Ports of Call Page 5

  Dauncy signaled to Vita. “Let us leave with our dignity. This woman has obviously gone mad.”

  “One moment!” cried Dame Hester brassily. “I want you to take note of this.” She turned to Myron. “I believe that you are trained in Cosmology, and know the Gaean Reach from end to end?”

  “That is for the most part true,” said Myron.

  “And you are capable of navigating the Glodwyn?”

  “Certainly, so long as the autopilot works properly.”

  “Good,” said Dame Hester crisply. “I now appoint you captain of the Glodwyn. You will make all necessary preparations for the voyage.” She swung around once more to confront Dauncy. “Now, you ingrate and traitor, what do you think of that?”

  Dauncy pulled at his mustache. “As before, I think you are a silly old woman.”

  “Henry! Eject these people!”

  “This way, if you please,” said Henry.

  “What of us?” demanded the Chief Engineer. “That Dauncy fellow hired us from the list at the space terminal.”

  “You may leave your addresses and telephone directions with Henry; also your references, if you care to leave these documents overnight. I will look them over tomorrow. That is all for now.”

  The spacemen departed; Dame Hester and Myron were alone in the room.

  “Now then, Myron,” said Dame Hester, “I have a statement to make. Your function is to manage the Glodwyn so that I am happy, secure and comfortable. I wish to enjoy the voyage.”

  “I hope that this will be the case,” said Myron guardedly.

  “Very well. Now then, as captain, you are a symbol of authority. You are not to slouch about, or peek through doorways. Therefore, cultivate a proper bearing! Throw your shoulders back! Speak in a resonant voice! Further, you must make decisions on your own; I do not want to be pestered by problems or complaints. You are captain; be as firm as necessary. Authority is yours; use it without compromise and without apology. Is all this clear?”

  “Oh yes, it is clear enough.”

  “Hmm,” said Dame Hester. “You show no signs of elation.”

  Myron gave a short laugh. “There will be challenges to the job. I was thinking them over.”

  “Hmmf,” said Dame Hester. “So long as we reach our destination in a proper fashion, and I am not rendered numb with boredom and apathy along the way, there should be no severe challenges. And, naturally, I wish to return to Sarbiter House in good time and in good health, and — so I hope — revitalized, if not rejuvenated.”

  “It will be an interesting voyage,” said Myron.

  Chapter II

  1

  The Glodwyn lifted from the Salou Sain spaceport, up through the clouds and was away into space. The sun Dianthe drifted astern.

  Dame Hester saw Vermazen become a small disk, then a luminous point. She heaved a sigh and turned away from the observation port. “It is a lonesome feeling, to see the sun move away with such definite finality. It provokes emotions which I cannot put into words.”

  Myron responded with a rather ponderous dignity which his responsibilities and the influence of his uniform had worked upon him. “You should enjoy the comfort of your wonderful space-yacht, which protects you from the emptiness, just as a boat floats you above the water in which you might otherwise drown.”

  Dame Hester seemed not to hear. “When one watches a sunset, the mood of tragedy gives way to certainty that the sun will rise in the morning. Now it seems that black space lies ahead forever and ever.”

  Myron forced a laugh. “That is dismal symbology. Come; here is the sofa! Relax, and I will order aperitifs from the steward.”

  “That, at least, is a constructive idea.” Dame Hester seated herself. “How is our dining schedule arranged?”

  “It is simple enough. Our clocks are set to Salou Sain time; that is the pattern we shall follow until there is reason to change. Lunch, therefore, will be served in about an hour.”

  Dame Hester nodded. “That will give us a break in the monotony.”

  Myron started to speak, but changed his mind.

  Lunch was served to them in the main saloon: a relatively simple repast which Dame Hester found a trifle dull. After the meal Myron explained to Alois the chef that Dame Hester required more elaborate meals of several courses, if only to punctuate the routine which otherwise she might find a bore. “So it shall be,” said Alois. “The dishes will move in classical succession. She shall know the grandeur of my art!”

  “Good,” said Myron. “That is one problem solved, at least.”

