Throy (22 page)

At the end of the second term Flitz announced that she would not be returning in the fall. Indeed! demanded the head matron, and whyever not? It was simple enough said Flitz; she wanted to resume her old life, travelling the far places of the Reach with Lewyn Barduys and L-B Construction. Argument was futile; the words ‘decorum’ and ‘propriety’ meant nothing. Flitz was sent back to Barduys, who welcomed her without comment.

Flitz eased through adolescence without trauma. Occasionally she took an interest in some stalwart young man, usually a member of the L-B construction personnel. Barduys never interfered; Flitz could do as she liked.

Flitz never liked to do very much. To the general misfortune of her suitors, Flitz could not avoid measuring them against Barduys. Seldom was there any doubt as to who might be the better man. Strangers often assumed that Flitz was Barduys’ mistress. Flitz was aware of the speculation, but cared not a fig. In all her memory he had never been other than gentle and patient; in his company she felt secure.

Flitz’ memories of her early life had been muddled by the events at Bainsey Castle. She remembered the patriarch Myrdal Stronsi and her brothers, but her father and mother had vanished into the dark. One day Barduys mentioned that as Felitzia Stronsi, she owned Stronsi Ranch and perhaps it was time to look it over and see what could be done with it.

Flitz lacked enthusiasm for the idea, aware of misgivings which she ascribed to her early experiences. At Stronsi Ranch the ranch manager Alhaurin had taken up residence in the main structure and was not pleased to see them; at the very least they would be sure to dislocate his routines.

Flitz found Stronsi Ranch less menacing than she had feared, and even contrived a flew tentative plans for making the massive old pile more cheerful. She found the bedroom once inhabited by the seven-year-old Felitzia, where nothing had been altered since the day of the great tragedy, depressing. Flitz could not bring herself to look through the personal belongings of the ill-fated little girl, and closed the door on the bedroom. One day she would bring in a house-cleaning crew and turn the old house inside out, but not just yet. There was too much to think about; too many plans to make.

Barduys looked through Alhaurin’s accounts and was not pleased by what he found. Alhaurin had written invoices for materials which were now invisible. He had issued payment vouchers for work which had never been started, let alone completed.

Alhaurin had a dozen glib explanations ready to hand, but Barduys cut him short. “You need say no more. It is clear that you have been milking the maintenance funds by all four udders. The only answer I need from you is how you plan to make restitution.”

“Impossible!” cried Alhaurin, and started a contorted explanation.

Barduys refused to listen and dealt judiciously with the misdeed and its perpetrator. Alhaurin henceforth would live at the manager’s bungalow, as in the old days. Further, he must ensure that the supplies he purportedly had ordered and paid for were delivered, and that the works for which he had contracted were put in hand and completed. How Alhaurin would pay for these items was Alhaurin’s own business; the money existed; it was noted on the books.

Alhaurin grumbled and complained, but Barduys gave him the choice between restitution and penalties, possibly legal, possibly not, which in either case Alhaurin would be sure to deplore.

Alhaurin threw his arms in the air and accepted his fate, and restitution was set in motion.

About this time Namour brought the first contingent of Yips to Shadow Valley Ranch.

Barduys had become acquainted with Namour, and decided to attempt the use of Yip labor. He contracted with Namour for two gangs of three hundred Yips apiece: one to be brought to Stronsi Ranch, the other to one of his construction sites.

Like all the others, Barduys soon found that the Yips were useless and that he had wasted the indenture fee. He was neither surprised nor annoyed. The Yips were psychologically incapable of functioning as paid laborers; he put the whole affair to the back of his mind and, with Flitz, departed Rosalia to see to a number of other more pressing concerns. When they returned they found that Alhaurin had repaired the worst of his delinquencies, and now seemed to be functioning efficiently. The Yips, so he reported, had all migrated south to

the Mystic Islands in Muran Bay, where they lived such sybaritic idylls that Alhaurin wished that he might join them.

Barduys and Flitz found that he had not exaggerated. There were two hundred islands in Muran Bay. Most supported a highly picturesque vegetation, which was not infested with tree-waifs, so that one might explore the islands without fear of malign adventure. White beaches rimmed the calm lagoons, where danger lurked, and the rash swimmer would be pulled down and done to death by the water-waifs.

