Planet of Adventure Omnibus (67 page)

“The Dirdir?”

“Of course.”
Woudiver gave his thigh a rap with the whip.

Reith spoke
with great earnestness. “The Dirdir are no kinsmen of yours! Dirdir and men are
not even remotely connected; they come from different stars.”

Woudiver
leaned indolently against the wall. “Where do you learn such idiocy?”

Reith licked
his lips, wondering where lay his best hope of succor. Woudiver was not a
rational man; he was motivated by instinct and intuition. Reith tried to
project utter certainty as he spoke. “Men originated on the planet Earth. The
Dirdir know this as well as I. They prefer that Dirdirmen deceive themselves.”

Woudiver
nodded thoughtfully. “You intend to seek out this ‘Earth’ with your spaceship?”

“I don’t need
to seek it out. It lies two hundred light-years distant, in the constellation
Clari.”

Woudiver
pranced forward. With his yellow face a foot from Reith’s he bellowed, “And
what of the treasure you promised me? You misled, you deceived!”

“No,” said
Reith. “I did not. I am an Earthman. I was shipwrecked here on Tschai. Help me
back to Earth; you will receive whatever treasure you care to name.”

Woudiver
backed slowly away. “You are one of the Yao redemptionist cult, whatever it
calls itself.”

“No. I am
telling the truth. Your best interest lies in helping me.”

Woudiver
nodded sagely. “Perhaps this is the case. But first things first. You can
easily demonstrate your good faith. Where is my money?”

“Your money?
It is not your money. It is my money.”

“A sterile
distinction. Where is, shall we say, our money?”

“You’ll never
see it unless you perform your obligations.”

“This is
utter obstinacy!” stormed Woudiver. “You are captured, you are done, and your
henchmen as well. The Dirdirman must return to the Glass Cage. The steppe-boy
will be sold into slavery-unless you care to buy his life with the money.”

Reith sagged
and became listless. Woudiver strutted back and forth across the room, darting
glances at Reith. He came close and prodded Reith in the stomach with the whip.
“Where is the money?”

“I don’t
trust you,” said Reith in a dreary voice. “You never keep your promises.” With
a great effort, he lifted himself erect and tried to speak in a calm voice. “If
you want the money, let me go free. The spaceship is almost finished. You may
come along to Earth.”

Woudiver’s
face was inscrutable. “And then?”

“A
space-yacht, a palace-whatever you want. You shall have it.

“And how
shall I return to Sivishe?” demanded Woudiver scornfully. “What of my affairs?
It is plain that you are mad; why do you waste my time? Where is the money? The
Dirdirman and the steppe-lad have declared with conviction that they do not
know.”

“I don’t know
either. I gave it to Deine Zarre and told him to hide it. You killed him.”

Woudiver
stifled a groan of dismay. “My money?”

“Tell me,”
said Reith, “do you intend that I finish the spaceship?”

“It has never
been my intention!”

“You
defrauded me?”

“Why not? You
tried the same. The man that beats Aila Woudiver is cunning indeed.”

“No question
as to that.”

Hisziu
entered the room and, standing on tiptoe, whispered into Woudiver’s ear.
Woudiver stamped with rage. “So soon? They are early! I have not even started.”
He turned to Reith, his face seething like water in a boiling pot. “Quick then,
the money, or I sell the lad. Quick!”

“Let us go!
Help us finish the spaceship. Then you shall have your money!”

“You
unreasonable ingrate!” hissed Woudiver. Footsteps sounded. “I am thwarted!” he
groaned. “What a sad life is mine. Vermin!” Woudiver spat into Reith’s face and
beat him furiously with the whip.

Into the
room, proudly conducted by Hisziu, came a tall Dirdirman, the most splendid and
strange Reith had yet seen: by all odds an Immaculate. Woudiver muttered to
Hisziu from the side of his mouth; Reith’s bonds were cut. The Dirdirman
attached a chain to Reith’s neck, clasped the other end to his belt. Without a
word he walked away, shaking his fingers in fastidious disdain.

Reith
stumbled after.

