The Houses of Iszm Page 5

  Vhejanh Atoll rose above the horizon, a group of islands which might have been the twin of Tjiere. Farr forced himself to go ashore but found nothing more interesting to do than sit on the terrace of the hotel with a goblet of narciz, a sharp, faintly salty beverage derived from seaweed, consumed in quantities by the Iszics of the Pheadh. As he departed he noticed a placard displaying a photograph of a spaceship, and a schedule of arrivals and departures. The SS Andrei Simic was scheduled to leave Jhespiano in three days. There were no other scheduled departures for four months. Farr considered the placard with great interest. He then returned to the dock, resigned his charter of the Lhaiz, after which he took air passage to Jhespiano.

  He arrived the same evening, and at once booked passage aboard the SS Andrei Simic to Earth, whereupon he felt great comfort and peace of mind. “Ridiculous situation,” he told himself in half-humorous self-contempt. “Six months ago I could think of nothing but travel to strange planets; now all I want is to go home to Earth.”

  The Spaceport Hotel at Jhespiano was an enormous rambling growth of a dozen interlinked trees. Farr was assigned a pleasant pod overlooking the canal leading from the lagoon into the heart of Jhespiano Town. With the time of his departure established Farr once more began to enjoy himself. His meals at the restaurant, prepackaged and imported, were again palatable. The guests were a varied group, with representatives of most of the anthropoid races, including a dozen Earthers.

  The sole annoyance was the continued surveillance by the Szecr, which became so pervasive that Farr complained first to the hotel management, then to the Szecr lieutenant, in both cases receiving only bland shrugs for his trouble. He finally marched across the compound to the little concrete bungalow which housed the office of the District Treaty Administrator, one of the few nonorganic buildings on Iszm. The Administrator was a pudgy little Earther with a beak nose, a ruff of black hair and a fussy manner, to whom Farr took an immediate aversion. Nevertheless he explained his grievance in a reasonable measured manner and the Administrator promised to make inquiries.

  Farr called the next day at the Administrative Mansion, a massive and dignified house overhanging the central canal. On this second visit the Administrator was only formally cordial, although he grudgingly asked Farr to lunch. They ate on a balcony, with boat-pods laden with fruit and flowers passing along the canal below.

  “I called the Szecr Central about your case,” the Administrator told Farr. “They’re ambiguous, which is unusual. Usually they say bluntly, so-and-so is objectionable; he has been spying.”

  “I still don’t understand why they should persecute me so intensely.”

  “Apparently you were present when a company of Arcturians—”

  “Thord.”

  The Administrator acknowledged the correction. “… when the Thord made a massive raid on Tjiere plantation.”

  “I was there, certainly.”

  The Administrator fiddled with his coffee cup. “This has been enough, evidently, to arouse their suspicions. They believe that one or more spies in the guise of tourists have planned and controlled the raid, and apparently have selected you as one of the responsible parties.”

  Farr leaned back in his chair. “That’s incredible. The Szecr dosed me with hypnotics, questioned me. They know everything I know. And afterwards the head planter at Tjiere had me as his house-guest. They can’t believe that I’m involved! It’s unreasonable!”

  The Administrator gave a wry, noncommittal shrug. “This may be. The Szecr admit they have no special charge to bring against you. But, in some way or another you’ve managed to make yourself an object of suspicion.”

  “And so, guilty or innocent, I have to be molested by their attentions? This isn’t either the letter or the spirit of the Treaty.”

  “That may well be.” The Administrator was annoyed. “I fancy that I am as familiar with the provisions of the Treaty as you are.” He passed Farr a second cup of coffee, darting a curious glance at him as he did so. “I assume you’re not guilty… But perhaps there’s something you know. Did you communicate with anyone they might suspect?”

  Farr made an impatient motion. “They threw me into a cell with one of the Thord. I hardly spoke to him.”

  The Administrator was obviously unconvinced. “There must be something you’ve done to bother them. The Iszics, no matter what you care to say, have no interest in harassing you or anyone else from sheer caprice.”

