The Garments of Caean

He thought of the future man, transformed by raiment, who would one day rule that galaxy. The evolution of the transformed man would take a long time – thousands of years, even – but one thing was certain. He would spring from Caean, not Ziode.

The autocab drew up outside. Minutes later he was riding southwards through Gridira’s still nearly-silent streets.

The sleek commercial buildings fled by. Soon the cab entered an outer ring of high-rise habitat tenements where the sky disappeared intermittently behind the criss-cross of overhead dwellings. After half an hour he was in the garden suburb of Cadra, whose streets were shaded by willow and bouquet trees.

He wound down the window, bringing the perfume of the trees clean and fresh on the morning air. But he frowned as the autocab came to a stop at the maisonette rented by Mast. A manual-control Cauredon – Mast’s car – was parked outside. The door to the side garage was raised, and inside he could see someone loading bundles into the van kept there.

He left the autocab and padded down the driveway. ‘So!’ he exclaimed in a ringing voice. ‘A fine trustworthy accomplice I teamed up with!’

Unabashed, with slow careful movements, Mast emptied the armful of garments he held into the back of the van. ‘I too, it seems, have made a bad choice of partner,’ he said pensively. ‘What are you doing here, Peder?’

Peder spluttered. ‘I guessed what you were up to and came to put a stop to it!’

‘Remarkable foresight,’ Mast commented. ‘What are those suitcases I see on your luggage rack?’

Their arms filled with clothing, Castor and Grawn emerged through a side door leading from the house. ‘Put those garments back at once!’ Peder stormed. Poker-faced, they ignored him and dumped their burdens unceremoniously in the van.

Peder followed all three of them into the house. The Caeanic apparel lay neatly stacked against the walls of the storeroom, or hung in racks Peder had erected. While Castor and Grawn continued their hurried transfer of the hoard, Mast looked Peder coolly up and down.

‘I see you’re wearing your new suit, Peder. It makes a new man of you. A new man altogether.’ Mast seemed thoughtful.

Peder in turn regarded Mast, appraising the Ziodean suit he wore. At one time his stylish taste had impressed him. Now all his clothes – apart from the Caeanic titfer, of course – seemed unbelievably grubby. His dress was merely a shabby form of self-advertising; it had nothing in common with the true Art of Attire as it was understood in Caean.

He was sure Mast’s tendency to meddle with plans already well-laid was a basic flaw in his character. Imagining he was looking through the eyes of a Caeanic sartorial, he began to speculate how he would repair the deficiency. He would prescribe garments making for care and caution, as a counterbalance to the initiative and enterprise Mast already possessed in abundance.

An idea came to him. What if he could select the appropriate items from among their haul? … but the idea was unfeasible. Mast would never co-operate. And Peder, for his part, was not a Caeanic sartorial and lacked the necessary insight.

He found his voice again. ‘May I ask what is the meaning of all this?’ he demanded. ‘I’d like to know what excuse you can offer for trying to rob me of everything!’

‘A precautionary measure only, Peder,’ Mast replied easily. ‘I wished to remove the merchandise to a safe place so as to forestall the possibility of theft. I can now, it seems, congratulate myself on my wisdom.’

‘You are mistaken – I came to steal nothing,’ Peder claimed. ‘I’ll tell you the truth. I don’t like the way you are handling things. I want to take my share in kind, to sell on my own account. The rest can be yours.’ He paused. ‘I’ll be satisfied with sufficient to bring me in, say, a hundred thousand units. A modest enough demand, all things considered.’

‘Very well, Peder,’ Mast said slowly, ‘I agree. On one condition. Give me a valuation of the remainder, even if only a rough one. I have to have some idea of what I’m offering Jadper.’

Peder hesitated, stroking his chin and looking around him. ‘They are worth whatever one can get for them,’ he said dubiously. ‘That’s why I was anxious to dole them out one by one. Jadper himself probably won’t get as good a total price as I would, in the long run …’

Mast snapped his fingers to Grawn who had just reentered. ‘Grawn, go and get Peder’s cases from the autocab standing outside, will you?’

Peder began looking through the store, selecting a garment here and there.

‘I’m putting a lot of trust in you,’ Mast murmured. ‘Only you know the worth of the items you’re taking.’

‘I am an honest man,’ Peder declared. ‘I keep my bargains.’

Carrying the bulky suitcases, Grawn ambled back into the room. Peder packed away his choices carefully, snapping each case shut as it was filled.

Finally he was satisfied and stood up. ‘Don’t accept less than five million,’ he told Mast quietly. ‘Better if you can get six.’