BEFORE
WOUDIVER’S HOUSE stood a white-enameled car. The Immaculate snapped Reith’s
chain to a ring at the rear. Reith watched in dreary wonder. The Immaculate
stood almost seven feet tall, with artificial effulgences attached to wens at
either side of his peaked scalp. His skin gleamed white as the enamel of the
car; his head was totally hairless; his nose was a ridged beak. For all his
strange appearance and undoubtedly altered sexuality, he was a man, ruminated
Reith, derived from the same soil as himself. From the house, at a quick
stumble, as if shoved, came Anacho and Traz. Chains encircled their necks;
behind, jerking the loose ends, ran Hisziu. Two Dirdirman Elites followed. They
shackled the chains to the back of the car. The Immaculate spoke a few sibilant
words to Anacho and indicated a shelf running across the rear of the car.
Without looking back, he stepped into the car, where the two Elites already
sat. Anacho muttered, “Climb aboard, otherwise we’ll be dragged.”

The three
crawled up on the rear shelf, clutched the rings to which their neck chains
were shackled. In such undignified fashion they departed Woudiver’s residence.
Woudiver’s black saloon trundled fifty yards behind, with Woudiver’s huge bulk
crouched over the steering apparatus.

“He wants
recognition,” said Anacho. “He has assisted at an important hunt; he wants a
share of the status.”

“I made the
mistake,” said Reith in a thick voice, “of dealing with Woudiver as if he were
a man. If I had treated him as an animal we might be better off.”

“We could
hardly be worse.”

“Where are we
going?”

“To the Glass
Box; where else?”

“We are to
have no hearing, no opportunity to speak for ourselves?”

“Naturally
not,” said Anacho curtly. “You are sub-men. I am a renegade.”

The white car
veered into a plaza and halted. The Dirdirmen alighted and stood stiffly apart,
watching the sky. A plump, middle-aged man in a rich dark brown suit came
forward: a person of status and evident vanity, with his hair elaborately
curled and jeweled. He addressed the Dirdirmen in an easy manner; they replied
after a moment’s meaningful silence.

“That is
Erlius, Administrator of Sivishe,” grunted Anacho. “He wants to be in at the
kill too. It seems that we are important game.”

Attracted by
the activity, the folk of Sivishe began to gather around the white car. They
formed a wide respectful circle, eyeing the captives with macabre speculation,
crouching back whenever the glance of a Dirdirman drifted in their direction.

Woudiver
remained in his car, at a distance of fifty yards or so, apparently arranging
his thoughts. At last he alighted and seemed to concern himself with the matter
indited on a fold of paper. Erlius, noticing, quickly turned his back.

“Look at the
two of them,” growled Anacho. “Each hates the other: Woudiver ridicules Erlius
for lacking Dirdirman blood; Erlius would like to see Woudiver in the Glass
Box.”

“So would I,”
said Reith. “Speaking of the Glass Box, why are we waiting?”

“For the
leaders of the tsaugsh. You will see the Glass Box soon enough.”

Reith
fretfully wrenched at the chain. The Dirdirmen turned him glances of
admonition. “Ridiculous,” muttered Reith. “There must be something we can do.
What of the Dirdir traditions? What if I cried
h’sai h’sai, h’sai,
or
whatever the call for arbitration?”

“The call is
dr’ssa
dr’ssa, dr’ssa!”

“What would
happen if I called for arbitration?”

“You would be
no better than before. The arbitrator would find you guilty and, as before: the
Glass Box.”

“And if I
challenged the arbitration?”

“You’d be
forced to fight, and killed all the sooner.”

“And no one
can be taken unless he is accused?”

“In theory,”
said Anacho curtly, “that is the custom. Who do you plan to challenge?
Woudiver? It will do no good. He has not accused you, but only cooperated with
the hunt.”

“We will see.”

Traz pointed
into the sky. “Here come the Dirdir.”

Anacho
studied the descending sky-car. “The Thisz crest. If the Thisz are involved, we
can expect brisk treatment indeed. They may even issue a proscription, that
none but Thisz can hunt us.”

