Planet of Adventure Read online

  "It is an intuitive Truth. We are equally certain that someday the Human Magi will call their seed back Home! And then what joy! Home is a world of bounty, with air that rejoices in the lungs, like the sweetest Iphthal wine! On Home are golden mountains crowned with opals and forests of dreams! Death is a strange accident, not a fate; all men wander with joy and peace for company, with delicious viands everywhere for the eating!"

  "A delightful vision," said Helsse, "but do you not consider it somewhat conjectural? Or more properly, institutional dogma?"

  "Possibly so," declared the stubborn Refluxive. "Still, dogma is not necessarily falsehood. These are revealed truths, and behold: the revealed image of Home!"

  He pointed to a world globe three feet in diameter hanging at eye-level.

  Reith went to inspect the globe, tilting his head this way and that, trying to identify outline of sea and shore, finding here a haunting familiarity, there utter disparity. Helsse came to stand beside him. "What does it look like to you?" His voice was light and careless.

  "Nothing in particular."

  Helsse gave a soft grunt of mingled relief and perhaps disappointment, or so it seemed to Reith.

  One of the women lifted her obese body from the bench and came forward. "Why not join the Society?" she wheedled. "We need new faces, new blood, to augment the vast new tide. Won't you help us make contact with Home?"

  Reith laughed. "Is there a practical method?"

  "To be sure! Telepathy! Indeed, we have no other recourse."

  "Why not a spaceship?"

  The woman seemed bewildered, and looked sharply to see if Reith was serious.

  "Where could we lay our hands on a spaceship?"

  "They are nowhere to be bought? Even a small one?"

  "I have never heard of such a case."

  "Nor I," was Helsse's dry comment.

  "Where would we fare?" demanded the woman, half truculently. "Home is situated in the constellation Clari, but space is vast; we would drift forever."

  "The problems are large," Reith agreed. "Still, assuming that your premise is correct-"

  " 'Assume'? 'Premise'?" demanded the fat woman in a shocked voice. 'Revelation,'

  rather."

  "Possibly so. But mysticism is not a practical approach to space travel. Let us suppose that by one means or another, you find yourself in command of a spaceship, then you might very easily verify the basis of your belief. Simply fly into the constellation Clari, halting at appropriate intervals to monitor the area for radio signals. Sooner or later, if the world Home exists, a suitable instrument will detect the signals."

  "Interesting," said Helsse. "You assume that such a world, if it exists, is sufficiently advanced to propagate these signals?"

  Reith shrugged. "Since we're assuming the world, why not assume the signals?"

  Helsse had nothing to say. The Refluxive declared, "Ingenious but superficial!

  How, for instance, would we obtain a spaceship?"

  "With sufficient funds and technical competence you could build a small vessel."

  "To begin with," said the Refluxive, "we have no such funds."

  "The least of the difficulties, or so I would think," murmured Helsse.

  "The second possibility is to buy a small boat from one of the spacefaring peoples: the Dirdir, the Wankh, or perhaps even the Blue Chasch."

  "Again a question of sequins," said the Refluxive. "How much would a spaceboat cost?"

  Reith looked at Helsse, who pursed his lips. "Half a million sequins, should anyone be willing to sell, which I doubt."

  "The third possibility is the most direct," said Reith. "Confiscation, pure and simple."

  "Confiscation? From whom? Though members of the 'cult' we are not yet lunatics."

  The fat woman gave a sniff of disapproval. "The man is a wild romantic."

  The Refluxive said gently, "We would gladly accept you as an associate, but you must discover orthodox methodology. Classes in thought control and projective telepathy are offered twice a week, on Ilsday and Azday. If you care to attend-"

  "I'm afraid that this is impossible," said Reith. "But your program is interesting and I hope it brings fruitful returns."

  Helsse made a courteous sign; the two departed.

  They walked along the quiet avenue in silence. Then Helsse inquired: "What is your opinion now?"

  "The situation speaks for itself," said Reith.

  "You are convinced then that their doctrine is implausible?"

  "I would not go quite so far. Scientists have undoubtedly found biological links between Pnume, Phung, night-hounds, and other indigenous creatures. Blue Chasch, Green Chasch, and Old Chasch are similarly related, as are all the races of man.

  But Pnume, Wankh, Chasch, Dirdir, and Man are biologically distinct. What does this suggest to you?"

