The Dogtown Tourist Agency
Read The Dogtown Tourist Agency Online
Authors: Jack Vance
THE DOGTOWN TOURIST AGENCY
Jack Vance
In the last years of the twentieth century (as Wells might have put it), Gollancz, Britain’s oldest and most distinguished science fiction imprint, created the SF and Fantasy Masterworks series. Dedicated to re-publishing the English language’s finest works of SF and Fantasy, most of which were languishing out of print at the time, they were – and remain – landmark lists, consummately fulfilling the original mission statement:
‘SF MASTERWORKS is a library of the greatest SF ever written, chosen with the help of today’s leading SF writers and editors. These books show that genuinely innovative SF is as exciting today as when it was first written.’
Now, as we move inexorably into the twenty-first century, we are delighted to be widening our remit even more. The realities of commercial publishing are such that vast troves of classic SF & Fantasy are almost certainly destined never again to see print. Until very recently, this meant that anyone interested in reading any of these books would have been confined to scouring second-hand bookshops. The advent of digital publishing has changed that paradigm for ever.
The technology now exists to enable us to make available, for the first time, the entire backlists of an incredibly wide range of classic and modern SF and fantasy authors. Our plan is, at its simplest, to use this technology to build on the success of the SF and Fantasy Masterworks series and to go even further.
Welcome to the new home of Science Fiction & Fantasy. Welcome to the most comprehensive electronic library of classic SFF titles ever assembled.
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Chapter I
Hetzel composed a letter, writing a crisp and angular hand in black ink, with a short-nibbed pen:
Dear Madame X:
Complying with those instructions transmitted to me by messenger, I traced the person known as Casimir Wuldfache to Twisselbane on Tamar in the Nova Celeste Sector, where he arrived Ianiaro 23 Gaean, of the current year
.
At Twisselbane, Vv. Wuldfache secured afternoon employment at the Fabrilankus Café as a waiter, using the name Carmine Daruble. Evenings he worked at the local Mirrograph when not otherwise occupied as a paid escort for ladies in need of such a service
.
About three months ago he departed Tamar in company with a young woman whom I have not been able to identify. At the spaceport I circulated Vv. Wuldfache’s photograph and received information that his destination was the planet Maz, unlikely as this may seem
.
I have exhausted your retainer, and will exert no further effort until further instruction reaches me
.
With sincere best wishes
,
Hetzel, Vv
.
Hetzel addressed the letter to ‘Subscriber, Box 434, Ferraunce’ and dropped it into an expedition slot. The case was now terminated or so he assumed. The turbulence of Madame X’s emotions would subside in due course; Casimir Wuldfache, or whatever his name, would no doubt exercise his austere blond beauty upon a succession of other impressionable ladies.
The planet Maz? How could such a place draw a man like Casimir Wuldfache? Hetzel shook his head in perplexity, then gave his attention to other matters.
Sir Ivon Hacaway decided to conduct personally the interview with Hetzel; the matter was too important to be entrusted to the discretion of an underling. Nor were the company offices in Ferraunce suitable for the occasion; a thousand underlings observed his every act, and Hetzel was essentially an unknown quantity, no more than a name and a reputation in a field at the questionable brink of respectability. Rather than risk a compromise of his dignity, Sir Ivon elected to manage the business in privacy at Harth Manor.
Hetzel arrived at the appointed hour, and was conducted out upon the terrace. Sir Ivon, who disliked surprises, frowned to see not the furtive ruffian he had expected but a personable dark-haired man of obvious competence and a certain calm elegance which might have done credit to a gentleman. His clothes, neutral and unobtrusive, by some trick of reversal suggested not a neutral personality but flamboyance held under careful control.
Sir Ivon gave a perfunctory nod and gestured toward a chair. “Please be seated. Perhaps you will take a cup of tea?”
“With pleasure.”
Sir Ivon touched a button, then briskly addressed himself to business. “As you must know, I am chairman of the board at Palladian Micronics. We manufacture a variety of highly intricate mechanisms: robot brains, automatic translators, psychoeidetic analogues, and the like. These articles require a vast amount of hand labor; automatic assembly is impossible, and our products are generally quite expensive.
“A most curious situation has arisen. We have our competitors, naturally; Subsikon Corporation, Pedro Gomayr Associates, Gaean Micronics are the most important. We all market comparable products at competitive prices, and coexist with no more than the usual skulduggery. We are now being afflicted by unusual skulduggery.” Sir Ivon glanced at Hetzel to gauge the effect of his exposition, but Hetzel merely nodded politely. “Continue.”
