Planet of Adventure Omnibus (58 page)

“Not far.”
The reply was uttered with hardly a motion of the lips.

“Where does
he live? Out on the Heights?”

“On Zamia
Rise.”

Reith
considered the hooked nose, the dour cords of muscle around the colorless
mouth: the face of an executioner.

The way led
up a low hill. The houses became abandoned gardens. The car halted at the end
of a lane. The driver with a curt gesture signaled the three to alight, then
silently led them along a shadowy passage smelling of dankness and mold,
through an archway, across a courtyard, up a shallow flight of stairs into a
room with walls of mustard-colored tile.

“Wait here.”
He passed through a door of black psilla bound with iron, and a moment later
looked forth. He crooked his finger. “Come.”

The three
filed into a large white-walled chamber. A scarlet and maroon rug muffled the
floor; for furniture there were settees padded with pink, red and yellow plush,
a heavy table of carved wax-wood, a censer exuding wisps of heavy smoke. Behind
the table stood an enormous yellow-skinned man in robes of red, black and
ivory. His face was round as a melon; a few strands of sandy hair lay across
his mottled pate. He was a man vast in every dimension and motivated, so it
seemed to Reith, by a grandiose and cynical intelligence. He spoke: “I am Aila
Woudiver.” His voice was under exquisite control; now it was soft and fluting. “I
see a Dirdirman of the First-”

“Superior!”
Anacho corrected.

“-a youth of
a rough unknown race, a man of even more doubtful extraction. Why does such an
ill-matched trio seek me out?”

“To discuss a
matter possibly of mutual interest,” said Reith.

The lower
third of Woudiver’s face trembled in a grin. “Continue.”

Reith looked
around the room, then turned back to Woudiver. “I suggest that we move to
another location, out of doors, by preference.”

Woudiver’s
thin, almost-nonexistent eyebrows lofted high in surprise. “I fail to
understand. Will you explain?”

“Certainly,
if we can move to another area.”

Woudiver
frowned in sudden petulance, but marched forward. The three followed him
through an archway, up a ramp and out on a deck which overlooked a vast hazy
distance to the west. Woudiver spoke in a voice now carefully resonant: “Does
this situation seem suitable?”

“Better,”
said Reith.

“You puzzle
me,” said Woudiver, settling into a massive chair. “What noxious influence do
you so dread?”

Reith looked
meaningfully across the panorama, toward the colored towers and cloud-gray
Glass Box of far Hei. “You are an important man. Your activities conceivably
interest certain folk to the extent that they monitor your conversations.”

Woudiver made
a jovial gesture. “Your business appears highly confidential, or even illicit.”

“Does this
alarm you?”

Woudiver
pursed his lips into a fountain of gray-pink gristle. “Let us get down to
affairs.”

“Certainly.
Are you interested in gaining wealth?”

“Poof,” said
Woudiver. “I have enough for all my small needs. But anyone can use more money.”

“In essence,
the situation is this: we know where and how to obtain a considerable treasure
at no risk.”

“You are the
most fortunate of men!”

“Certain
preparations are necessary. We believe that you, a man of known resource, will
be able to provide assistance in return for a share of the gain. I do not, of
course, refer to financial assistance.”

“I cannot say
yes or no until I am apprised of all details,” said Woudiver in the most suave
of voices. “Naturally, you may speak without reserve; my reputation for
discretion is a byword.”

“First we
need a clear indication of your interest. Why waste time for nothing?”

Woudiver
blinked. “I am as interested as is possible in a factual vacuum.”

“Very well,
then. Our problem is this: we must procure a small spaceship.”

Woudiver sat
motionless, his eyes boring into Reith’s face. He glanced swiftly at Traz and
Anacho, then gave a short brisk laugh. “You credit me with remarkable powers!
Not to say reckless audacity! How can I possibly provide a spaceship, large or
small? Either you are madmen or you take me for one!”

Reith smiled
at Woudiver’s vehemence, which he diagnosed as a tactical device. “We have
considered the situation carefully,” said Reith. “The project is not impossible
with the help of a person such as yourself.”

