Planet of Adventure Omnibus (60 page)

“Wait, wait,
wait!” cried Reith. “Not a thousand sequins a month, a thousand for
three
months; that was my offer.”

“It is too
little.”

“I’ll pay
five hundred, not a clear more. Now in the matter of your commission, let us be
reasonable. You provide drayage at a profit; I pay a large rent on your
warehouse; I see no reason to hand over an additional ten percent on these
items.”

“Why not?”
inquired Woudiver in a reasonable voice. “It is a convenience to you that I can
offer these services. I wear two hats, so to speak: that of the expediter and
that of the supplier. Why, merely because the expediter finds a certain
supplier convenient, inexpensive and efficient, should he be denied his fee? If
the drayage were performed elsewhere, the charges would be no less, and I would
receive my fee without complaint.”

Reith could
not deny the logic of the presentation, nor did he try. He said, “I don’t
intend to pay more than five hundred sequins for a ramshackle old shed you’d be
happy renting for two hundred.”

Woudiver held
up a yellow finger. “Consider the risk! We are about to suborn the thievery of
valuable property! I am rewarded, please understand, partly for services
rendered and partly to allay my fear of the Glass Box.”

“This is a
reasonable statement, from your point of view,” said Reith. “As far as I am
concerned, I want to complete the spaceship before the money runs out. After
the ship is complete, fueled and provisioned, you can take every sequin
remaining, for all I care.”

“Indeed!”
Woudiver scratched his chin. “How many sequins do you have then, so that we can
plan accordingly?”

“Something
over a hundred thousand.”

“Mmf. I
wonder if the job can be done at all-let alone allow for surplus.”

“My point
exactly. I want to keep non-construction expenses to the minimum.”

Woudiver
turned his face toward Artilo. “See how I am reduced. All prosper but Woudiver.
As usual, he suffers for his generosity.”

Artilo gave a
noncommittal grunt.

Reith counted
out sequins. “Five hundred-exorbitant rent for this ramshackle shed. Drayage:
three hundred. The hull: eight hundred and ninety. I’ll pay ten percent on the
hull. Another eighty-nine. A total of seventeen hundred and seventy-nine.”

Woudiver’s
broad yellow face mirrored a succession of emotions. At last he said, “I must
remind you that a policy of parsimony is often the most expensive in the end.”

“If the work
goes efficiently,” said Reith, “you won’t find me parsimonious. You’ll see more
sequins than you ever dreamed existed. But I intend to pay only for results. It
is to your interest to expedite the space-boat as best you can. If the money
runs out we’re all the losers.”

For once
Woudiver had nothing to say. He stared dolefully at the glittering heap on the
table, then, separating purples, scarlets, dark greens, he counted. “You drive
a hard bargain.”

“To our
mutual benefit, ultimately.”

Woudiver
dropped the sequins into his pouch. “If I must I must.” He drummed his fingers
against his thigh. “Well, as to the components, what do you require first?”

“I know
nothing about Dirdir machinery. We need the advice of an expert technician.
Such a man should be here now.”

Woudiver
squinted sidelong. “Without knowledge, how do you expect to fly?”

“I am
acquainted with Wankh space-boats.”

“Hmmf.
Artilo, go fetch Deine Zarre from the Technical Club.”

Woudiver
stalked off to his office, leaving Reith, Anacho and Traz alone in the shed.

Anacho
surveyed the hull. “The old hulk has done well. This is the Ispra, a series now
obsolete, in favor of the Concax Screamer. We must obtain Ispra components, to
simplify the work.”

“Are these
available?”

“Undoubtedly.
I believe you got the better of the yellow beast. His father an Immaculate-what
a joke! His mother a marsh-woman-that I can believe! He’s evidently gone to
pains to learn our secrets.”

“I hope he
doesn’t learn too much.”

“As long as
we can pay, we’re safe. We have a sound hull at a fair price, and even the
rental is not too exorbitant. But we must be careful: normal profits won’t suit
him.”

