a superficial immersion into the environment. He never acquired the baggy Kantine clothing — there was no sense or efficiency in it. Covert work wasn't his specialty, nor was it part of the assignment. His posture and bearing would have given him away anyway. They didn't wear hoods in this windless lowland. But there wasn't much need for disguise either. As long as the Prime native pretended not to understand the local dialect, people chattered in front of him, unembarrassed. Even breaking into the Archive wouldn't have yielded as much information of varying value and reliability.
Working in the taverns had turned out to be an excellent idea. When in a city where it's better to chew than to speak, one must choose methods wisely. Combining the pleasant with the useful.
This decision was born almost out of despair, when the official routes were firmly blocked. After fruitless visits to the Administration, there was nothing left to do but throw up his hands and head to the nearest tavern. It was the optimal compromise between "not investigating at all" and "investigating because an assignment is an assignment."
So he "had" to sample the local delicacies, simultaneously carrying out his work duties as much as possible, while also improving his language skills.
Such is life. One can almost always find an optimal way out. If you don't fixate on frustration. At least, that's how it works in Prime. In other places, you could probably fixate — there are plenty of reasons.
In Kantine, generous of spirit, the portions of everything were large, sometimes even excessive. This applied both to the universally acknowledged tasty stew and to the historically ingrained, tasteless, and unjustified contempt for everything foreign.
By keeping his ears open in the taverns and on the streets, Kyle received further confirmation: his knowledge of Kantine was more than adequate.
The mockery he heard wasn't directed at his speech, his behavior, or even at him personally. They were deliberately pretending not to understand and asking him to repeat things just to have a laugh. Deep-seated complexes and stereotypical perceptions were at work here.
The cultural chasm was wide, but not so wide that it couldn't be crossed. If one wanted to. But nothing of the sort was observed here.
The locals preferred to splash joyfully in their shallow sense of superiority over the "weak." Here, "weakness" meant ordinary Prime politeness. Although that was precisely where the main strength lay — the ability to forgo some of one's own advantages for someone else's benefit. That required developed intellect and strong character. That's where the real cultural difference manifested.
Utterly different societal organizations. Probably incompatible. That's what the prejudices, which couldn't explain everything outright, were hinting at.
No rain without clouds. No wind without a pressure differential. And all that.
Apparently, not all Prime proverbs were just silly, and not all prejudices were baseless. However, blindly trusting them wasn't wise either.
Experience allows one not to repeat mistakes, but also not to slide into reciprocal prejudice.
Perhaps there are reasonable people here too. But he didn't meet them.
They were probably hiding from everyone else. And the "mainstream" successful in this noisy society was what was on display.
The first mass failures killed any desire to continue attempts at communication. But not the desire to see the city and try new dishes.
Admiring the landscapes was also a kind of immersion into the environment. And a good way to understand the true nature and see the unspoiled beauty of this place. Contemplation helped him return to reality and perceive it a little more easily.
Nature is universally beautiful. These wide, well-kept fields, stretching to the very edge of the city and meeting the forest beginning just beyond, provided a sense of freedom here. They served as entertainment during walks.
All while fragments of others' conversations caught his ear. Not because the agent was deliberately eavesdropping, but because they shouted here so loudly that it was impossible not to hear, even if you tried. As if knowing all the details of the publicly displayed parts of others' lives was a necessary condition here.
What in Prime would be conveyed with the rustling sound of a "Herald" tablet rubbing against the fingers and clothes of its readers, here was entrusted to powerful sound waves. That was probably why the city itself was incredibly noisy.
It wasn't the even, lulling hum of Prime, mingling with the wind's howl at the peaks. The noises here were sharp, ragged, intrusive, contrasting in volume with the background, they disrupted thought and threw you off balance.
It was unfamiliar. In Prime, people conversed in hushed tones. Not just due to frequent secrecy concerns. They had no need to shout across an entire field.