Traz strained
against the chain shackle without avail. He gave a hiss of frustration and
turned to watch the descending sky-car. The grayhooded crowd drew back from
underneath; the sky-car landed not fifty feet from the white vehicle. Five
Dirdir alighted: an Excellent and four of lower caste.

The
Immaculate Dirdirman stepped grandly forward, but the Dirdir ignored him with
the same indifference he had shown Erhus.

For a moment
or two the Dirdir appraised Reith, Anacho and Traz. Then they made a signal to
the Immaculate and uttered a few brief sounds.

Erlius
stepped forward to pay his respects, knees bent, head bobbing. Before he could
speak Woudiver marched forward and thrust his vast yellow bulk in front of
Erlius, who was forced to stumble aside.

Woudiver
spoke in a high-pitched voice: “Here, Thisz dignitaries, are the criminals
sought by the hunt. I have participated to no small degree; let this be noted
upon my scroll of honors!”

The Dirdir
gave him only cursory attention. Woudiver, apparently expecting no more, bowed
his head, swung his arms in an elaborate flourish.

The
Immaculate approached the captives and unsnapped the chains. Reith snatched his
chain free. The Immaculate looked up in slackjawed surprise, the false
effulgences drooping to the side of his white face. Reith walked forward, heart
pounding in his throat. He felt the pressure of every eye; with great effort he
held his gait to a steady, deliberate step. Six feet in front of the Dirdir he
halted, so close that he could smell their body odor. They regarded him without
display of any kind.

Reith raised
his voice in order to speak clearly:
“Dr’ssa! Dr’ssa! Dr’ssa!”

The Dirdir
made small movements of surprise.

“Dr’ssa! Dr’ssa!
Dr’ssa!”
Reith called once more.

The Excellent
spoke in a nasal, oboe-sounding voice. “Why do you cry
dr’ssa
? You are a
sub-man, incapable of discrimination.”

“I am a man,
your superior. Hence I cry
dr’ssa
.”

Woudiver
pushed forward with a self-important huffing and heaving. “Bah! He is mad!”

The Dirdir
seemed somewhat perplexed. Reith called out, “Who accuses me? Of what crime?
Let him come forward and let the case be judged by an arbitrator.”

The Excellent
spoke: “You invoke a traditional force stronger than contempt or disgust. You
may not be denied. Who accuses this subman?”

Woudiver
spoke. “I accuse Adam Reith of blasphemy, of disputing the Doctrine of Double
Genesis, of claiming status equal to the Dirdir. He has stated that Dirdirmen
are not the pure line of the Second Yolk; he has called them a race of mutated
freaks. He insists that men derive from a planet other than Sibol. This is not
in accord with orthodox doctrine, and is repugnant. He is a mischief-maker, a
liar, a provocator.” Woudiver accented each of his accusations with a stab of
his massive forefinger. “Such are my charges!” He favored the Dirdir with a
companionable smirk, then turned and roared at the crowd. “Stand back! Do not
press so close upon the dignitaries!”

The Dirdir
fluted to Reith. “You claim this accusation to be false?”

Reith stood
in perplexity. He faced a dilemma. To deny the charge was to endorse Dirdirman
orthodoxy. He asked cautiously, “Essentially, I am accused of unorthodox views.
Is this a crime?”

“Certainly,
if the arbitrator declares it so.”

“What if
these views are accurate?”

“Then you
must hold the arbitrator to account. Ridiculous as such an eventuality may be,
it is tradition and wields its own force.”

“Who is the
arbitrator?”

The polished
bone countenance of the Excellent showed no change, nor did his voice. “In this
instance I appoint the Immaculate yonder.”

The Immaculate
stepped forward. In plangent mock-Dirdir tones he spoke: “I will be
expeditious; the ordinary ceremonies are inappropriate.” He spoke to Reith. “Do
you deny the charges?”

“I neither
confirm nor deny them; they are ridiculous.”

“It is my
opinion that your statement is evasive. It signifies guilt. Additionally your
attitudes are disrespectful. You are guilty.”