“No doubt he’ll
swindle us,” said Reith. “If we end up with a functioning space-boat, I don’t
really care.” He walked around the hull, occasionally reaching out to touch it,
in a kind of wonder. Here, solid and definite, the basis of a vessel to take
him home! Reith felt a surge of affection for the cold metal, in spite of its
alien Dirdir look.

Traz and
Anacho went outside to sit in the wan afternoon sunlight, and Reith presently
joined them. With images of Earth in his mind, the landscape became suddenly
strange, as if he were viewing it for the first time. The crumbling gray city
Sivishe, the spires of Hei, the Glass Box reflecting a dark bronze shine from
Carina 4269, the loom of the palisades through the murk: this was Tschai. He
looked at Traz and Anacho: these were men of Tschai.

Reith sat
down on the bench. He asked, “What’s inside the Glass Box?”

Anacho seemed
surprised at his ignorance. “It is a park, a simulation of old Sibol. Young
Dirdir learn to hunt; others take exercise and relaxation. There are galleries
for onlookers. Criminals are the prey. There are rocks, Sibol vegetation,
cliffs, caves; sometimes a man avoids the hunt for days.”

Reith looked
across to the Glass Box. “The Dirdir hunt in there now?”

“So I
suppose.”

“What of the
Dirdirmen Immaculates?”

“They are
sometimes allowed to hunt.”

“They devour their
prey?”

“Of course.”

Along the
rutted road came the black car. It splashed through a puddle of oily slime,
halted before the office. Woudiver came to stand in the doorway, a grotesque
lump in black and yellow finery. Artilo stepped down from the driver’s bench;
from the cab came an old man. His face was haggard and his body seemed
distorted or twisted; he moved slowly, as if every effort cost him pain.
Woudiver strutted forward, spoke a word or two, then conducted the old man to
the shed.

Woudiver spoke:
“This is Deine Zarre, who will supervise our project. Deine Zarre, I introduce
to you this man of no distinguishable race. He calls himself Adam Reith. Behind
you see a defalcate Dirdirman: a certain Anacho; and a youth who appears to
derive from the Kotan steppes. These are the folk with whom you must deal. I am
no more than an adjunct; make all your arrangements with Adam Reith.”

Deine Zarre
gave his attention to Reith. His eyes were clear gray, and in contrast to the
black of the pupils seemed almost luminous. “What is the project?”

Another man
to know the secret, thought Reith. Already with Aila Woudiver and Artilo, the
list was overlong. But no help for it. “In the shed is the hull of a
space-boat. We want to put it into operative condition.”

Deine Zarre’s
expression changed little. He searched Reith’s face a moment, then turned and
limped into the shed. Presently he reappeared. “The project is possible.
Anything is possible. But feasible? I don’t know.” His gaze once more searched
Reith’s face. “There are risks.”

“Woudiver
shows no great alarm. Of all of us he is the most sensitive to danger.”

Deine Zarre
gave Woudiver a dispassionate glance. “He is also the most supple and
resourceful. For myself, I fear nothing. If the Dirdir come to take me, I shall
kill as many as possible.”

“Come, come,”
chided Woudiver. “The Dirdir are as they are: folk of fantastic skills and
courage. Are we not all Brothers of the Egg?„

Deine Zarre
gave a dismal grunt. “Who is to supply machinery, tools, components?”

“The spaceyards,”
said Woudiver dryly. “Who else?”

“We will need
technicians: at least six men, of absolute discretion.”

“A chancy
matter,” Woudiver admitted. “But the chance can be minimized by inducements. If
Reith pays them well, the inducement of money. If Artilo counsels them, the
inducement of reason. If I indicate the consequences of a loose tongue, the
inducement of fear. Never forget, Sivishe is a city of secrets! As witness we
who stand here.”

“True,” said
Deine Zarre. Again he searched Reith with his remarkable eyes. “Where do you
wish to go in your spaceship?”

Woudiver
spoke with overtones either of mockery or malice: “He goes to claim a fabulous
treasure, which we all will share.”

Deine Zarre
smiled. “I want no treasure. Pay me a hundred sequins a week; it is all I
require.”

“So little?”
demanded Woudiver. “You reduce my commission.”