Yips from Stronsi Ranch had crossed over to several of the near islands. They built huts of palm thatch and lived in blessed indolence, nourished by wild fruit, pods, tubers, molluscs, sphids, and coconuts, from the ubiquitous coconut palm. They sang and danced by firelight to the tinkle of small lutes fabricated from dry red naroko wood.

Barduys and Flitz again left Rosalia, and for a period moved from place to place and world to world, dealing with the affairs of L-B Construction, and other enterprises now under Barduys’ control.

During their wanderings they returned to Cadwal. A previous visit had acquainted them with the natural beauty of the landscape, the remarkable flora and fauna, and the unique quality of life at Araminta Station. On this occasion the two visited the wilderness lodges. These were relatively modest hostelries which merged unobtrusively into the most dramatic scenery of Cadwal, where the visitor could experience the sights, sounds and smells of the wilderness and its awesome inhabitants without risking death or – more importantly - disturbing natural processes.

Barduys was impressed by the lodges. The principles which guided their construction coincided with ideas of his own. During his lifetime he had sojourned at hundreds of hostelries and inns, of every sort and quality. On occasion he had noticed the passionate dedication an innkeeper lavished upon his premises: efforts unrelated to profit. Barduys saw that in such cases the inns were regarded as beautiful entities in their own right: ‘art-objects,’ so to speak. After visiting the wilderness lodges, he began to codify the precepts of this particular aesthetic doctrine.

First, there must be no self-consciousness. The mood of the inn must derive from simplicity and unity with the landscape. The excellent inn was a composite of many excellent factors, all important: site, outlook and their synergistic effect upon the architecture; the interior, which should be simple, free of ornament and overt luxury; the cuisine, neither spare nor elaborate and never stylish; the staff, polite but impersonal; the guests themselves. Additionally, there were indefinables and intangibles, which could not be foreseen and often not controlled. When Barduys remembered Bainsey Castle, he decided that here would be the site for the first of his inns. Next he would build several rustic lodges on the beaches of the Mystic Isles, staffed, perhaps, by handsome Yip men and lovely Yip maidens. The lagoons, at least in part, might be made safe for swimming. Elsewhere the water-waifs added a titillating element of danger to the otherwise idyllic peace of the islands. In small submarines guests could cruise the inter-island channels, exploring coral caverns and jungles of multi-colored sea-plants.

Such were Barduys’ schemes. They were not shared by Flitz. She took only a casual interest in the project and refused to join Barduys in his planning.

In the lobby of the hotel at Araminta Station, Barduys was approached by Namour. For a time he chatted airily of this and that, while Barduys listened with grim amusement. Namour spoke of L-B Construction and its achievements. He expressed admiration at the scope of the great bridge on Rhea. “Installing foundations for the piers in those swift currents must have been a masterful feat in itself!” he declared.

“I employ competent engineers,” Barduys told him. “They can build anything.”

          “I understand that you used a submarine during this operation.”

“So we did.”

“Out of curiosity, where do you use the submarine now?”

“Nowhere. It is still on Rhea, so far as I know. Sooner or later we must dispose of it.”

“Interesting,”  said Namour. “The vessel is sound?”

“So I would imagine.”

“What do you suppose its underwater range might be?”

Barduys shrugged. “I don’t recall, exactly. It carries a crew of two and a half-dozen passengers. It can move at fifty knots and probably has a range of several thousand miles.”

Namour nodded. “It just might be that I could arrange a sale for you, if the price were right.”

“Indeed,” said Barduys. “What is your offer?”

Namour laughed and made a deprecatory gesture. “Recently I met an eccentric gentleman who was convinced that the ruins of an alien civilization were sunk beneath the waters of the Mocar Sea on the world Tyrhoon. Do you know it?”

          “No.”

          Namour went on. “He mentioned that he needed a small dependable submarine of long-range capability. It occurs to me that I might act as broker for the transaction.”

“I will listen to your proposal, certainly.”

Namour nodded thoughtfully. “In terms of trade, do you have any particular needs which might serve as a basis for discussion? I might work out some kind of complicated three-way deal.”

Barduys smiled a small bitter smile. “You have sold me the labor contracts of six hundred Yips, all worthless, as you well knew. Now you expect me to deal with you again.”

