The Dogtown Tourist Agency (3 page)

Hetzel tapped the off-switch in exasperation.

He searched the directory for Sir Estevan’s home residence without success. He telephoned the clerk at the Beyranion reception desk. “How can I get in touch with Sir Estevan Tristo? His secretary gives me no help at all.”

“She’s not allowed to help anyone. Sir Estevan has had too many problems with tourists and letters of introduction. The only place to catch him is at his office.”

“Five days from now.”

“If you’re lucky. Sir Estevan has been known to use his private entrance when he wants to avoid talking to someone.”

“He appears to be a temperamental man.”

“Decidedly so.”

The time was noon. Hetzel crossed the garden to the Beyranion’s wood-paneled dining room which had been decorated with picturesque Gomaz artifacts: fetishes; cast-iron war-helmets spiked and crested; a stuffed gargoyle of the Shimkish Mountains. The tables and chairs had been carved from native wood; the table-cloths were soft bast, embroidered with typical emblems. Without haste Hetzel lunched on the best the house afforded, then sauntered out upon the plaza. At the Exhibitory he paused to inspect the prisoners peering forth from their glass cells: gunrunners and weapons smugglers, who would never leave their cells alive. The pallid faces wore identical expressions of sullen passivity. Occasionally one or another exerted himself sufficiently to make an obscene gesture or display his naked backside. Hetzel recognized none of his acquaintances or former clients. All were Gaean, which Hetzel considered a significant commentary upon the human character. Men, as individuals, seemed more diverse and enterprising than their Liss or Olefract counterparts. The Gomaz, he reflected, lived by extremes peculiar to themselves.

Hetzel turned away from the Exhibitory. The prisoners—pirates, outcasts, mad gallants—awoke him to no pangs of pity. For the sake of gain they had sought to arm the Gomaz, heedless of the fact that the Gomaz, if furnished even a meager weaponry and the means to transport themselves, would go forth to attack the entire galaxy, including the worlds of the Gaean Reach, as forty-six years before they had demonstrated.

Hetzel continued across the plaza: an expanse of such grand dimensions that the structures around the periphery loomed in the thick air like shadows. He walked in solitude, like a boat in the middle of a lonely ocean. Perhaps a dozen other dark shapes moved here and there across the silver-gray perspectives, too distant to be identified. A curious vista, thought Hetzel, strange as a dream.

The Triskelion solidified as he approached. He altered his direction to circle the structure, in effect entering areas in which the Liss and the Olefract exerted at least theoretical control and certainly a psychological influence. He passed a Liss on its way to the Triskelion: a lithe dark creature in a scarlet robe, and a moment later he saw an Olefract at a somewhat greater distance.
Both seemed indifferent to his presence; both affected him with a curious mixture of fascination and repugnance, for reasons he could not quite define. Returning to the Gaean frontage, Hetzel felt the lifting of a subtle oppression.

He climbed three steps, passed through a crystal portal into a lobby centering upon a triangular information desk. The Liss and the Olefract sections lacked both personnel and information seekers. At the Gaean segment two clerks were more than occupied with recently arrived tourists. A burly round-faced man in a splendid, if over-tight, blue and green uniform stood to the side, inspecting all who entered with benign contempt. Silver epaulets and silver filigree on the visor of his high-peaked cap marked him for an official of importance. He fixed Hetzel with an especially stern gaze, by some instinct recognizing a person whose business he might or might not consider legitimate.

Hetzel paid him no heed and went to the information desk. The chief clerk, a portly black-haired woman with a large lumpy nose and a nasal accent to match, pursued her duties with little grace or patience: “No, sir; the Triarch can’t be seen…I don’t care what you heard, he definitely does not receive visitors at his home.” “No sir, we are not agents for organized tours; we are the staff of the Gaean administration. In Dogtown you’ll find a tourist office. They operate a number of inns in scenic regions, and they offer air-cars for rent.” “I’m sorry, madame, under no circumstances will you be allowed into the Liss sector. They are absolutely rigid in this regard…What will they do? Who knows what happens to the people they take away—put them in zoos, perhaps.” “In Dogtown, sir, you can buy souvenirs.” “No sir, not until the next session, in five days. The public is admitted.” “You may photograph the Liss and the Olefract segments of the desk, yes, madame.”