  Dame Hester had no taste for reading, and required that Myron involve himself in card games and a backgammon tournament: all played for rather high stakes. Myron would have objected had he not managed to win as often as he lost. After a time, as Myron’s skills sharpened, he began to win consistently, and Dame Hester lost interest in the gaming.

  The voyage proceeded. Dame Hester discovered an abundance of spare time which rasped at her volatile temperament. She made a peevish complaint to Myron: “For a fact, I had no idea that space travel was like this! There is nothing to do but eat and sleep! The routines are invariable. It is the next thing to catatonia!”

  Myron, using tact and delicacy, tried to make light of the complaint. “Some people enjoy the tranquillity. It gives them time to take stock of themselves. Sometimes they learn to play a musical instrument. Now that I think of it, there is a concertina in the cabinet yonder.”

  Dame Hester curled her lip. “Myron, sometimes your ideas are almost imbecilic. I am not sure whether the word ‘bathos’ applies.”

  “I would think not. ‘Bathos’ is when someone tries to make an absurdity seem important or exalted. I suppose that the idea of you playing the concertina is a bit far-fetched.”

  Dame Hester was not listening to him. In a pensive voice she said, “Dauncy was an ingrate and an irredemptible monster, not to mention his deceit. Still, despite all, he was amusing. I will not say that I regret expelling him from my life; nevertheless, if he were here he would take instant steps to relieve my boredom.”

  “He called you a silly old woman, so I believe.”

  Dame Hester smiled in wistful recollection. “Yes, I remember. But it was just a fit of pique. Ah well, Dauncy aside, I think I would enjoy the company of a few lively guests. The ship, as of now, is a social vacuum. I do believe, Myron, that you might have foreseen this sort of thing.”

  “Don’t blame me!” declared Myron. “You yourself insisted that guests would grate on your nerves! You called them opportunists! You said that, above all, you wanted rest. Now that you can rest, you want something else!”

  Dame Hester spoke with dignity. “‘Rest’ and numb apathy are a bit different. You put me in a false position.”

  “Not so! I only want to set the record straight before I am crucified and burned at the stake.”

  “Myron, be good enough to face facts. You have long celebrated the joys and romance of space travel. Now, I am out here in this interminable void and I ask myself: ‘Where is the joy? Where is the romance?’”

  Myron pointed to the observation port. “Look yonder! Observe the stars. Watch them drifting past. It is the most romantic spectacle of all!”

  Dame Hester shuddered. “The stars are far away. Space is dark and silent. Out there is where all the dead souls drift and wander.”

  “Nonsense!” scoffed Myron. “There is nothing of the sort out there! Come! See for yourself!”

  Dame Hester shook her head. “If I looked and saw something staring in at me, gibbering and grimacing, I should never stop screaming.”

  Myron turned a glance over his shoulder toward the window. “It is an eery thought.”

  Dame Hester dropped into one of the chairs. “Fetch the Frugola; pour us each a splash or two. Then sit down; I want you to explain something to me.”

  Myron poured the brandy and cautiously lowered himself into a chair. “Yes? What is it that I must explain?”

  “Simply this.
You know our destination; am I correct?”

  “Certainly. It is the world Naharius.”

  “You know the exact dimensional coordinates of this place.”

  “I do, indeed.”

  “Further, you can manipulate your engines to move us at great speed — far more rapidly than the speed at which we are now crossing space. Am I right?”

  “Yes and no. It is a complex compromise, which is calculated by the autopilot. The slower we move, the more accurately we arrive at our destination. We could easily proceed a hundred times faster than now, but we could not bring the ship into ordinary space anywhere near our destination, except by luck. The errors inherent in the machinery make such speeds impractical. The autopilot calculates optimums, and space voyages are generally of a length which suits almost everyone.”

  “The system should be perfected,” said Dame Hester. She drained her goblet and signaled to Myron for a refill.

  “Are you sure you want more?” asked Myron. “It is time for you to dress for dinner.”

  Dame Hester groaned and scowled. “Sometimes, Myron, you can be most tiresome.” She rose from the chair. “But yes, it is time that I dress. Tonight I shall wear my green and scarlet fandango costume, for the delectation of my soul, and we shall have a gala dinner!”