Woudiver gave
his great lemon-colored head a peevish shake. “So I merely point my finger
toward the Grand Spaceyards and produce a ship? Is this your belief? You would
have me bounding through the Glass Cage before the day was out.”

“Remember,”
said Reith, “a large vessel is not necessary. Conceivably we could acquire an
obsolete craft and put it into workable condition. Or we might obtain
components from persons who could be induced to sell, and assemble them in a
makeshift hull.”

Woudiver sat
pulling at his chin. “The Dirdir certainly would oppose such a project.”

“I mentioned
the need for discretion,” said Reith.

Woudiver
puffed out his cheeks. “How much wealth is involved? What is the nature of this
wealth? Where is it located?”

“These are
details which at the moment can have no real interest for you,” said Reith.

Woudiver
tapped his chin with a yellow forefinger. “Let us discuss the matter as an
abstraction. First, the practicalities. A large sum of money would be required:
for inducements, technical help, a suitable place of assembly, and of course
for the components you mention. Where would this money come from?” His voice
took on a sardonic resonance. “You did not expect financing from Aila Woudiver?”

“Financing is
no problem,” said Reith. “We have ample funds.”

“Indeed!”
Woudiver was impressed. “How much, may I ask, are you prepared to spend?”

“Oh, fifty to
a hundred thousand sequins.”

Woudiver gave
his head a shake of indulgent amusement. “A hundred thousand would be barely
adequate.” He turned a glance toward Hei. “I could never concern myself in any
illicit or forbidden enterprise.”

“Naturally
not.”

“I might be
able to advise you, on a friendly and informal basis, for say, a fixed fee, or
perhaps a percentage of outlay, and a small share in any eventual rewards.”

“Something of
the sort might suit our needs,” said Reith. “How long, at an estimate, would
such a project require?”

“Who knows?
Who can prophesy such things? A month? Two months? Information is essential,
which we now lack. A knowledgeable person from the Grand Spaceyards must be
consulted.”

“Knowledgeable,
competent, and trustworthy,” amended Reith.

“That goes
without saying. I know the very man, a person for whom I have done several
favors. In the course of a day or two I will see him and bring up the matter.”

“Why not now?”
asked Reith. “The sooner the better.”

Woudiver
raised a hand. “Haste leads to miscalculation. Come back in two days; I may
have news for you. But first the matter of finance. I cannot invest my time
without a retainer. I will need a small sum-say five thousand sequins-as
earnest money.”

Reith shook
his head. “I’ll show you five thousand.” He produced a card of purple sequins. “In
fact here is twenty thousand. But we can’t afford to spend a sequin except on
actual costs.”

Woudiver’s
face was one vast hurt. “What of my fee, then? Must I toil for joy alone?”

“Of course
not. If all goes well, you will be rewarded to your satisfaction.”

“This must
serve for the moment,” declared Woudiver in sudden heartiness. “In two days I
will send Artilo for you. Discuss the matter with no one! Secrecy is absolutely
essential!”

“This we well
understand. In two days then.”

SIVISHE WAS A
dull city, gray and subdued, as if oppressed by the proximity of Hei. The great
homes of Prospect Heights and Zamia Rise were pretentious enough, but lacked
style and finesse. The folk of Sivishe were no less dull: a somber, humorless
race, grayskinned and tending toward overweight. At their meals they consumed
great bowls of clabber, platters of boiled tuber, meat and fish seasoned with a
rancid black sauce that numbed Reith’s palate, though Anacho declared that the
sauce occurred in numerous variants and was in fact a cultivated taste. For
organized entertainment there were daily races, run not by animals but by men.
On the day after the meeting with Woudiver, the three watched one of the races.
Eight men participated, wearing garments of different colors and carrying a
pole topped with a fragile glass globe. The runners not only sought to outrun
their opponents but also to trip them by agile side-kicks, so that they fell
and broke their glass globes, and were hence disqualified. The spectators
numbered twenty thousand and maintained a low guttural howl during the duration
of each race. Reith noticed a number of Dirdirmen among the spectators. They
bet with as much verve as anyone, but kept themselves fastidiously apart. Reith
wondered that Anacho would risk recognition by some previous acquaintance, to
which Anacho gave a bitter laugh.