Sir Ivon cleared his throat. “About six months ago a company known as Istagam began to market several high-cost items at prices we can’t hope to match. Naturally, my engineers have examined these products, looking for areas where economies have been made, without success. The articles are constructed at least to the standard of our own. Who is Istagam, you ask? Well, we’re asking ourselves the same question.”
From the house, pushing a teacart, came a portly woman wearing a voluminous gown of pink and black silk. Hetzel rose gallantly to his feet. “The Lady Hacaway, I take it?”
“Oh, no, sir, I’m Reinhold, the housekeeper. Please sit down; I’ll lay out the tea.”
Hetzel bowed and resumed his seat. Sir Ivon eyed him sidewise, a rather grim smile on his lips. He said, “To you this may seem a footling business: a question of a few million SLU
*
. Rather more is at stake. If Istagam expands, then we—and by ‘we’ I mean the members of the legitimate micronics industry—are in serious trouble.”
“An urgent affair, no doubt,” said Hetzel. “However, I must explain that I undertake no industrial espionage, unless the fee were truly astronomical, and even then—”
Sir Ivon held up his hand. “Hear me out,” he said testily. “The situation is extraordinary; otherwise I would simply turn the matter over to one of the large agencies. And I must remark in passing that your fee, while adequate, will be something less than astronomical. Otherwise I would do the work myself.”
Hetzel sipped tea. “I’ll certainly listen to you without prejudice.”
In a measured voice Sir Ivon continued his exposition. “Istagam distributes its products from at least three or four depots—all out to the north of Jack Chandler’s Gulf. One of these is a warehouse at an inconsequential little town known as Ultimo, on the planet Glamfyre. I don’t suppose that you’re acquainted with the place?”
“Not even superficially.”
“Well, Glamfyre is a rather bleak place, just about at the edge of the Reach. I communicated with our own district factor and asked him to make a few inquiries.” Sir Ivon brought forth a sheet of paper, which he passed across the table to Hetzel. “This is his report.”
The letter had been indited at Estance Uno, Glamfyre, a month previously by a certain Urvix Lamboros.
Hetzel read:
Sir Ivon Hacaway
Harth Manor on the Meadows
Harth, Delta Rasalhague
Esteemed Sir:
In response to your request I journeyed to Ultimo, where I made local inquiry to this effect. Shipments were received at the Istagam warehouse on these dates, Gaean Standard Time: March 19, May 4, July 6. I thereupon made inquiries at the Ultimo spaceport, which is served by the Krugh Line, the Red Griffin Line, and occasionally the Osiris Line. Proximately before the dates mentioned above the following ships discharged cargo at Ultimo:
I was unable to determine the previous ports of call of these vessels
.
With utmost respect and with hopes for your continued patronage, I am
,
Urvix Lamboros, Vv.
Hetzel returned the letter. Sir Ivon said, “I communicated with officials of the Krugh Line and learned that these three ships had taken on cargo at only one port in common.” He paused to heighten the drama of his disclosure. “That port was Axistil, on the planet Maz.”
Hetzel sat up in his chair. “Maz?”
“You seem startled,” said Sir Ivon.
“Hardly startled,” said Hetzel. “‘Surprised’ or ‘perplexed’ would be better words. Who on Maz manufactures micronic components?”
Sir Ivon sat back in his chair. “Exactly. Who indeed? The Gomaz? Absurd. The Liss? The Olefract? Incredible. We have here a mystery of fascinating implications.”
Hetzel agreed. “The case certainly exceeds the ordinary.”
Out upon the terrace stepped a tall woman of striking appearance wearing a modish afternoon gown of brown, red, and gold pleats, with a panache of black feathers in a forehead band of black velvet. Her manner was rather imperious, and she quite ignored Hetzel, who had again risen to his feet, as, somewhat more slowly, did Sir Ivon.
“Ivon, I implore you to exert yourself. Something must be done! Felicia has not yet returned from Graythorpe, and you will recall that I gave her most explicit instructions.”
“Yes, my dear,” said Sir Ivon. “I’ll deal with the matter in due course, but at this moment I am occupied with business, as you see.” He glanced toward Hetzel, hesitated, then performed a rather
grudging introduction. “This is Vv.
*
Miro Hetzel, an effectuator. He will be conducting certain investigations for the consortium. Vv. Hetzel, I present the Lady Bonvenuta Hacaway.”
“I am honored to make your acquaintance,” said Hetzel.
“It is a pleasure,” said Lady Bonvenuta in a frigid voice. To Sir Ivon she said, “I insist that you have a serious talk with Felicia. There are often questionable people at Graythorpe, as you well know.”