  “A good idea!” said Myron, without conviction.

  On the following day Dame Hester took breakfast in her cabin. Myron saw nothing of her until mid-morning, when he found her in the pilot-house deep in conversation with the Chief Mate.

  “Aha, Myron,” said Dame Hester. “Here you are at last! The Chief Mate and I have been looking over the charts, and we notice that there is an inhabited world not too far away and only a trifle off-course. The world is known as ‘Dimmick’. The attendant star is —” she turned to the mate “— what is the star?”

  The mate touched his finger to a button and the screen displayed a pattern. “Maudwell’s Star, Leo JN-44. There you have it, sir! The fifth world is Dimmick!”

  Dame Hester spoke brusquely, in tones calculated to forestall argument. “You are to land at the Dimmick spaceport, since I wish to stretch my legs for a bit, and perhaps we can search out a local fiesta, or pageant, where we can enjoy some gay music and general merriment. I also would like to do a bit of shopping, if there is anything quaint for sale at the market, or wherever the folk sell their crafts.”

  Myron asked the mate, “Have you checked the Handbook?”

  “Not yet, sir.”

  Myron went to the desk, opened the red-bound volume and found the entry labelled ‘Dimmick’. He skimmed the table of physical characteristics and read the section entitled ‘Miscellaneous Comments’. The Handbook, a compendium notorious for cautious understatement, described Dimmick as a “graceless world, shrouded by a dismal overcast which often condenses to a pall of lugubrious drizzle. The cloud cover insulates the world and few extremes of temperature are to be found anywhere. Despite this fact and the presence of several convenient land-masses, the population is concentrated in a district surrounding the city Flajaret. Dimmick is not notable for pleasant scenery and the only occasions of touristic interest are the weekly dogfights.

  “In the absence of interesting vegetation, landscapes are bleak; even the mountains seem little more than dour heaps of slag and rubble. The oceans are sodded over with foot-thick pads of algae. These mats spread to the horizon flat as billiard tables. They oxygenate the atmosphere and nurture countless swarms of insects. The antics of the red and yellow tumble-bugs are said to be amusing, as are the disciplined tactics of the monitor fomories. Before venturing out upon the mat, however, the traveller should be advised that the sting of the blue whip-tail may be fatal, and that the clouds of gnats, winged grubs, squeeches, and the like are unendurable in the absence of special precautions.

  “Flajaret, the largest town, is a service center for personnel at the nearby mines; these mines, in fact, are the only reason why any sane Gaean would choose to live on Dimmick, since the food is bad, as is the local beer, brewed according to a cynical rumor from ocean algae. The most popular recreation is a program of dogfights, which arouse passionate emotions in the audiences. Not infrequently riots ensue, in which packs of roving dogs joyously participate, biting at random.

  “In early times malefactors were dressed in boots, a breech-clout, a respirator and then were discharged a metered distance out upon the algae mat. The more flagrant the crime, the farther from shore was the culprit banished, to a maximum of five miles, after which any other increment was considered supererogatory. At present, the only crimes for which such penalties are inflicted are attacks upon an IPCC agent, in which case the offender is released at the very center of the ocean mat, thereby driving home the lesson.

  “Sexual customs are most peculiar and complex, and cannot be analyzed here. The visitor, however, is earnestly warned never, under any circumstances, to make overtures to local women, since unpleasant consequences may be expected, the extreme penalty being marriage to the woman involved, or her mother.”

  To protect himself from potential reproach, Myron insisted upon reading the ‘Miscellaneous Comments’ to Dame Hester. As he had expected, she listened with only half an ear; and when Myron asked, “You are still anxious to land?” she gave a fretful response: “Of course! Land at once!”

  2

  Dimmick grew large below: a globe swathed in grey mist, showing no physiographic detail. Sensors aboard the Glodwyn located the Flajaret spaceport and the ship settled into the bright fog, emerging at an altitude of three thousand feet. Below were tumbled mountains of black and gray stone to the side of a flat ocean, tinged here and there with streaks of pale blue.