“Wearing
these clothes I am safe. They will never see me. If I wore Dirdirmen clothes I
would be recognized at once and reported to the Castigators. Already I have
seen half a dozen former acquaintances. None have so much as glanced at me.”

The three
visited the Grand Sivishe Spaceyards, where they strolled around the periphery
observing the activity within. The spaceships were long, spindle-shaped, with
intricate fins and sponsons--totally different from the bulky Wankh vessels and
the flamboyant craft of the Blue Chasch, just as these differed from the
starships of Earth.

The yards
appeared to operate at less than top efficiency and far below capacity; even
so, a respectable volume of work was in progress. Two cargo vessels were in the
process of overhaul; a passenger ship seemed to be under construction.
Elsewhere they noted three smaller ships, apparently uncommissioned warcraft,
five or six space-boats in various stages of repair, a clutter of hulks on a
junk heap to the rear of the shops. At the opposite end of the spaceyard three
ships in commission rested on large black circles.

“They fare
occasionally to Sibol,” said Anacho. “There is no great traffic. Long ago when
the Expansionists held sway Dirdir ships went out to many worlds. No longer.
The Dirdir are quiescent. They would like to force the Wankh off of Tschai and
slaughter the Blue Chasch, but they do not marshal their energies. It is
somehow frightening. They are a terrible and active race and cannot lie quiet
too long. One of these days they must explode, and go forth again.”

“What of the
Pnume?” Reith asked.

“There is no
established pattern..” Anacho pointed to the palisades behind Hei. “Through
your electric telescope you might see Pnume warehouses, where they store metals
for trade with the Dirdir. Pnumekin occasionally come out into Sivishe for one
purpose or another. There are tunnels through all the hills and out into the
country beyond. The Pnume observe every move the Dirdir make. They never come
forth, however, for fear of the Dirdir, who kill them for vermin. On the other
hand a Dirdir who goes hunting alone may never return. The Pnume have taken him
down into their tunnels, so it is believed.”

“It could
only happen on Tschai,” said Reith. “The folk trade in mutual detestation and
kill each other on sight.”

Anacho gave a
sour snort. “I see nothing remarkable in the fact. The trading conduces to
mutual profit; the killing gratifies the mutual detestation. The institutions
have no common ground.”

“What of the
Pnumekin? Do the Dirdir or Dirdirmen molest them?”

“Not in Sivishe.
A truce is observed. Elsewhere they too are destroyed, though rarely do they
show themselves. There are, after all, relatively few Pnumekin, who must be the
strangest and most remarkable folk of Tschai ... We must depart before we
attract the attention of the yard police.”

“Too late,”
said Traz in a dreary voice. “We are being watched at this moment.”

“By whom?”

“Behind us,
along the way, stand two men. One wears a brown jacket and a loose black hat;
the other a dark blue cloak and the head-shroud.”

Anacho
glanced along the avenue. “They are not police-at least not yard guards.”

The three
turned back to the dingy jumble of concrete which marked the center of Sivishe.
Carina 4269, glowing through a high layer of haze, cast cool brown light over
the landscape. Full in the light came the two men, and something in their
noiseless gait sent a pang of panic through Reith. “Who can they be?” he
muttered.

“I don’t
know.” Anacho turned a quick glance over his shoulder, but the men were no more
than silhouettes against the light. “I don’t think they are Dirdirmen. We have
been in contact with Aila Woudiver; it may be that he is watched. Woudiver’s
own men conceivably. Or a criminal gang? After all, we might have been noticed
coming down in the sky-car, or taking sequins to the vaults-Worse! Our
descriptions from Maust may have been circulated. We are not undistinctive.”