Araminta Station (39 page)

“In the morning the Bold Lions discovered that they’d had enough of Yipton, and were ready to go home. Kirdy and I were also willing to leave. But when we went down to the ferry, four Oomps were waiting. I went past with the others, but they stopped Kirdy at the gangplank and took him away.”

Bodwyn Wook leaned forward in perplexity. “Why Kirdy? How were they able to center in upon him?”

Glawen scowled, then, in a carefully emotionless voice, said: “Kirdy sent me off to Pussycat Palace so that he could reconnoiter. I did not want to go, but he insisted. When I got back -”

“Just one moment! Let me understand this! You say he sent you off to Pussycat Palace? He ‘insisted’ that you go?”

“Well, yes. As soon as the ferry pulled out from Araminta Station, Kirdy took command. He stated that you had put him in charge by reason of his seniority and experience.”

Bodwyn Wook jerked back in his seat. “He was not telling the truth.”

“I suspected as much but Kirdy is very sensitive and I did not want to dispute his word. I decided to make the best of the situation, and work with the circumstances rather than against them. As it turned out, I made the wrong decision.”

Bodwyn Wook spoke in a dry voice: “It may not be so bad as it sounds. Titus Pompo will ask questions. Kirdy will no doubt reason, and correctly so, that nothing can be gained by holding his tongue, since you have escaped with the information. I am sure that he will save himself any major discomfort by cooperating to the degree required of him. In short, he will tell everything he knows, which is not very much. After that, what happens is anyone’s guess.

“We don’t entirely understand Titus Pompo’s disposition. He may be guided by rage, malice and determination to set a chilling example. More likely, he will temporize and attempt to bargain. Our best option, in any case, is to act at once and decisively, and I have already put the process into motion. We will move early tomorrow. Meanwhile, go home and get some rest. Return in the morning; I might need further information.”

Glawen paused by the door. “What of the Conservator?”

“He will prefer to know nothing about what is ostensibly a routine affair. If notified, he might feel obliged to sing LPF music and put a
pro forma
restraint upon us.”

“What do you plan to do?”

“The needful. You may go now and get some rest.”

Glawen departed and went listlessly to Clattuc House. His father was not in their chambers, and did not arrive home until late.

In the morning the two arose early, made a quick breakfast and repaired to the Bureau B offices, to find Bodwyn Wook already in conference with the captains Ysel Laverty and Rune Offaw. As yet, there had been no word from Yipton, and Glawen was directed to a couch in the shadows at the back of the room. He had slept only fitfully and found his eyelids hanging heavy. He pulled himself up with a jerk and tried to heed the conversation.

Ysel Laverty, thick, solid, with short gray hair, slate-gray eyes and a reputation for ruthless pertinacity, was speaking: “- complain that our reaction was excessive, especially if there are Yip casualties.”

“No matter,” said Bodwyn Wook. “Power flows to he who takes charge. We shall act first and argue later, if at all. Now we must show our will to act, or lose our credibility forever. And with it, incidentally, the Conservancy. Scharde, what of your preparations?”

“We are at the ready. If we don’t defend ourselves, we deserve what we get.”

“Then you might as well get to it. We are probably too late already.”

Scharde rose to his feet and departed the room, with a glance toward Glawen and a wave of the hand as he passed.

Bodwyn Wook touched a button and spoke into the mesh on his telephone. “I want Namour co-Clattuc here at once. No excuses, no delay.”

Rune Offaw asked: “Why do you need Namour?”

Bodwyn Wook slapped the arms of his chair. “Namour is a swashbuckling desperado after the best - or worst - Clattuc tradition. I trust him only so far as I can see him. If he is in my office, I can see him.”

A chime sounded, and a voice came from the mesh. “A call from Yipton: Titus Pompo will speak with you.”

“It’s about time! Bodwyn Wook here.”

After a portentous five-second delay the response came, heavy and resonant: “I am Titus Pompo! Speak!”

Bodwyn Wook turned on the video connection. “My screen is blank. Do you see me? I am Bodwyn Wook, Supervisor of Bureau B. Show yourself, so that I may see with whom I am talking.”

“My face is my own. You must gratify your curiosity in other ways. Why did you call me?”

“Hide your face, if you like; that’s your affair. But when you lay hands on my nephew then it’s my affair. I wish to speak to him this moment, to make sure that he has not been molested.”

