New Celebrations: The Adventures of Anthony Villiers (25 page)

9

L
EARNING, PLAYING AND LOVING, AND COMBINATIONS THEREOF,
are a good way to spend a lifetime. Admittedly, a difficult regimen, but nonetheless not beyond attainment.

Start with playing.

* * *

When Admiral Beagle failed to catch the connection to Pewamo Central, Sir Thomas Edmund Fanshawe-IV was worried. When the Admiral missed the Excursion back to Shiawassee, Sir Thomas determined to take action. He was a firm believer in preventive measures. In his youth he had been prevented on a number of occasions, and he was grateful for it and wanted to do as much for others.

When he reached Shiawassee, he immediately took a flitter to the Tanner Trust Administration offices. He sent in his announcements through an assistant assistant assistant secretary, and in due course he was brought into the presence of Administrator Ajamian. The Administrator dismissed the Confidential Secretary who had brought Sir Thomas to him, and the young man withdrew.

“Your distinguished name has traveled ahead of you,” Ajamian said. He salaamed.

“Administrator Ajamian,” Sir Thomas said, inclining his head slightly.

Ajamian saw Sir Thomas seated, and then reseated himself. They sat quietly opposite each other.

They spoke of the weather and other pleasantries. They agreed that it was hot on Shiawassee. The Administrator said that it was the season. Sir Thomas volunteered that it had been cooler on Pewamo. Administrator Ajamian then confessed that there were times when he arranged visits to the other planets of the Trust to give himself a variety in weather.

“On necessary business, of course,” he said.

“Of course,” said Sir Thomas.

Ajamian interjected a minor jocularity into the conversation, a reference to Sir Thomas’ breviary collection. This was an in-joke. Ajamian was insufficiently central to know the source of humor in the joke, but he was privy to the fact that it was considered a joke and that Sir Thomas would accept it. He wanted to show Sir Thomas that he did know what was what. Sir Thomas accepted the joke. He smiled a mild smile.

They continued to speak of nothing. Ajamian assumed that this was how things were done, and he was not about to betray himself by gauche inquiries. He knew himself to be nervous, however.

Sir Thomas was not nervous. Neither was he officially aware of Ajamian’s tension. In actual fact, though he took some mild interest in Ajamian, as he would take an interest in any Trust Administrator, he was primarily involved in whiling away the time between now and the then at which his ship would depart for Duden.

This situation continued through lunch. Administrator Ajamian invited Sir Thomas to lunch. Sir Thomas accepted.

At lunch, Sir Thomas looked up and said, “I encountered one of your subordinates on Binkin Island on Pewamo.”

“Yes, Sir Thomas.”

“An Admiral Walter Beagle. An overly officious man.”

Ajamian nodded. “Yes, he can be. I’ve spoken to him about that. But did you say on Pewamo?”

“Yes.”

“That’s very strange. We have no administrative authority on Pewamo.”

“This is excellent Gallimaufry au Baboulis.”

“It’s nothing but slumgully, really,” Ajamian said. Tuesday fare, by his standards, good, but commonplace.

“It is as I have always suspected,” Sir Thomas said. “Food is best in its own home—and least appreciated there.”

The talk passed on to other things. Eventually Sir Thomas noted the time, explained his need to depart, thanked the Administrator for his hospitality, and requested transportation to the spaceport. Ajamian saw him into careful hands and then returned to his office.

Within his office, Ajamian thought. He looked at the past hours from all angles. Finally he rang for his Confidential Secretary.

“Geoffrey,” he said, “I want a message sent to Admiral Beagle, wherever he may be.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Try his home. Send a copy to Pewamo Central. And try Binkin Island on Pewamo. If all that fails, try his office. Inform him that he is no longer Arts Council Chairman.”

That
is how things are done.

* * *

Sergei Gilfillian should have known better. Perhaps he did. Hitching a ride on the back of his baggage dray as he moved through the halls of Shiawassee Spaceport was Mr. Nilsson, his immediate superior. Standard practice at times like that is to do your job precisely by the rule book.

However, Sergei recognized Elmo Kuukkinen walking the hall and stopped the dray. “Mr. Kuukkinen,” he said. Nilsson looked exasperated.

Kuukkinen said, “Oh, yes.”

“Did you find Lord Charteris?”

Kuukkinen said, “No, not yet. I thank you for your help in directing me, but Lord Charteris is a man given to change of plan. He never traveled to Mandracore.”