The second clerk, a tall young man with a pale earnest face, was less crisp and perhaps less efficient. “—recommend a hotel in Dogtown? Well, I don’t know. You’d be far more comfortable at the Beyranion. Don’t forget, Far Dogtown is beyond
everybody’s
jurisdiction. You could get killed there, and nobody would even bury you…Yes, Dogtown itself is Gaean. But don’t wander past the green fence unless you’re an adventurer…Actually, Far Dogtown isn’t all that bad if you keep your wits about you and carry no more than two or three SLU. Don’t drink there and be sure not to gamble there.” “No sir, I have no knowledge or schedule of the Gomaz wars. They take place, certainly, and if you want to be chopped into two hundred pieces, go try to find one. That’s why the tourist agency won’t rent you an air-car without a qualified guide…That’s correct, you can’t just hire an air-car and go off by yourself. It’s only for your own protection. Don’t forget, this is the end of the Reach—right here.”

The portly chief clerk spoke to Hetzel. “Yes sir, what do you wish?”

“Are you Vvs. Felius?”

“I am she.”

“I have a rather unusual problem. I must discuss an urgent matter with Sir Estevan, but I am told that he cannot be reached.”

Vvs. Felius sniffed. “I can’t help you. If Sir Estevan doesn’t want to see people, I can’t force him to do so.”

“Certainly not. But can you suggest some dignified way I could get his attention for a few minutes?”

“Sir Estevan is a very busy man; at least he says he is, with his reports and recommendations and all. We see him only during the sessions. The rest of the time he’s off somewhere with his lady friend, or his fiancée, whatever she’s called.” Here Vvs. Felius used her prominent nose to produce a disapproving sniff. “I’m sure it’s his business, of course, but he simply won’t be interfered with when he’s not in his office.”

“In that case, I suppose I’ll have to wait. Do you have at hand any informational material, especially in regard to, say, the opportunities for investment capital?”

“No. Nothing of the sort.” Vvs. Felius gave an incredulous titter. “Who would want to invest out here away from everything?”

“Istagam seems to be doing very well.”

“Istagam? I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

Hetzel nodded. “What about the Gomaz? Are they willing workers?”

“Hah! Offer them a gun and they’ll pay you all they own, but they wouldn’t work a minute for you. That’s against their pride.”

“Odd! At the hotel I saw chairs carved ostensibly by the Gomaz.”

“By the Gomaz bantlings. They put their young to toil, instead of letting them kill themselves in play wars. But full-fledged warriors work for hire? Never.”

“Interesting,” said Hetzel. “And you believe that I must wait five days to see Sir Estevan?”

“I certainly can’t suggest any other way.”

“One last question. I arranged to meet a certain Casimir Wuldfache here on Maz. Can you tell me if he has arrived?”

“I have no such information at hand. You might ask Captain Baw; he’s the commandant.” The woman indicated the burly officer in the green and blue uniform.

“Thank you.” Hetzel approached Captain Baw and put his question, receiving for a reply first an uninterested grunt, then: “Never heard of such a person. They come and they go. There’s a hundred down in Far Dogtown I’d like to get my hands on, I’ll tell you for certain.”

Hetzel expressed his gratitude and departed.

North of the Exhibitory a wide road paved with what Hetzel took to be tamped gravel and crushed shell sloped away from the plaza and down to Dogtown: the so-called ‘Avenue of Lost Souls’. A wind from off the downs blew in Hetzel’s face, smelling of smoke and peat and exhalations less familiar. Hetzel was alone on the road, and again felt the brush of dream-time…He stopped short and bent to study the road. The bits of shell and gravel of the surface were not, as he had first assumed, tamped or rolled; they quite clearly had been fitted piece by piece into cement, to form a mosaic. Hetzel looked back the way he had come, then down to Dogtown. An enormous amount of toil had been expended on this road.

