Planet of Adventure Omnibus (57 page)

Anacho
indicated the towers. “Each house a clan. Someday I will describe the life of
Hei: the promenades, the secrets of multiple sex, the castes and class. But of
more immediate interest, yonder lie the spaceyards.”

Reith saw an
area at the center of the island surrounded by shops, warehouses, depots and
hangars. Six large spaceships and three smaller craft occupied bays to one
side. Anacho’s voice broke into his speculations.

“The
spaceships are well secured. The Dirdir are far more stringent than the
Wankh-by instinct rather than by reason, for no one in history has stolen a
spaceship.”

“No one in
history has come with two hundred thousand sequins. Such money will grease a
lot of palms.”

“What good
are sequins in the Glass Box?”

Reith said no
more. Anacho took the sky-car down to a paved area beside the spaceyards.

“Now,” said
Anacho in a calm voice, “we shall learn our destiny.”

Reith took
instant alarm. “What do you mean by that?”

“If we have
been traced, if we are expected, then we will be taken; and soon there will be
an end to us. But the car yard seems as usual; I expect no disaster. Remember
now, this is Sivishe, I am the Dirdirman, you are the sub-men; act accordingly.”

Reith
dubiously searched the yard. As Anacho had stated there seemed no untoward
activity.

The sky-car
landed. The three alighted. Anacho stood austerely aside while Reith and Traz removed
the packs.

A power-wagon
approached and fixed clamps to the sky-car. The operator, a hybrid of Dirdirman
and another race unknown, inspected Anacho with impersonal curiosity, ignoring
Reith and Traz. “What is to be the disposition?”

“Temporary
deposit, on call,” said Anacho.

“To what
charge?”

“Special. I’ll
take the token.”

“Number
sixty-four.” The clerk gave Anacho a brass disc. “I require twenty sequins.”

“Twenty, and
five for yourself.”

The
lift-wagon conveyed the sky-car to a numbered slot. Anacho led the way to a
slide-way, with Reith and Traz trudging behind with the packs. They stepped
aboard and were conveyed out to a wide avenue, along which ran a considerable
traffic of power-wagons, passenger cars, drays.

Here Anacho
paused to reflect. “I have been gone so long, I have traveled so far, that
Sivishe is somewhat strange. First, of course, we need lodgings. Across the
avenue, as I recall, is a suitable inn.”

At the
Ancient Realm Inn the three were led down a white and black-tiled corridor to a
suite overlooking the central court, where a dozen women sat on benches
watching the windows for a signal.

Two seemed to
be Dirdirwomen: thin sharp-faced creatures, pallid as snow, with a sparse fuzz
of gray hair at the back of their scalps. Anacho surveyed them thoughtfully for
a moment or so, then turned away. “We are fugitives, of course,” he said, “and
we must be wary. Nevertheless, here in Sivishe where many people come and go,
we are as safe as we might be anywhere. The Dirdir do not concern themselves
with Sivishe unless circumstances fail to suit them, in which case the
Administrator goes to the Glass Box. Otherwise, the Administrator has a free
hand; he taxes, polices, judges, punishes, appropriates as he sees fit and is
therefore the least corruptible man in Sivishe. For influential assistance we
must seek elsewhere; tomorrow I will make an inquiry. Next we will need a
structure of suitable dimensions, close by the spaceyards, yet inconspicuous.
Again, a matter requiring discreet inquiry. Then-most sensitive of all-we must
hire technical personnel to assemble the components and perform the necessary
tuning and phasing. If we pay high wages we can no doubt secure the right men.
I will represent myself as a Dirdirman Superior-in fact, my former status-and
hint of Dirdir reprisals against loose-mouthed men. There is no reason why the
project should not go easily and smoothly, except for the innate perversity of
circumstances.”

“In other
words,” said Reith, “the chances are against us.”