“Oh,” said Sergei. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“It’s of slight importance,” Kuukkinen said. “I understand him now to be on Pewamo and expect I may find him there.”

“Well, I hope so,” Sergei said. He got the dray moving again.

Nilsson shook his head. “I don’t know what to make of you, Gilfillian,” he said. “First scribble, scribble, scribble, and now this. You’d better start paying stricter attention to business.”

Sergei didn’t bother to answer. He might have been stupid, but I don’t think he was. I think he simply ranked his own purposes more highly than he ranked the spaceport’s. Stick to it, kid.

* * *

Scatter iron filings on glass, rare and random. The eye may never find them. Men of strange purpose from the large world outside the Tanner Trust should have been as rare on Shiawassee, but as we have seen, not so. A magnet will align and concentrate filings, and a man like Villiers will do as much for other men.

Elmo Kuukkinen was hailed across the cavernous Great Hall of the spaceport. He turned to recognize Phil Finch, a friend of long standing, in company with Klavan Guillaume, whom he knew less well.

Finch said, “It’s the Black Marauder,” as he approached. His manner was light, now that his chase was done.

“Finch,” Kuukkinen said. “Good to see you. Mr. Guillaume.”

“Mr. Kuukkinen. Still chasing Villiers?”

“On his trail. I was close to him here, but then he misdirected me into seeking him on Mandracore.”

Finch said, “I should hope you were misdirected. I have reason to know that he went to Duden.”

Kuukkinen gave his friend a look of suspicion. “Phil, why should you volunteer useful information?”

Finch clapped him on the back. “The fewer points Villiers makes, the happier I will be. If you can knock him out altogether, I say good for you. To be frank, I seed him number two.”

“After whom?”

“After myself, of course. Since I see him as more troublesome than you, I’ll give you whatever information I can.”

“You’re too kind.”

“In any case, I was sure you knew.”

“’Knew what?”

“That Villiers had gone to Duden.”

“No. Why did you think I did?”

“Well,” said Finch. “Guillaume here and I were staying with a delightful man, Lord Broccoli. Not at all the sort you would expect to find in a corner like this. Marvelous. Villiers was a guest previous to our time. In fact, I encountered him as I was arriving on Shiawassee. While we were staying with Lord Broccoli, his robot butler was stripped to pieces by a mysterious figure in black searching for Villiers. I assumed it was you.”

“Well, it wasn’t.”

“To tell the truth, Elmo, it does seem overbrutal, especially since all you had to do was ask.”

“It wasn’t me.”

“They’re having trouble reassembling the butler. So much force. And they don’t make them like that anymore.”

“I say it wasn’t me.”

Guillaume said, “I wonder who it could have been?”

“I’m sure
I
don’t know,” Kuukkinen said.

* * *

Well, we know who it could have been. And, as it happened, at that moment Solomon “Biff” Dreznik himself was standing in front of an In-Flight Insurance machine some seventy-five feet distant. He was involved in conversation with a fat man.

“After Adipietro the fleet returned to Llandaff,” the fat man said. “Now, of course, the first thing you would think we’d do is celebrate. It was a tremendous victory, after all, and we hadn’t touched at any port in four months.”

“Your name, sir,” Dreznik said.

“Pencisely. Pyotr Pencisely.”

“How do you spell that?”

“P-e-n-c-i-s-e-l-y. But, no sir, that isn’t what happened. No celebration. We sat like dead men, if you’ll pardon the expression.”

“Address.”

“Sector Six, Mooretown, Luvashe. I mean to say, we were
drained
. We didn’t want women. We didn’t want fun. We didn’t want to dance. We didn’t want to sing. Drinking, smoking, and sitting. That’s all we were good for. Llandaff couldn’t believe it, and after all this time, I’m not sure I do. What do you want my name and address for? What are you writing?”

Dreznik pressed the
RECORD
button on the machine and then pulled free his own copy. “There we are,” he said.

“You just wrote insurance on me.”

“Of course, my dear Pencisely. It’s my hobby. Some bet in the casino, some at the track. I bet in the spaceport.”

“Have you ever won?”

“Rarely. Now come along, sir.”

Pencisely hesitated.

“If it will make you rest more easily, feel free to write insurance on me. The machine waits.”

Pencisely looked at the machine, and then with an expression of distaste, said, “No. I don’t think so.”