  "I agree that the circumstances are puzzling. Have you any explanation?"

  "I feel that more facts are needed. Perhaps the Refluxives will become adept telepathists, and surprise us all."

  Helsse walked along in silence. They turned a corner. Reith pulled Helsse to a halt. "Quiet!" He waited.

  The shuffle of footsteps sounded; a dark shape rounded the corner. Reith seized the figure, spun it around, applied an arm and neck lock. Helsse made one or two tentative motions; Reith, trusting no one, kept him in his field of vision.

  "Make a light," said Reith. "Let's see whom we have. Or what."

  Helsse brought forth a glow-bulb, held it up. The captive squirmed, kicked, lurched; Reith tightened his grip and felt the snap of a bone, but the figure, sagging, toppled Reith off balance. From the unseen face came a hiss of triumph; it snatched itself free. Then, to a flicker of metal, it gave a gasp of pain.

  Helsse held up his glow-bulb, disengaged his dagger from the back of the twitching shape, while Reith stood by, mouth twisted in disapproval. "You are quick with your blade."

  Helsse shrugged. "His kind carry stings." He turned the body over with his foot; a small tinkle sounded as a glass sliver fell against the stone.

  The two peered curiously into the white face, half-shrouded under the brim of an extravagantly wide black hat.

  "He hats himself like a Pnumekin," said Helsse, "and he is pale as a ghost."

  "Or a Wankhman," said Reith.

  "But I think he is something different from either; what, I could not say.

  Perhaps a hybrid, a mingling, which, so it is said, makes the best personnel for spy work."

  Reith dislodged the hat, to reveal a stark bald pate. The face was fine-boned, somewhat loosely-muscled; the nose was thin and limber and terminated in a lump.

  The eyes, half-open, seemed to be black. Bending close, Reith thought that the scalp had been shaven.

  Helsse looked uneasily up and down the street. "Come, we must hurry away, before the patrol finds us and issues an information."

  "Not so fast," said Reith. "No one is near. Hold the light; stand yonder, where you can see along the street." Helsse reluctantly obeyed and Reith was able to watch him sidelong as he searched the corpse. The garments had a queer musky odor; Reith's stomach jerked as he felt here and there. From an inner pocket of the cloak he took a clip of paper. At the belt hung a soft leather pouch, which he detached.

  "Come!" hissed Helsse. "We must not be discovered, we would lose all 'place."'

  They proceeded back to the Oval and across to the Travelers' Inn. In the arcade before the entrance they paused. "The evening was interesting," said Reith. "I learned a great deal."

  "I wish I could say the same," said Helsse. "What did you take from the dead man?"

  Reith displayed the pouch, which contained a handful of sequins. He brought forth the clip of paper, and the two examined it in the light streaming out of the inn, to find rows of a peculiar writing: a series of rectangles, variously shaded and marked.

  Helsse looked at Reith. "Do you recognize this script?"

  "No."

  Helsse gave a short sharp bark of laughte
r. "It is Wankh."

  "Hm. What would be the significance of this?"

  "Simply more mystery. Settra is a hive of intrigue. Spies are everywhere."

  "And spy devices? Microphones? Eye-cells?"

  "It is safe to assume as much."

  "Then it would be safe to assume that the Refluxive's hall is monitored ...

  Perhaps I was too free with advice."

  "If the dead man were the monitor, your words are now lost. But allow me to take custody of the notes. I will have them translated; there is a colony of Lokhars nearby and some of them have a smattering of Wankh."

  "We will go together," said Reith. "Will tomorrow suit you?"

  "Well enough," said Helsse glumly. He looked off across the Oval. "Finally then: what must I tell Lord Cizante as to the boon?"

  "I don't know," said Reith. "I'll have an answer tomorrow."

  "The situation may be clarified even sooner," said Helsse. "Here is Dordolio."

  Reith swung around, to find Dordolio striding toward him, followed by two suave cavaliers. Dordolio was clearly in a fury. He halted a yard in front of Reith and, thrusting forth his head, blurted: "With your vicious tricks, you have ruined me! Have you no shame?" He took off his hat, hurled it into Reith's face.

  Reith stepped aside, the hat went wheeling off into the Oval.