  Farr lost his temper. “Who are you representing? Me? Or the Szecr?”

  The Administrator said coldly, “Try to see the situation from my viewpoint. After all it’s not impossible that you are what they seem to think you are.”

  “First they have to prove it. And even then you are my legal representative. What else are you here for?”

  The Administrator evaded the question. “I only know what you’ve told me. I spoke to the Iszic Commandant. He is noncommittal. Perhaps they regard you as a dupe, a decoy, a messenger. They may be waiting for you to make a false move or lead them to someone who will.”

  “They’ll have a long wait. In fact, I’m the aggrieved party, not the Iszics.”

  “In what sense?”

  “After the raid, they dropped me into a cell. I mentioned that they imprisoned me—threw me down a hollow root into an underground cell. I banged my head rather badly. In fact I’m still wearing scabs.” He felt his scalp, where hair at last was beginning to grow, and sighed. It was evident that the Administrator would take no action. He looked around the balcony. “This place must be tapped for sound.”

  “I have nothing to conceal,” said the Administrator stiffly. “They can listen night and day. They probably do.” He rose to his feet. “When does your ship leave?”

  “In two or three days, depending on cargo.”

  “My advice is to tolerate the surveillance, make the best of it.”

  Farr extended perfunctory thanks and departed. The Szecr were waiting. They bowed politely as Farr stepped out into the street. Farr drew a deep breath of resignation. Since there would evidently be no amelioration to the situation, he might as well make the best of it.

  He returned to the hotel and showered in the translucent nodule attached to his pod. The liquid was a cool fresh-scented sap, issuing from a nozzle disturbingly like a cow’s udder. After dressing in fresh garments provided by the hotel, Farr descended to the terrace. Bored with his own company he looked around the tables. He had formed some slight acquaintance with the other guests: Mr. and Mrs. Anderview, a pair of peripatetic missionaries; Jonas Ralf, and Wilfred Willeran, engineers returning to Earth from Capella XII’s great Equatorial Highway and now sitting with a group of touring school teachers only just arrived on Iszm; three round Monagi commercial travelers, Earth stock, but after a hundred and fifty years, already modified by the environment of Monago, or Taurus 61 III, to a characteristic somatic type. To their right were three Nenes, tall slender near-men, agile, voluble and clairvoyant, then a pair of young Earthers Farr understood to be students, then a group of Great Arcturians, the stock from which after a million years on a different planet the Thord had evolved. To the other side of the Monagis sat four Iszic in red and purple stripes, the significance of which Farr was ignorant, and not far distant, drinking a goblet of narciz with an air of intense preoccupation, another Iszic in blue, black and white. Farr stared. He could not be sure—all Iszic seemed much alike—but this individual almost certainly was Omon Bozhd.

  Seeming to sense Farr’s attention the man turned his head, nodded politely to Farr, then rose to his feet and came across the terrace. “May I join you?”

  Farr indicated a chair. “I had not expected the pleasure of renewing our acquaintance so soon,” he said dryly.

  Omon Bozhd performed one of the bland Iszic gestures the significance of which was beyond Farr’s understanding. “You did not know of my plans to visit Earth?”

  “No, certainly not.”

  “Curious.”

  Farr said nothing.<
br />
  “Our friend Zhde Patasz Sainh has asked me to convey to you a message,” said Omon Bozhd. “First he transmits through me a correct Type 8 salute and the sense of his shame that disturbance marred your last day at Tjiere. That the Thord had psychic force sufficient for such an act is still almost incredible to us. Secondly, he counsels you to choose your associates with great caution during the next few months, and thirdly, he commends me to your care and hospitality on Earth, where I will be a stranger.”

  Farr mused. “How could Zhde Patasz Sainh know that I planned to return to Earth? When I left Tjiere this was not my intent.”

  “I spoke with him only last night by telecom.”

  “I see,” said Farr grudgingly. “Well, naturally I’ll do what I can to help you. Which part of Earth will you visit?”