Deine Zarre
gave him no heed. “You intend to start work at once?” he asked Reith.

“The sooner
the better.”

“I will list
immediate needs.” To Woudiver: “When can you arrange delivery?”

“As soon as
Adam Reith provides the wherewithal.”

“Put through
the order tonight,” said Reith. “I’ll bring money tomorrow.”

“What of the
honorarium for my friend?” demanded Woudiver testily. “Does he work for
nothing? What of the fee for the warehouse guards? Do they look sideways for
their health?”

“How much?”
asked Reith.

Woudiver
hesitated, then said in a dull voice, “Let us avoid a tiresome quarrel. I will
present the minimum price first. Two thousand sequins.”

“So much?
Incredible. How many men must be bribed?”

“Three. The
assistant supervisor, two guards.”

Deine Zarre
said, “Give it to him. I dislike haggling. If you must economize, pay me less.”

Reith started
to complain, then shrugged, managed a painful grin. “Very well. Two thousand
sequins.”

“Remember,”
said Woudiver, “you must bear the inventory cost of the merchandise; it is
difficult to steal outright.”

During the
evening four power-wagons unloaded at the shed. Reith, Traz, Anacho and Artilo
trundled the crates into the shed, as Deine Zarre checked them off his master
list. Woudiver appeared on the scene at midnight. “All is well?”

Deine Zarre
said, “As far as I can tell, the basic needs are here.”

“Good.”
Woudiver turned to Reith, handed him a sheet of paper. “The invoice. Notice
that it is itemized, and bluster will serve no purpose.”

Reith read
the total in a weak whisper “Eighty-two thousand sequins.”

“Did you
expect less?” Woudiver asked jauntily. “My fee is not included. Ninety thousand
two hundred sequins in all.”

Reith asked
Deine Zarre, “Is there everything we need?”

“By no means.”

“How much
time will be required?”

“Two or three
months. Longer if the components are seriously out of phase.”

“What must I
pay the technicians?”

“Two hundred
sequins a week. Unlike myself, they are motivated by the need for money.”

On the screen
of Reith’s imagination appeared a picture of the Carabas: the dun hills, the
gray outcrops, the thickets of thorn, the horrid fires by night. He remembered
the furtive passage across the Forelands, the Dirdir-trap in Boundary Forest,
the race back to the Portal of Gleams. Ninety thousand sequins represented
almost half of this ... If the money dwindled too fast, if Woudiver became too
brazenly corrupt, what then? Reith could not bear to think the thought. “Tomorrow
I will bring the money.”

Woudiver gave
a fateful nod. “Good. Or tomorrow night the goods return to the warehouse.”

WITHIN THE
SHED the old Ispra began to come alive. The propulsors were raised into their
sockets, bolted and welded. Up through the stern access panel the generator and
converter were hoisted, then slid forward and secured. The Ispra was no longer
a hulk. Reith, Anacho and Traz wire-brushed, ground, polished, removed rotten
padding, sour-smelling old settees. They cleaned the observation ports, reamed
air conduits, installed new seals around the entry hatch.

Deine Zarre
did no work. He hobbled here and there, his gray eyes missing no details.
Artilo occasionally looked into the shed, a sneering droop to his gray mouth.
Woudiver was seldom to be seen. During his rare appearances he was cold and
businesslike, all trace of his first jocundity gone.

For an entire
month Woudiver did not show himself. Artilo, in a confiding mood, spat down at
the ground and said, “Big Yellow’s out at his country place.”

“Oh? What’s
he do out there?”

Artilo
twisted his head sidewise, showing Reith a lopsided grin. “Thinks he’s a
Dirdirman, that’s what. That’s where his money goes, on his fences and scenery
and hunts, wicked old beast.”

Reith stood stock-still
staring at Artilo. “You mean he hunts men?”

“For sure. He
and his cronies. Yellow has two thousand acres to his place, almost as big as
the Glass Box. Walls aren’t so good, but he’s got them circled by electric
wires and sting snaps. Don’t go to sleep on Yellow’s wine; you’ll wake up to
find yourself in the hunt.”