Planet of Adventure Omnibus (56 page)

Again
checking the locks, the three prepared themselves for sleep. Anacho, declaring
himself to be easily aroused, put the sequins between himself and the wall.
Except for a single wavering night light the lamps were extinguished. A few
moments later Anacho slipped noiselessly across the room to Reith’s couch. “I
suspect peepholes and listening pipes,” he whispered. “Here are the sequins.
Put them beside you. Let us sit quietly and watch for a period.”

Reith forced
himself into a state of alertness. Fatigue defeated him; his eyelids drooped.
He slept.

Time passed.
Reith was aroused by a prod from Anacho’s elbow; he sat up with a jerk of
guilt. “Quiet,” said Anacho in the ghost of a whisper. “Look yonder.”

Reith peered
through the darkness. A scrape, a movement in the shadows, a dark shape-a light
suddenly flared up. Traz stood, crouched and glaring, arms concealed in the
shadow of his body.

The two men
by Anacho’s couch turned to face the lamp, faces blank and startled. One was
Issam the Thang; the second was the burly servant who had been groping with his
enormous hands for the neck of Anacho, presumably asleep on the couch. The
servant emitted a curious whisper of excitement and hopped across the room,
hands clutching. Traz fired his catapult into the twisted face. The man fell
silently, going to oblivion without apprehension or regret. Issam sprang for an
opening in the wall. Reith bore him to the floor. Issam fought desperately; for
all his slenderness and delicacy he was as strong and quick as a serpent. Reith
seized him in an arm-lock and jerked him erect, squeaking in pain.

Anacho
flipped a cord around Issam’s neck and prepared to tighten the noose. Reith
grimaced but made no protest. This was the justice of Maust; it was only
fitting that here, in the flaring lamplight, Issam should go to his doom.

Issam
fervently cried out: “No! I am only a miserable Thang! Don’t kill me! I’ll help
you, I swear! I’ll help you escape!”

“Wait,” said
Reith. To Issam: “How do you mean, help us escape? Are we in danger?”

“Yes, of
course. What should you expect?”

“Tell me of
this danger.”

Sensing
reprieve, Issam drew himself up, indignantly shrugged away Anacho’s hands. “The
information is valuable. How much will you pay?”

Reith nodded
to Anacho. “Proceed.”

Issam gave a
heart-rending wail. “No, no! Trade me my life for your three lives-is that not
enough?”

“If such be
the case.”

“It is the
case. Stand back, then; remove the noose.”

“Not until we
know the kind of bargain we are making.”

Issam looked
from face to face and saw nothing to encourage him. “Well, then, secret word
has come to me. The Dirdir are in a state of frothing fury. Someone has
destroyed an unlikely number of hunting parties, and stolen the booty-as much
as two hundred thousands’ worth of sequins. Special agents are on watch-here
and elsewhere. Whoever submits any information will derive great benefit. If
you are the person of the case, as I suspect, you will never leave Maust except
in prickle-collars-unless I help you.”

Reith asked
cautiously, “Help us how?”

“I can and
will save you-for a price.”

Reith looked
toward Anacho, who drew taut the cord. Issam clawed at the constriction, eyes
bulging in the lamplight. The noose loosened. Issam croaked, “My life for
yours, that is our bargain.”

“Then talk no
more of ‘price.’ Needless to say, don’t try to trick us.”

“Never,
never!” croaked Issam. “I live or die with you! Your life is my life! We must
leave now. Morning will be too late.”

“Leave how?
Afoot?”

“It may not
be necessary. Make yourselves ready. Do those bags and parcels actually contain
sequins?”

“Scarlets and
purples,” said Anacho with sadistic relish. “If you want the same, go into the
Zone and kill Dirdir.”

Issam
shuddered. “Are you ready?” He waited impatiently while the three resumed their
garments. On sudden thought he dropped down to rifle the corpse of the servant
and clucked with satisfaction at the handful of clears and milks he found in
the pouch.

The three
were ready. In spite of Issam’s protest Anacho maintained the noose around his
neck. “So that you will not misunderstand our intentions.”

“Must I
always be cursed with suspicious associates?”