  Dordolio shook his finger in Reith's face; Reith backed away a step. "Your death is assured," bellowed Dordolio. "But not by the honor of my sword! Low-caste assassins will drown you in cattle excrement! Twenty pariahs will drub your corpse! A cur will drag your head along the street by the tongue!"

  Reith managed a painful grin. "Cizante will arrange the same for you, at my request. It's as good a boon as any."

  "Cizante, bah! A wicked parvenu, a moping invert. Blue Jade shall be nothing; the fall of that palace will culminate the 'round'!"

  Helsse came slightly forward. "Before you enlarge upon your remarkable assertions, be advised that I represent the House of Blue Jade, and that I will be impelled to report to his Excellency Lord Cizante the substance of your comments."

  "Do not bore me with triviality!" stormed Dordolio. He furiously motioned to Reith. "Fetch my hat, or tomorrow expect the first of the Twelve Touches!"

  "A small concession," said Reith, "if it ensures your departure." He picked up Dordolio's hat, shook it once or twice, handed it to him. "Your hat, which you threw across the square." He stepped around Dordolio, entered the foyer of the inn. Dordolio gave a somewhat subdued caw of laughter, slapped his hat against his thigh, and, signaling his comrades, walked away.

  In the foyer of the inn Reith asked Helsse, "What are the 'Twelve Touches'?"

  "At intervals-perhaps a day, perhaps two days-an assassin will tap the victim with a twig. The twelfth touch is fatal; the man dies. By accumulated poison, by a single final dose, or by morbid suggestion, only the Assassins' Guild knows.

  And now I must return to Blue Jade. Lord Cizante will be interested in my report."

  "What do you intend to tell him?"

  Helsse only laughed. "You, the most secretive of men, asking me that! Still, Cizante will hear that you have agreed to accept a boon, that you probably will soon be departing Cath-"

  "I said nothing of this!"

  "It will still be an element of my report."

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  REITH AWOKE TO Wan sunlight shining through the heavy amber panes of the windows. He lay on the unfamiliar couch, collecting the threads of his existence. It was difficult not to feel a profound gloom. Cath, where he had hoped to find flexibility, enlightenment, and perhaps cooperation, was hardly less harsh an environment than the Aman Steppe. It was obvious folly to dream of building a spaceboat in Settra.

  Reith sat up on the couch. He had known horror, grief, disillusionment, but there had been corresponding moments of triumph and hope, even a few spasmodic instants of joy. If he were to die tomorrow-or in twelve days after twelve

  "touches"-he had already lived a miraculous life. Very well then, he would put his destiny to the test. Helsse had predicted his departure from Cath; Helsse had read the future, or Reith's own personality, more accurately than Reith himself.

  Breakfasting with Traz and Anacho he described his adventures of the previous evening. Anacho found the circumstances perturbing. "This is an insane society, constrained by punctilio as a rotten egg is held by its shell. Whatever your aims-and sometimes I think that you are the most flamboyant lunatic of all--they will not be achieved here."

  "I agree."

  "Well then," said Traz, "what next?"

  "What I plan is dangerous, perhaps rash folly. But I see no other alternative. I intend to ask Cizante for money; this we shall share. Then I think it best that we separate. You, Traz, might do worse than to return to Wyness, and there make a life for yourself. Perhaps Anacho will do the same. Neither of you can profit by coming with me; in fact, I guarantee the reverse."

  Anacho looked off across the square. "Until now you have managed to survive, if precariously. I find myself curious as to what you hope to achieve. With your permission, I will join your expedition, which I suspect is by no means as desperate as you make it out to be."

  "I intend to confiscate a Wankh spaceship from the Ao Hidis spaceport, or elsewhere, if it seems more convenient."

  Anacho threw his hands in the air. "I feared no less." He proceeded to state a hundred objections which Reith did not trouble to contradict. "All very true; I will end my days in a Wankh dungeon or a nighthound's belly; still this is what I intend to attempt. I strongly urge that you and Traz make your way to the Isles of Cloud and live as best you may."

  "Bah," snorted Anacho. "Why won't you attempt some reasonable exploit, like exterminating the Pnume, or teaching the Chasch to sing?"

  "I have other ambitions."

  "Yes, yes, your faraway planet, the home of man. I am tempted to help you, if only to demonstrate your lunacy."

  "As for me," said Traz, "I would like to see this far world. I know it exists, because I saw the spaceboat in which Adam Reith arrived."