  “My plans are not yet complete. I go to inspect Zhde Patasz’s houses at their various plantings, and no doubt will travel considerably.”

  “What do you mean ‘choose my associates with caution’?”

  “Just that. It seems that rumors of the Thord raid have reached Jhespiano, and have been enlarged in the process. Certain criminal elements might on this account be interested in your activities—but then, I speak too freely.” Omon Bozhd rose to his feet, bowed, and departed. Farr stared after him in utter perplexity.

  On the next evening the hotel management, taking cognizance of the large number of Earther guests, arranged a musical soiree, with Earth-style music and Earth-style refreshments. Almost all the guests, Earthers and otherwise, attended.

  Farr became mildly intoxicated on Scotch-and-soda, to the extent that he found himself behaving with great gallantry toward the youngest and prettiest of the touring teachers. She seemed to return his interest and they strolled arm in arm along the promenade overlooking the beach. There was small talk, then suddenly she turned him an arch look. “If I may say so, you certainly don’t seem the type.”

  “ Type? What type?”

  “Oh—you know. A man capable of fooling the Iszics and stealing trees right from under their very noses.”

  Farr laughed. “Your instincts are correct. I’m not.”

  Again she turned him a quick sidewise look. “I’ve heard differently on ever so reliable authority.”

  Farr tried to keep his voice light and casual. “So? What did you hear?”

  “Well—naturally it’s supposed to be secret, because if the Iszics knew, you’d be sent to the Mad House, so obviously you wouldn’t be particularly keen to talk about it. But the person who told me is quite reliable, and of course I’d never say a word to anyone. In fact, my reaction is, cheers!”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about,” said Farr in an edgy voice.

  “No, I suppose you’d never really dare admit it,” said the young woman regretfully. “After all, I might be an Iszic agent—they do have them, you know.”

  “Once and for all,” said Farr, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “The raid on Tjiere,” said the young woman. “It’s going around that you’re the brains behind the raid. That you’re smuggling trees out of Iszm for delivery on Earth. Everybody is talking about it.”

  Farr laughed sadly. “What utter nonsense. If this were true, do you imagine I’d be at large? Of course not. The Iszics are considerably more clever than you give them credit for… How did this ridiculous idea get started?”

  The young woman was disappointed. She would have preferred a daring tree-thief to plain ordinary innocent Aile Farr. “I’m sure I don’t know.”

  “Where did you hear it?”

  “At the hotel. Some of the people were talking about it.”

  “Anything for a sensation,” said Farr.

  The young woman sniffed and her demeanor was notably cooler as they returned to the terrace.

  No sooner had they seated themselves than four Szecr with headdresses betokening high rank, marched across the room. They stopped at Farr’s table, and bowed curtly. “If Farr Sainh pleases, his presence is requested elsewhere.”

  Farr sat back, half of a notion to defy the group. He looked around the terrace, but saw only averted faces. The teacher was in a transport of excitement.

  “Where is my presence desired?” demanded Farr in a voice stiff with fury. “And why?”

  “There are a few routine inquiries to be made, in connection with your professed business on Iszm.”

  “Can’t it wait till tomorrow?”

  “No, Farr Sainh. Please come at once.”

  Seething with indignation Farr rose to his feet, and surrounded by the Szecr, walked from the terrace.

  He was taken a quarter-mile to a small three-pod tree near the beach. Within an old Iszic sat on a divan. He motioned Farr to sit opposite, and introduced himself as Usimr Adislj, of the caste comprising savants, theoreticians, philosophers and other formulators of abstract principles. “Learning of your presence in Jhespiano, and your almost immediate departure, I felt it my duty to make your acquaintance as expeditiously as possible. I understand that on Earth you are professionally connected with the field of knowledge that is one of our major preoccupations?”

  “That is true,” said Farr shortly. “I am immensely flattered by your attention, but I could have wished for its manifestation in less emphatic terms. Everyone at the hotel is certain I have been arrested by the Szecr for the crime of house-stealing.”