The main
avenue of Maust vibrated with movement, the shift of faces, colored lights;
from the taverns came wailing music, drunken belches of laughter, an occasional
angry outcry. By furtive shortcuts and dark detours Issam took them to a stable
at the north of town, where a scowling attendant finally responded to Issam’s
pounding. Five minutes of surly haggling resulted in the saddling of four
leap-horses; ten minutes later, as the moons of Az and Braz simultaneously
rolled up the eastern sky, Reith, Anacho, Traz and Issam bounded north on the
gaunt white leaphorses of Kachan, and left Maust behind.

Through the
night they rode and at dawn entered Khorai. Smoke trickling up from iron
chimneys drifted north over the First Sea, which by some trick of light
appeared as black as a sea of pitch, with the plum-colored northern sky for a
backdrop.

Through
Khorai they pounded and down to the harbor where they dismounted. Issam,
wearing the most modest of smiles, bowed to Reith, hands folded behind his dark
red gown. “I have achieved my goal; my friends have been delivered safe to
Khorai.”

“The friends
you hoped to strangle a few hours ago.”

Issam’s smile
became tremulous. “That was Maust! One’s behavior in Maust must be tolerated.”

“As far as I
am concerned, you may return.”

Issam bowed
low once more. “May nine-headed Sagorio maim your enemies! So now, farewell!”
Issam took the pale leaphorses back through Khorai and disappeared to the
south.

The sky-car
rested where they had left it. As they climbed aboard, the harbormaster looked
on with a saturnine sneer, but made no comment. Mindful of Khor truculence the
three took pains to ignore his presence.

The sky-car
rose into the morning sky, curved along the shore of the First Sea. So began
the first stage of the journey to Sivishe.

THE SKY-CAR
FLEW west. To the south spread a vast dusty desert; to the north lay the First
Sea. Below and ahead mudflats alternated with promontories of sandstone in a
monotonous succession, one beyond the other, into the haze at the limit of vision.

Traz slept
the sleep of sheer exhaustion. Anacho, to the contrary, sat unconcerned and
careless, as if fear and emergency were foreign to his experience. Reith,
though he ached with fatigue, could not wrench his gaze away from the
radar-screen, except to search the sky. Anacho’s carefree manner at last became
exasperating. Reith glared at him through red-rimmed eyes and spoke in a dour
voice: “For a fugitive you show surprisingly little apprehension. I admire your
composure.”

Anacho made
an easy gesture. “What you call composure is childlike faith. I have become
superstitious. Consider: we have entered the Carabas, killed dozens of First
Folk and carried off their sequins. So now, how can I take seriously the
prospect of casual interception?”

“Your faith
is greater than mine,” growled Reith. “I expect the whole force of the Dirdir
system to be scouring the skies for us.”

Anacho gave
an indulgent laugh. “That is not the Dirdir way! You project your own concepts
into the Dirdir mind. Remember, they do not look upon organization as an end in
itself; this is a human attribute. The Dirdir exists only as himself, a
creature responsible only to his pride. He cooperates with his fellows when the
prospect suits him.”

Reith shook
his head skeptically, and went back to studying the radar-screen. “There must
be more to it than that. How does the society hold together? How can the Dirdir
sustain long-term projects?”

“Very simple.
One Dirdir is much like another; there are racial forces which compel all
alike. In great dilution, the submen know these forces as ‘tradition,’ ‘caste
authority,’ ‘zest to overachieve’; in the Dirdir society they become
compulsions. The individual is bound to customs of the race. Should a Dirdir
need assistance he need only cry out
hs’ai hs’ai, hs’ai
and he is
helped. If a Dirdir is wronged, he calls
dr’ssa dr’ssa, dr’ssa
and
commands arbitration. If the arbitration fails to suit him he can challenge the
arbitrator, who is usually an Excellence; if he defeats the arbitrator, he is
vindicated. More often he himself is defeated; his effulgences are plucked out
and he becomes a pariah ... There are few challenges of arbitration.”

“Under such
conditions, the society would seem to be highly conservative.”