  Anacho inspected the youth with eyebrows raised. "You have not mentioned this previously."

  "You never asked."

  "How might such an absurdity enter my mind?"

  "A person who calls facts absurdities will often be surprised," said Traz.

  "But at least he has organized the cosmic relationship into categories, which sets him apart from animals and sub-men."

  Reith intervened. "Come now; let's put our energies to work, since you both seem bent on suicide. Today we seek information. And here is Helsse, bringing us important news, or so it appears from his aspect."

  Helsse approached and gave a polite greeting. "Last night, as you may imagine, I had much to report to Lord Cizante. He urges that you make some reasonable request, which he will be glad to fulfill. He recommends that we destroy the papers taken from the spy and I am inclined to agree. If you acquiesce, Lord Cizante may grant further concessions."

  "Of what nature?"

  "He does not specify, but I suspect he has in mind a certain slackening of protocol in regard to your presence in Blue Jade Palace."

  "I am more interested in the documents than in Lord Cizante. If he wants to see me he can come here to the inn."

  Helsse gave a brittle chuckle. "Your response is no surprise. If you are ready I will conduct you to South Ebron where we will find a Lokhar."

  "There are no Yao scholars who read the Wankh language?"

  "Such facility would seem pointless expertise."

  "Until someone wanted a document translated."

  Helsse gave an indifferent twitch. "At this play of the 'round,' Utilitarianism is an alien philosophy. Lord Cizante, for instance, would find your arguments not only incomprehensible but disgusting."

  "We shall never argue the matter," said Reith equably.

  Helsse had come in an extremely elegant equipage: a blue carriage with six scarlet wheels and a profusion of golden festoons.
The interior was like a luxurious drawing room, with gray-green wainscoting, a pale gray carpet, an arched ceiling covered with green silk. The chairs were deeply upholstered; to the side, under the windows of pale green glass, a buffet offered trays of sweetmeats. Helsse ushered his guests into the car with the utmost politeness; today he wore a suit of pale green and gray, as if to blend himself into the decor of the carriage.

  When all were seated, he touched a button to close the door and retract the steps. Reith observed, "Lord Cizante, while deriding utilitarianism as a doctrine, apparently does not flout its applications."

  "You refer to the door-closing mechanism? He is not aware that it exists.

  Someone is always at hand to touch the button for him. Like others of his class he touches objects only in play or pleasure. You find this odd? No matter. You must accept the Yao gentry as you find them."

  "Evidently you do not regard yourself as a member of the Yao gentry."

  Helsse laughed. "More tactful might be the conjecture that I enjoy what I am doing." He spoke into a mesh. "To the South Ebron Mercade."

  The carriage eased into motion. Helsse poured goblets of syrup and proffered sweetmeats. "You are about to visit our commercial district; the source of our wealth, in fact, though it is considered vulgar to discuss it."

  "Strange," mused Anacho. "Dirdir, at the highest level, are never so hoity-toity."

  "They are a different race," said Helsse. "Superior? I am not convinced. The Wankh would never agree, should they trouble to examine the concept."

  Anacho gave a contemptuous shrug but said no more.

  The carriage rolled through a market area: the Mercade, then into a district of small dwellings, in a wonderful diversity of style. At a cluster of squat brick towers the carriage halted. Helsse pointed to a nearby garden where sat a dozen men of spectacular appearance. They wore white shirts and trousers, their hair, long and abundant, was also white; in striking contrast to the lusterless black of their skins. "Lokhars," said Helsse. "Migrating mechanics from the highlands north of Lake Falas in Central Kislovan. That is not their natural coloration; they bleach their hair and dye their skin. Some say the Wankh enforced the custom upon them thousands of years ago to differentiate them from Wankhmen, who of course are white-skinned and black-haired. In any event, they come and go, working where they gain the highest return, for they are a remarkably avaricious folk. Some, after laboring in the Wankh shops, have migrated north to Cath; a few of these know a chime or two of Wankh-talk and occasionally can puzzle out the sense of Wankh documents. Notice the old man yonder playing with the child; he is reckoned as adept in Wankh as any. He will demand a large sum for his efforts, and in order to forestall even more exorbitant demands in the future I must haggle with him. If you will be good enough to wait, I will go to make the arrangements."