Two tall spindle-trees loomed over the road; Hetzel passed below and into Dogtown. The Avenue of Lost Souls broadened to become a plaza, the center of which had been dedicated to a park where grew thickets of cardinal bush, Cyprian torch, and flowering yellow acacia; under the water-green sky and against the somber downs to the north, the scarlets and lemons and golds made a peculiarly gratifying contrast. The structures surrounding lacked uniformity except for a certain easy shabbiness. Timber, marl, stucco, vitrified soil, slag bricks, all figured in the schemes of construction, which were as various as the men who had chosen to build out here at the brink of the Reach. Shops sold imported foods, hardware, and sundries; there were four or five taverns, as many hotels of greater or lesser respectability, a few business offices: exporters of Gomaz artifacts, an insurance agent, a tonsorial salon, a dealer in energetics and power-pods. A relatively imposing structure of glistening pink concrete had been divided into a pair of adjoining offices. The first displayed a sign:

MAZ TOURIST ASSOCIATION

Information, Tours, Outback Accommodation

The premises next door showed a more subdued façade, and was identified by an inconspicuous plaque reading:

BYRRHIS ENTERPRISES
Development and Promotion

Hetzel looked into the tourist agency, to find a similar or perhaps the same group of tourists he had encountered at the Triskelion. They crowded the counter, talking to a pretty dark-haired girl with melancholy eyes, who answered their questions with a charming mixture of reserve, good humor and courtesy.

Hetzel stepped into the office and waited, listening with half an ear to the conversation.

“—seven inns,” said the girl. “They’re all in dramatic locations and very comfortable. At least, so I’m told; I’ve never been out to them myself.”

“We’d like to see the
real
Maz,” declared one of the women. “The places tourists don’t go. And we’d just love to see one of the wars. We’re not bloodthirsty or anything like that, but it must be wonderfully exciting!”

The girl smiled. “We couldn’t possibly arrange such a spectacle. In the first place, it would be dangerous. The Gomaz are very proud people. If they saw tourists, they’d halt their war and kill the tourists, and then proceed with the war.”

“Hmmf. Well, we’re not exactly tourists. We like to think of ourselves as travelers.”

“Of course.”

A man spoke, “What about these inns? If the Gomaz are that sensitive, it might be dangerous leaving Dogtown.”

“Not really,” said the girl. “The Gomaz are actually oblivious of Gaeans, unless they commit some kind of nuisance, just as you might ignore birds in a tree.”

“Can’t we visit the Gomaz castles? Like that one on the wall?”

The girl gave the woman a smiling shake of the head. “It can’t be done. But some of our inns are built in ancient Gomaz castles, and they’re really quite comfortable.”

Hetzel inspected the posters:
Warriors March to Battle on Tusz Tan Steppe; The Flyers of Korasman Castle Soar and Veer; The Kish Castle at Sunset; Conclave of the Jerd Nobles
. Then he turned his attention back to the girl, who was no less interesting to look at than the pictures. At first glance Hetzel had thought her slight and frail, but on closer inspection he decided that she could bear up very well under a bit of playful rough-and-tumble. He moved a few steps closer to the desk. The girl turned her head and gave him a flicker of a smile. Charming, thought Hetzel.

“…all seven inns, if you have the time. We naturally arrange transportation.”

“But we can’t rent our own air-car?”

“Not without one of our guides. It really wouldn’t be safe, and it’s also against Triarchic regulations.”

“Well, we’ll think it over. Which is the best tavern in Dogtown—the most typical and picturesque?”

“I think they’re pretty much alike. You might try The Last Resort across the square.”

“Thank you.” The tourists departed. The girl looked at Hetzel. “Yes sir?”

Hetzel approached the counter. “I don’t quite know what I want to ask you.”

“There must be something.”

“The situation is this. A friend of mine has come into some money and now he wants to invest it. The question is: where?”

The girl laughed incredulously. “You want
my
advice?”

“Certainly. Unconventional ideas are the best, because they haven’t occurred to anyone else. Assume that I’m about to place a million SLU in your hands. What would you do with it?”

“I’d buy a ticket out of here,” said the girl. “But that isn’t what your friend has in mind.”

“Let me put the matter this way: how could a person invest here on Maz and hope to make a profit?”

“That’s quite a problem. The only people in Dogtown who seem to make money are the tavern-keepers.”

“I was thinking of enterprises on a larger scale, somewhat on the order of Istagam. In fact, where would I find the director of Istagam? I’d like to ask his advice.”

The girl gave him a curious side-glance which Hetzel could not interpret. She said, “That’s something I know nothing about.”

“Surely you’re aware of Istagam’s existence?”

“That and not much more. But why don’t you talk to Vv. Byrrhis? He’s far more expert than I am on such subjects.” She looked toward a door which connected to the adjoining office. “But I don’t think he’s in just now.”