“This is the
case, until there is need for change, and then the Dirdir applies himself to
the problem with ‘zest to over-achieve.’ He is capable of creative thinking;
his brain is supple and responsive; he wastes no energy upon mannerism.
Multiple sexuality and the ‘secrets’ of course are a distraction, but like the
hunt they are a source of violent passion beyond human comprehension.”

“All this to
the side, why should they give up the search for us so easily?”

“Is it not
clear?” demanded Anacho testily. “How could even the Dirdir suspect that we fly
toward Sivishe in a sky-car? Nothing identifies the men sought at Smargash with
the men who destroy Dirdir in the Carabas. Perhaps in time a connection will be
made, if, for example, Issam the Thang is questioned. Until then they are
ignorant that we fly a sky-car. So why put up search-screens?”

“I hope you’re
right,” said Reith.

“We shall
see. Meanwhile-we are alive. We fly a sky-car in comfort. We carry better than
two hundred thousand sequins. Notice ahead: Cape Braize! Beyond lies the
Schanizade. We will now alter course and come down upon Haulk from above. Who
will notice a single sky-car among a hundred? At Sivishe we will mingle with
the multitude, while the Dirdir seek us across the Zhaarken, or at Jalkh, or
out on the Hunghus tundra.”

Ten miles passed
below the sky-car with Reith pondering the soul of the Dirdir race. He asked. “Suppose
you or I were in trouble and cried
dr’ssa dr’ssa, dr’ssa
?”

“That is the
call for arbitration.
Hs’ai hs’ai, hs’ai
is the cry for help.”

“Very well,
hsai hsai, hsai-would a Dirdir be impelled to help?”

“Yes; by the
force of tradition. This is automatic, a reflexive act: the connective tissue
which binds an otherwise wild and mercurial race.”

Two hours
before sunset a storm blew in from the Schanizade. Carina 4269 became a brown
wraith, then disappeared as black clouds tumbled up the sky. Surf like dirty
beer-foam swept across the beach, close to the boles of the black dendrons
which shrouded the foreshore. The upper fronds twisted to gusts of wind,
turning up glossy gray undersides; roiling patterns moved across the black
upper surfaces.

The sky-car
fled south through the umber dusk, then, with the last glimmer of light, landed
in the lee of a basalt jut. The three, huddling upon the settees and ignoring
the odor of Dirdir bodies, slept while the storm hissed through the rocks.

Dawn brought
a strange illumination, like light shining through brown bottle-glass. There
was neither food nor drink in the sky-car, but pilgrim pod grew out on the
barrens and a brackish river flowed nearby. Traz went quietly along the bank,
craning his neck to peer through the reflections. He stopped short, crouched,
plunged into the water to emerge with a yellow creature, all thrashing
tentacles and jointed legs, which he and Anacho devoured raw. Reith stolidly
ate pilgrim pod.

With the meal
finished they leaned back against the sky-car, basking in the honey-colored
sunlight and enjoying the morning calm. “Tomorrow,” said Anacho, “we arrive in
Sivishe. Our life once more changes. We are no longer thieves and desperadoes,
but men of substance, or so we must let it appear.”

“Very well,”
said Reith. “What next?”

“We must be
subtle. We do not simply apply at the spaceyards with our money.”

“Hardly,”
said Reith. “On Tschai whatever seems reasonable is wrong.”

“It is
impossible,” said Anacho, “to function without the support of an influential
person. This will be our first concern.”

“A Dirdir? Or
a Dirdirman?”

“Sivishe is a
city of sub-men; the Dirdir and Dirdirmen keep to Hei on the mainland. You will
see.”

HAULK HUNG
LIKE a cramped and distorted appendix from the distended belly of Kislovan,
with the Schanizade Ocean to the west and the Gulf of Ajzan to the east. At the
head of the gulf was the island Sivishe, with an untidy industrial jumble at
the northern end. A causeway led to the mainland and Hei, the Dirdir city. At
the center of Hei and dominating the entire landscape stood a box of gray glass
five miles long, three miles wide, a thousand feet high: a structure so large
that the perspectives seemed distorted. A forest of spires surrounded the box,
a tenth as high, scarlet and purple, then mauve, gray and white toward the
periphery.