Namour chuckled, showing no discomfiture. “Sir, you wrong me. I gave not even the inkling of a warranty – and for a very good reason. I had no control over the working environment. The Yips will work if conditions are right; they have worked at Araminta Station for centuries.”

          “So what is the secret?”

“It is no secret. The Yip cannot understand a compulsion to work for something intangible, such as the need to pay off a debt. What is past is past. He will function in a system based upon tangible reality. One quantum of work must yield one quantum of payment, both exactly defined. So long as the Yip covets the payment he will do the work. He must never be allowed a surfeit, and never be paid in advance.”

“You did not explain this when you delivered the Yips.”

“If I had done so, it might have been construed as a warranty, which I could not possibly undertake.”

“Namour,” said Barduys, “I give you credit for plausibility. But in any future transaction, I would insist upon terms carefully defined, from which you could not sidle or slide.”

“Mr. Barduys, you wrong me,” said Namour, with a pro forma show of indignation, which Barduys ignored.

“I think that I could use another contingent of Yips, of a certain sort. At least, this is my present thinking.”

“I see no problem here.”

“As I mentioned, the new contract will be defined precisely and its terms must be fulfilled exactly, to the last iota.”

Namour pulled at his chin, and looked off across the lobby. “In theory this is desirable. Unfortunately, while I can promise the moon, my principals must approve everything. Still, I believe that the deal has prospects. What, precisely, are your terms?”

“First, I pay over no fees, of any kind. Next, you will transport the Yips in passenger ships, to a place of my designation.”

“‘Passenger ships’?” Namour’s tone was doubtful. “These are Yips, not travelling aristocrats.”

“Still, I do not care to have them hauled like cattle. I will charter the ships to you from my own passenger fleet.”

“I suppose that is possible, depending upon charter fees.”

“Cost, plus ten percent. You cannot do better.”

Namour relaxed. “That seems, at the very least, negotiable. How many head do you require? Another six hundred?”

          “I will need twenty thousand individuals, the sexes in equal proportion. They must be sound of limb and intellect, under the age of thirty: in other words, young folk in excellent health. These are my conditions. You must meet them exactly.”

Namour’s jaw dropped. ‘That is a very large consignment!”

“Wrong!” declared Barduys. “It is not large enough to solve your basic problem, which is the total evacuation of Lutwen Atoll to hospitable environment off-world.”

Namour responded in a subdued voice: “Still, I can’t make so large a commitment, without consultation.”

Barduys turned away indifferently. “As you like.”

“One moment,”  said Namour. “Back to the submarine: what about delivery?”

“That is no great problem. I own a very large transport which could carry the entire submarine as a unit. This I would charter to you on the same terms as those I previously quoted.”

Namour nodded. “And what of confidentiality?”

“I don’t care to know anything. Pick up the submarine, take it away - to Tyrhoon or Canopus or McDoodle’s Planet; or anywhere you like. I will volunteer no information in regard to the transaction. If I am questioned by the IPCC, I shall tell what I know - which is that I sold you a submarine.”

Namour grimaced. “I will give you an answer soon.”

“It must be soon indeed, since I am leaving Cadwal directly.”

Namour returned in a gloomy mood. The news was bad, Titus Pompo the Oomphaw - meaning Smonny - would not allow him a contingent so large. If Barduys wanted twenty thousand Yips, he must be prepared to accept persons of all ages, young to old. Barduys replied that he would accept a few Yips - perhaps as many as two thousand, evenly distributed in ages from thirty to fifty, provided that they were sound and healthy. He would compromise no farther; Namour’s principals must accept the deal or forget it.

Namour gave grudging agreement to the terms, and Barduys in due course implemented his end of the transaction. A large cargo vessel arrived at Rhea, swallowed the submarine and departed, for a destination unknown.

A month passed and Barduys became impatient, but finally the first contingent of Yips, numbering a thousand, was brought to a rendezvous on the world Merakin, before continuing to Rosalia. A team of doctors inspected the group, and instantly saw that Barduys’ stipulations had been contemptuously ignored. Half of the thousand ranged in age from thirty-five to seventy-five. Of these, some were rachitic, while others were senile, or spoke in unknown languages. Of the younger group, about half were deformed, diseased, or psychotic. The others were of subnormal intelligence or sexually disoriented. The group could not have contributed in any way to the lyrical sad-sweet mood Barduys hoped to engender on his idyllic islands.