“Your nephew, it appears, would be the burglar-thief. He is in detention until we reckon up his offenses.”

“He is a sergeant of Bureau B. He is not a thief.”

“Why did he steal the cloak of Arles Clattuc?”

“I will learn the circumstances from Kirdy himself. If a reprimand is in order, it will be applied with reference to our regulations. Under no conditions are you allowed to interfere with a Bureau B agent and an IPCC affiliate. Bring him out, that he may talk to me.”

“His conduct is suspicious and may include espionage. We will make our inquiry and act accordingly.”

“Titus Pompo, I will warn you once and once only. You are talking dangerous nonsense. All Cadwal is under the jurisdiction of Bureau B. We come and go at discretion and inspect each square inch of this world as we choose.”

From Titus Pompo came an oddly melodious laugh which, however, to a sensitive ear faltered by the tenth of a quaver.

“Events have passed you by. At the Lutwen Islands we have asserted our independence of both you and the Naturalist Charter. We are not without support in this regard. The progressive faction at Stroma endorses our action which now must be considered definite and irrevocable.”

Bodwyn Wook laughed: a short sharp bark. “As to that, we shall see. Now, then, Pompo, Oomphaw, whatever you call yourself: bring Kirdy Wook to the mesh, or we will consider him dead and punish you with great severity.”

Titus Pompo said softly: “Have you no fear of punishment in return?”

“For the last time: do you intend to bring Kirdy Wook to speak to me?”

A glum overtone came into the voice. “As a courtesy to Bureau B and Araminta Station, you may have him back in a month, when he has served his sentence.”

“I am immediately sending a flyer to Yipton. Within the hour it will land on the flight strip. Have Kirdy Wook on hand.”

Bodwyn Wook broke the connection.

Five minutes passed. Scharde’s voice sounded through the mesh. “We’re ready to go.”

“Good. I notified Pompo that we would pick up Kirdy on the flight strip. Once he’s aboard, proceed as before.”

“I understand your instructions. We’re off.”

A few minutes later Namour entered the office, clearly wondering what the summons might signify. He nodded politely to Bodwyn Wook, somewhat more casually to Ysel Laverty and Rune Offaw. He dismissed Glawen with a glance. To Bodwyn Wook he said: “Has some great tragedy occurred? The atmosphere is dank with doom and despair; everywhere I see dolorous faces. What is the occasion?”

Bodwyn Wook gave him a cordial salute. “You misinterpret our mood! Glawen has been telling us of Pussycat Palace, and we are not so much glum as rapt in fantasy. I am happy that you were able to drop in on us. It is always a pleasure to see a face like yours: easy, unknown to fear and doubt, both honest and true.”

“Thank you,”  murmured Namour. “I am no less delighted to be here, in this sanctum of virtue and high principle.”

“We do our best,” said Bodwyn Wook. “Kind words, however, are few. Only criminals seem to recognize excellence.”

“And, so I hope, a few others like myself.”

“From time to time.” Bodwyn Wook pointed to a chair. “Sit down, if you will. Ysel and Rune are just off about their duties; urgent events are in the wind!”

“Really!” said Namour, looking curiously after the departing captains. “Should I ask what is going on or would you prefer that I feign disinterest?”

“It is no secret. The Oomphaw is up to some new tricks. He took my nephew Kirdy into custody on trumped-up charges: an act of sheer insolence which I do not propose to take lightly.”

“Namour pursed his lips. “The Bold Lion excursion seems to have been a general fiasco. I had a quick word with Arles and he tells me that Kirdy stole his cloak and tore it to shreds. He cannot reconcile this act with the Bold Lion code of conduct, and is totally baffled.”

“I agree that it would seem an unusual act, especially in connection with a Wook. I am sure that Kirdy will have a sensible explanation. I might mention that both he and Glawen were engaged upon a Bureau B operation. The damaged cloak was used only as a pretext to hold Kirdy.”

“Ah! That explains the furor! And you want me to use my good offices, such as they are, in the case?”

“Not at all! Titus Pompo has casually announced his independence: a bit of pip-squeak arrogance which we will nip in the bud, and in fact I dispatched an armed force to bring Kirdy back and to perform a few other routine inspections. All this will put Titus Pompo’s nose out of joint, and our relationship will be taking a new tack. While awaiting news, I thought to discuss these new conditions with you.”