Here, however, they shouted as if… "across the whole city." Across the whole Mainland. Probably to increase their audience. Striving for a breadth of reach comparable to the "Prime Herald."
Their vocal prowess and stamina were impressive. During the day, they shouted in the fields. And in the evening, this racket migrated to the streets, houses, and taverns.
The distance between people here was already small. But they kept on making noise.
As if everyone was collectively trying not to convey something, but to drown something out. In themselves and others. Trying to shout over some internal discomfort and somehow yell down the potentially frightening silence.
…And any possibility of thinking calmly about anything.
Interesting, what was it? Fear? An attempt to assert themselves? Or a claim to dominance?
Though… not very interesting anymore.
He was leaving, removing himself from an unsuitable environment. Let Inga deal with it now; she was the one who enjoyed digging into souls.
For Kyle, there were no hidden or open benefits here. Unnecessary stress was severely depleting his resources. The abundance of loud, meaningless speech was exhausting.
Involuntarily perceived as a distress signal, it forced him to listen intently to what for the locals was just background noise. And once again, very real cultural differences complicated the work, even in such small things.
Well. It was good that life had adjusted his worldview.
Now he knew more about the Mainland. The unpleasant aftertaste would fade. The experience would remain. That was the main thing.
Especially since the benefits from all this were undeniable. From the walks, from analyzing what he'd heard, from the hearty meals.
What was supposed to be a nightmare had essentially turned into an almost normal tourist visit. Although he definitely wouldn't choose this destination again voluntarily.
Of course, it was all up to the Chiefdom. But if nothing changed dramatically here, sending him back would be counterproductive, to say the least.
He had done everything he could here. And even a little more. He had nothing to reproach himself for. Not bad for a first assignment. Nothing more to add.
He had tried to establish a constructive dialogue, without these primitive antics, snickers, and half-truths. But nothing came of it. It was like trying to hold onto a slippery, grimy object.
He had willingly engaged, demonstrated openness and a readiness to cooperate. Speaking, for a moment, in *their* language — something far from all Prime folk were capable of. Most would have considered it beneath their dignity. Just as fruitlessly.
Ignoring human qualities, they preferred to interact with a stereotype from their own heads.
In her reply, Inga had reminded him about the advantages of perception.
About how simplified perception allows an energy-intensive brain to conserve resources. And now it was clear where people living in an agrarian city got the energy for so much noise and idle talk during and after hard work in the fields. It wasn't just natural stamina.
About how the local Headman extracted benefit from the situation. From his general political science course, Kyle also knew that people with this type of mentality were easier to control.
About how any stable system is stable for a reason and functions, roughly speaking, "for a purpose." Well, let them keep functioning. But without him.
Kyle continued packing. For freedom. With a clear conscience.
Every carefully folded item leaving the desk and bed was a small step toward it. Toward an escape from this blooming, fragrant, hearty, and unbearable little swamp.
His part of the investigation, the official one, if you could call it that, had progressed exactly as far as one could progress trying to climb a fence smeared with grease.
The indisputable plus of the situation, however, was that he could at least leave this place unimpeded. To mutual joy and satisfaction.
He wasn't going to change these people or try to prove anything to them. He wouldn't even get angry. He would simply remove himself from here.
They had their own established life that suited them, he had his. In an amazing city of even hums of wind and information streams. With interesting work, restaurants, tea, and skyscrapers.
Whether driven by hidden envy or open narcissistic arrogance, such people weren't as happy as they tried to appear. Or prove to themselves through others.
Their own city was deceiving them, cheating them not only out of crops and tools, but, it seemed, on a grand scale. But they were willing to put up with that rather than cooperate with outsiders.
They weren't trying to change anything. Apparently, there was some hidden convenience in their position. But that was no longer his problem. His problem now was merely not to forget his bags and to get to the self-propelled vehicle as quickly as possible.
Let this wretched little swamp stew in its own juices. He was returning to his native Om. It was good to have a place he could call his own with joy and pride.