Anacho
ignored the remark. “A warning: the city seethes with intrigue. Folk come to
Sivishe for a single purpose: to win advantage. The city is a turmoil of
illicit activity, robbery, extortion, vice, gambling, gluttony, extravagant
display, swindling. These are endemic, and the victim has small hope of
recourse. The Dirdir are unconcerned; the antics and maneuvers of the submen
are nothing to them. The Administrator is interested only in maintaining order.
So: caution! Trust no one; answer no questions! Identify yourselves as
steppe-men seeking employment; profess stupidity. By such means we minimize
risk.”

IN THE
MORNING Anacho went forth to make his inquiries. Reith and Traz descended to
the street cafe and sat watching the passersby. Traz was displeased with
everything he saw. “All cities are vile,” he grumbled. “This is the worst: a
detestable place. Do you notice the stink? Chemicals, smoke, disease, rotting
stone. The smell has infected the folk; observe their faces.”

Reith could
not deny that the inhabitants of Sivishe were an unprepossessing lot. Their
complexions ranged from muddy brown to Dirdirman white; their physiognomies
reflected thousands of years of half-purposeful mutation. Never had Reith seen
so wary and self-contained a people. Living in contiguity with an alien race
had fostered no fellowship: in Sivishe each man was a stranger. As a positive
consequence, Reith and Traz were inconspicuous: no one looked twice in their
direction.

Reith sat
musing over his bowl of pale wine, relaxed and almost at peace. As he pondered
old Tschai, it occurred to him the single homogenizing force was the language,
the same across the entire planet. Perhaps because communication often
represented the difference between life and death, because those who failed to
communicate died, the language had retained its universality. Presumably the
language had its roots on ancient Earth. It resembled no language with which he
was familiar. He considered key words.
Vam
was “mother”;
tatap
was “father”;
issir
was “sword.” The cardinal numbers were
aine, sei,
dros, enser, nif, hisz, yaga, managa, nuwai, tix.
No significant parallels,
but somehow, a hunting echo of Earth sounds ...

In general,
reflected Reith, life on Tschai ranged a wider gamut than did life on Earth.
Passions were more intense: grief more poignant, joy more exalted.
Personalities were more decisive. By contrast the folk of Earth seemed pensive,
conditional, sedate. Laughter on Earth was less boisterous; still, there were
fewer gasps of horror.

As he often
did, Reith wondered:
Suppose I return to Earth, what then? Can I adjust to
an existence so placid and staid? Or all my life will I long for the steppes
and seas of Tschai?
Reith gave a sad chuckle. A problem he would be glad to
confront.

Anacho
returned. After a quick glance to left and right he settled himself at the
table. His manner was subdued. “I’ve been optimistic,” he muttered. “I’ve
trusted too much to my memories.”

“How so?”
Reith demanded.

“Nothing
immediate. It seems, merely, that I have underestimated our impact on the
times. Twice this morning I heard talk of the madmen who invaded the Carabas
and slaughtered Dirdir as if they were lippets. Hei throbs with agitation and
anger, or so it is said. Various tsaugsh are in progress; all would regret to be
the madmen once they are captured.”

Traz was
outraged. “The Dirdir go to the Carabas to kill men,” he stormed. “Why should
they resent the case when they themselves are killed?”

“Hist!”
exclaimed Anacho. “Not so loud! Do you wish to attract attention? In Sivishe no
one blurts forth his thoughts; it is unwholesome!”

“Another
black mark against this squalid city!” declared Traz, but in a more restrained
voice.

“Come now,”
said Anacho nervously. “It is not so disheartening after all. Think of it!
While Dirdir range the continents, we three rest in Sivishe, at the Ancient
Realm Inn.”

“A precarious
satisfaction,” said Reith. “What else did you learn?”

“The
Administrator is Clodo Erlius. He has just assumed office-not necessarily
advantageous from our point of view since a new official is apt to stringency.
I have made guarded inquiries, and since I am a Dirdirman Superior, I did not
encounter total frankness. However a certain name has been mentioned twice.
That name is Aila Woudiver. His ostensible occupation is the supply and
transport of structural materials. He is a notable gourmand and voluptuary,
with tastes at once so refined, so gross and so inordinate as to cost him vast
sums. This information was given freely, in a tone of envious admiration.
Woudiver’s illicit capabilities were merely implied.”