Namour thoughtfully rubbed his jaw. “I am at your service. But before making definite proposals I would like to consider the matter overnight. So now, if you will excuse me –” Namour started to rise, but Bodwyn Wook waved him back into his seat.

“Deliberate to your heart’s content, but first let me suggest some topics. Perhaps you will wish to take notes.”

“Yes, yes,” muttered Namour. “Whatever you like.” He availed himself of writing materials.

Bodwyn Wook leaned back in his chair, clasped his hands over his small belly and looked up to the ceiling. “Our goal is a world without Yips. The Lutwen Islands will be the tourist headquarters, a base from which they can enjoy the beauties of the Conservancy. My timetable is ten years.”

Namour looked up with eyebrows high. “Are you serious?”

“You have used the right word in a correct context,” said Bodwyn Wook. “I am a serious man; I am proposing a serious solution to a problem which is not only serious but critical! Our ancestors have lived a golden dream where frivolity held sway. They saw the cloud on the horizon, but turned their backs, waiting for men like you and me and Glawen, now dozing on the couch, to set matters straight. Ten years is not unrealistic; Am I right, Glawen?”

“Eh? Yes, sir! Ten years exactly.”

Namour said ruefully: “It seems that I must alter the tempo of my life.”

“And rather more besides,” said Bodwyn Wook. “It is no secret that your perquisites include the services of seven, or perhaps eight, Yip girls.”

“Just six,” said Namour.

“Six, then. Their functions are no doubt needful and various, but at this time the phaseout of Yip employees must be expedited, and you must set an example. Are you writing?”

“Yes indeed. ‘Yip phaseout: expedited. Set example.’”

“However - and this will form the matter for item two - special treatment for Yip domestic help of long and faithful service may be allowed. Attrition with non-Yip replacement will be the rule, both at the Station and out among the lodges. Prepare a chart indicating attrition rates, along with a list of what we shall call Special-Class Yips.”

“Very good, sir. Chart and list. I see that I will be quite busy. In fact -”

“Not yet! There’s more. Item three: recruit new agricultural workers from places with an agricultural tradition, and technical help from technical environments, and not the other way around.”

Namour made notes. “That is now clear.”

“Your tone is sardonic,” said Bodwyn Wook. “A hint now is better than a growl later, after you had committed the blunder, as in the case of the great Yip larcenies. They robbed us up one side and down the other, while you played blindman’s buff and pinky-panky-poo with your eight girls.”

Namour smiled ruefully. “You have touched a sensitive area. They were deft as devils, and betrayed my trust.”

“Item four,” said Bodwyn Wook. “Prepare a list of places on nearby worlds which are actively in need of labor, especially those which will provide transportation and other inducements. I understand that you are already quite familiar with the procedure.”

Namour gave his head a deprecatory shake. “If nothing else, I now appreciate the problems involved.”

“Problems, inconveniences - they are to be expected when a multitude changes its residence,” said Bodwyn Wook. “Happily, neither you nor I will undertake the migration.”

“It goes without saying that the Oomphaw has other plans, which, so I suspect, involve the Marmion.”

“These plans must be put aside. That is the gist of the message he is about to receive.”

Namour shrugged. “I fear that you will only exacerbate him.”

Bodwyn Wook glared at Namour through malignant slits. “More appropriately, he should worry lest he exacerbate me. I will close his harbor, and he will eat no more fish: With the bamboo dead, there will be no more mats for his roof and the rain will drip in his face. At night he will grope through the dark for lack of power. The Yips will gratefully leave the pestilential place. As each files by, we shall ask ‘Are you Titus Pompo, Oomphaw?’ And if all deny the identity, we shall know that the last person to leave Yipton is Titus Pompo.”

“That may well be the way of it,” said Namour. “I suppose, as a first step, you will completely cut off his tourist trade?”

“To the contrary! We shall ply Yipton with tourist after tourist in platoons and shiploads! The Arkady Inn will bulge, they will run back and forth between kitchen and crowded tables, bearing platters loaded with delicacies. The tourists will pay in script redeemable at Araminta Station only for contraceptives, copies of the Cadwal Charter and one-way outward-bound passage.”

Namour laughed in genuine amusement. “Bodwyn Wook, I salute you! Still, it is said that the Yips, who had no hand in writing the Charter, must suffer its worst impact.”