  Usimr Adislj gave an uninterested shrug. “This craving for morbid sensation is a general trait of those hominids of simian descent. It is an emotion I believe may best be countered by lofty contempt.”

  “Indeed,” said Farr. “I agree. But was it necessary to send four Szecr with your invitation? It was less than discreet.”

  “No matter. Men of our stature cannot be bothered with such trifles. Now tell me of your background and your special interests.”

  For four hours he and Usimr Adislj discussed Iszm, Earth, the universe, the variations of man and the direction of the future. When the Szecr, their number and quality now reduced to a pair of underlings, finally escorted Fair back to the hotel, he felt that he had passed a highly rewarding evening.

  The next morning, when he appeared on the terrace for breakfast, he was greeted with something like awe. Mrs. Anderview, the pretty young wife of the missionary, said, “We thought for sure you’d been taken away— to jail. Or even the Mad House. And we wondered if we shouldn’t arouse the Administrator immediately.”

  “It was unimportant,” said Farr. “Just a mistake. But thank you for your interest.”

  The Monagi also questioned him. “Is it a fact that you and the Thord have completely outwitted the Szecr? Because if so, we can make you a very handsome offer for any female tree of which you chance to find yourself in possession.”

  “I am capable of outwitting no one,” declared Farr. “I own no female tree, by chance or otherwise.”

  The Monagi nodded and winked knowingly. “Naturally, naturally, not on Iszm where even the grass has ears.”

  The next day the SS Andrei Simic dropped down from the sky, and departure hour was posted precisely: nine o’clock of the morning two days hence. During these final two days Farr found the Szecr possibly even more assiduous in their watchfulness. The night before departure one of them approached and with great punctilio delivered a message. “If Farr Sainh can spare the time, he is asked to call at the embarkation office.”

  “Very well,” said Farr, resigning himself to the worst. He dispatched his luggage to the space-terminal, and presented himself at the embarkation office, expecting an examination to end all examinations.

  The Szecr completely confounded him. He was conducted into the pod of the Szecr sub-commandant, who spoke bluntly and to the point.

  “Farr Sainh—you may have sensed our interest during the last few weeks.”

  Farr expressed agreement.

  “I may not divulge the background to the case,” said the Szecr. “The surveillance was motivated by co
ncern for your safety.”

  “My safety?”

  “We suspect that you are in danger.”

  “Danger? Ridiculous.”

  “Not so. Quite the contrary. On the night of the musicale, we removed a poisoned thorn from your seat. On yet another occasion, while you drank on the terrace, poison was introduced into your goblet.”

  Farr’s mouth dropped in astonishment. Somewhere, somehow, a terrible mistake was being made. “How can you be sure of all this? It seems—incredible!”

  The Iszic flickered the filament dividing his double eyes in amusement. “You remember formalities connected with arrival at Iszm. They allow us to maintain a quarantine upon the import of weapons. Poison is a different matter. A speck of dust can be infected with ten million virulent bacteria, and can be concealed without difficulty. Hence, any out-worlder planning murder must employ strangulation or poison. The vigilance of the Szecr prohibits acts of physical violence, so we must only be alert for poison. What are the vehicles? Food, drink, injection. When we classify the various means and devices to achieve these ends, we find one of the subdivisions to read: ‘Poisoned thorn, splinter or barb, calculated to penetrate or puncture the thigh, haunch, or buttock, through vertical impingement under force of gravity.’ Hence, our surveillance at all times includes the chair or benches where you are likely to sit.”

  “I see,” said Farr in a subdued voice.

  “Poison in your drink we detect by means of a reagent which darkens when a change of any sort is made in the mother solution. When one of your Scotch-and-sodas became unusually murky, we removed it and provided a substitute.”

  “This is extremely bewildering,” said Farr. “Who would want to poison me? For what reason?”

  “I have been authorized to communicate only this warning.”

  “But—what are you warning me against?”

  “The details will contribute nothing to your safety.”

  “But—I’ve done nothing!”