“Woudiver
would appear to be an unsavory colleague,” said Reith.

Anacho
snorted in derision. “You demand that I find someone proficient at conniving,
chicanery, theft; when I produce this man, you look down your nose at him.”

Reith
grinned. “No other names were mentioned?”

“Another
source explained, in a carefully facetious manner, that any extraordinary
activity must surely attract the attention of Woudiver. It would seem that he
is the man with whom we must deal. In a certain sense, his reputation is
reassuring; he is necessarily competent.”

Traz entered
the conversation. “What if this Woudiver refuses to help us? Are we not then at
his mercy? Could he not extort our sequins from us?”

Anacho pursed
his lips, shrugged: “No scheme of this sort is absolutely reliable. Aila
Woudiver would seem to be a sound choice, from our point of view. He has access
to the sources of supply, he controls transport vehicles, and possibly he can
provide a suitable building in which to assemble a space-boat.”

Reith said
reluctantly, “We want the most competent man, and if we get him I suppose we
can’t cavil at his personal attributes. Still, on the other hand ... Oh, well.
What pretext should we use?”

“The tale you
gave the Lokhars-that we need a spaceship to take possession of a treasure-is
as good as any. Woudiver will discredit all he is told; he will expect
duplicity, so one tale is as good as another.”

Traz
muttered: “Attention! Dirdir are approaching.”

There were
three, striding with a portentous gait. Cages of silver mesh clung to the back
of their bone-white heads; the effulgences splayed down to either side of their
shoulders. Flaps of soft pale leather hung from their arms, almost to the
ground.

Other strips
hung down front and back, indited with vertical rows of red and black circular
symbols.

“Inspectors,”
muttered Anacho through down-drooping lips. “Not once a year do they come to
Sivishe-unless complaints are made.”

“Will they
know you for a Dirdirman?”

“Of course. I
hope they do not know me for Ankhe at afram Anacho, the fugitive.”

The Dirdir
passed; Reith glanced at them indifferently, though his flesh crept at their
proximity. They ignored the three and continued along the avenue, pale leather
flaps swinging to their stride.

Anacho’s face
relaxed from its glare of tension. In a subdued voice, Reith said, “The sooner
we leave Sivishe the better.”

Anacho
drummed his fingers on the table and gave a final decisive rap. “Very well. I
will telephone Aila Woudiver and arrange an exploratory meeting.” He stepped
into the inn and presently returned. “A car will arrive shortly to pick us up.”

Reith had not
been ready for so swift a response. “What did you tell him?” he asked uneasily.

“That we
wanted to consult him in regard to a business matter.”

“Hmf.” Reith
leaned back in his chair. “Too much haste is as bad as too little.”

Anacho threw
up his hands in vexation and defeat. “What reason to delay?”

“No real one.
I feel strange to Sivishe and unsure of my responses, hence worried.”

“No worry
there. With familiarity Sivishe becomes even less reassuring.”

Reith said no
more. Fifteen minutes later an antique black vehicle, which at one time had
been a grand saloon, halted in front of the hotel. A middle-aged man, harsh and
grim, looked forth. He jerked his head toward Anacho. “You await a car?”

“To Woudiver?”

“Get in.”

The three
climbed into the vehicle, seated themselves on benches. The car rolled at no
great speed down the avenue, then, turning off toward the south, entered a
district of slatternly apartment houses: buildings erected with neither
judgment nor precision. No two doorways were a like; windows of irregular shape
and size opened at random in the thick walls. Wan-faced folk stood in alcoves
or peered down into the streets; all turned to watch the passage of the car. “Laborers,”
said Anacho with a sniff of distaste. “Kherman, Thangs, Sad Islanders. They
come from all Kislovan and lands beyond, as well.”

The car
continued across a littered plaza, into a street of small shops, all fitted
with heavy metal shutters. Anacho asked the driver, “How far to Woudiver’s?”