“Then come along.”

“Where?”

“Oh, you mistake me, sir. I’m interested in hearing further of Adipietro. Survivors of the battle are so few. Besides, I like to stand host to those whose health I wager upon. All the myriad facilities of Shiawassee Spaceport lie open. Your pleasure, sir.”

“Well, I guess so.”

Dreznik led the way through the halls until they came to the rental rooms. He inserted money at the first unoccupied room, and the door opened.

“We’ll request our service here,”

Pencisely preceded Dreznik within the room. Dreznik allowed the door to close and then struck Pencisely with the edge of his hand. The fat man puddled and Dreznik heaved him onto the bed.

The ordinary man may act confidently, but the ordinary man does not act with confidence. Only the seldom man, like Solomon “Biff” Dreznik, will know his mind so well.

Purring, he laid out his tools, calculated doses against body weight, eye taking professional pleasure in the accurate estimate of poundage. His body was cold, shot with icy thrills. Control, control, control. Exact motions—hand obeying mind and eye with precise economy. Angles, and iron, ice, blood, and sharp edges. Hands, trembling with power, held the injections. One would kill Pencisely in twelve hours. The other would mask the cause of death. He turned, and found Pencisely dead.

Dreznik held Pencisely’s limp arm in his hands and stared at it. Abruptly he raised the arm, opened his mouth, and bit. I wouldn’t want to give you the impression that Dreznik was some kind of anthropophagous necrophiliac pervert. He simply expressed anger and frustration in a direct manner. He did lick his lips when he finished biting, however, so maybe he was a little funny.

He looked at his left hand—the bad one, the naughty disobedient one. He slapped it sharply.

Then he rose and put all his tools away and left the room without a backward glance, crumpling the insurance form, mind growling. As the door closed behind him, announcement was made of his flight for Pewamo. Excellent timing. Bad hand. Bad bad hand.

Pity Dreznik. In his entire life he had never said “I love you” to anyone. Still, that was an awful way to treat a veteran of Adipietro.

* * *

“Duden,” insisted Finch.

“No,” said Kuukkinen. “Pewamo. It’s closer, and that’s where I believe him to be.”

“I’ll lay odds that it’s Duden.”

“Name the odds.”

“Seven to five.”

“Done. Guillaume, you’re the witness. Seven royals against five.”

Guillaume said, “I can see Finch wagering, but not you, Mr. Kuukkinen. After all, Finch, having run me down, has money to spare. But aren’t you taking Villiers over-lightly?”

“No, sir,” said Kuukkinen. “I have great respect for him. I merely believe him to be on Pewamo. Phil’s wager will be excellent consolation for me should Villiers prove too much, and since I would seed Villiers first and Phil fourth, that he might well be. And now, let me suggest that the two of you join me on my jaunt to Pewamo. I understand the planet offers resorts. After Villiers is found, we can all have a holiday on Phil’s money.”

“If Villiers is found.”

Finch and Guillaume were more than ready to join Kuukkinen. Things had been slow on Shiawassee since Morris the robot had suffered his inquisition and Broccoli’s household been thrown into disorder. They were, in fact, thinking of nothing more lively than wending their way back to Yuten. This struck them as a happy substitute.

When the ship for Pewamo was announced, they all boarded the orange transport car and rolled colorfully away from the Port House.

Finch said, “I’m going to enjoy having the chance to observe your technique, Elmo.”

“I’m sure I will acquit myself.”

“But how well?”

“Well enough. In any case, I entered for fun, not for profit.”

“I entered for profit.”

Guillaume said. “I entered for fun, and had little. I’m enjoying myself tremendously now that I’m no longer involved.”

They entered the ship talking and joking, and found a seat complex to their liking. Finch sat, looking suddenly sobered.

“What’s amiss, Mr. Finch?” Guillaume asked.

In lowered tone, Finch said, “I fear I may owe you seven royals, Kuukkinen. Avoid appearing to look. There. The man in black.”

“I see him, but I fail to understand.”

“That’s Solomon ‘Biff’ Dreznik.”

“I’m prepared to believe you,” Kuukkinen said, “but the name is unfamiliar to me.”

“Then you know Villiers less well than I thought. Dreznik is an assassin. He was killed three years ago in an attempt on Villiers’ life. I’ll wager he’s the man in black who opened Morris, and he’s been to Duden and back.”