  Dame Hester, looking down through the observation port, sniffed in deprecation and glanced sharply toward Myron. “This place seems neither exciting nor exhilarating.”

  Myron shrugged. “The Handbook to the Planets told us as much, if you recall. You might enjoy the dogfights.”

  Dame Hester clamped her lips together, but said no more.

  The Glodwyn settled upon the terminal at Flajaret. As soon as entry formalities had been completed, Dame Hester and Myron went off to explore the town. An avenue led from the terminal, through the central district, past a set of concrete administration buildings, then up a long slope through tumbles of gray boulders to the gaunt structures surrounding the mines themselves. Beyond rose ridges and peaks of naked gray stone.

  The town Flajaret lacked both charm and architectural interest, since all structures were built of rock-melt to uncompromising four-square dimensions. To the right of the avenue tiers of cubical gray cottages ascended the hillside; to the left were larger structures: warehouses, workshops, and a massive building with a large sign on the roof. The sign depicted, at one end, a huge ruffed mastiff standing on its hind legs, showing its fangs; and, at the opposite end another dog, snarling with equal ferocity. Between were the words: NAC-NAC SPORTING ARENA.

  The avenue entered a square, overlooked by the Apollon Hotel, and lined elsewhere by small shops. Dame Hester walked swiftly from shop to shop, examining the merchandise with sharp eyes and probing fingers. She saw little which appealed to her. In a clothing boutique she came upon a skirt fashioned from dogs’ teeth strung on threads and woven together to create an unusual fabric. Dame Hester studied the skirt, which was quite distinctive, and which would be sure to cause a stir should she wear it to a dinner party back at Salou Sain. In the end she decided that it was rather heavy and failed to drape gracefully around her legs.

  The next shop sold comestibles: small bitter kumquats; cakes of compressed honeygrubs; cartons of yeast; strings of myriapods, dragged squirming from the sea, drowned in formaldehyde, then dried and cured in the smoke of smouldering algae. Dame Hester reeled back from the combination of odors and hurried away. In the next shop her attention was caught by a display of small stone effigies, each crudely carved to represent a squat short-legged man, half-crouching, with a heavy head thrust forward. Dame Hest
er picked up one of these objects, fascinated by the leering features. Who, she wondered, had troubled to carve objects so repulsive, and for what purpose, except, perhaps, to sell to off-worlders? The proprietress, as squat and heavy-featured as the effigy itself, bustled forward, holding a finger high to signal Dame Hester’s attention. “That is a fine piece — very rare, very valuable! I make you a good price, because I like you!”

  “How can it be rare?” demanded Dame Hester. “I took it from this tray where there are thirty more just like it!”

  “You do not see with the eyes of a connoisseur! That is an image of the Garre Mountain effrit, who casts thunder stones. This piece is especially lucky and will win your gambles at the dogfights! Since I am poor and ignorant, I will let you have it for the laughable price of twenty sols!”

  Dame Hester stared at her in angry amazement. “It is true that I am laughing! Clearly you lack all decency to ask any price whatever for this repulsive little gewgaw! Do you take me for a fool? I am seriously insulted.”

  “No matter. I insult better folk than you several times a day. It is no novelty; in fact, it is a pleasure.”

  Dame Hester brought out a coin. “This is the value I place upon that horrid little item, and only for the pleasure it will give me when I describe your miserable shop to my friends.”

  “Bah,” said the woman. “Take it at no charge. You shall never gloat that you outdid me in noblesse oblige. Take it and be gone!”

  “Why not? I shall do so. Please wrap it for me tastefully.”

  “I am too busy.”

  Dame Hester dropped the effigy into her handbag and marched from the shop. Myron paused long enough to place a sol into the tray. The proprietress, once more perched on her high stool, watched impassively, making no comment.

  Back in the square, Dame Hester halted and made a comprehensive assessment of the surroundings. The town Flajaret, against the background of gray mountains and dreary sky, seemed a monochromatic photograph of great complexity. A half-dozen vehicles moved slowly along the avenue. A few pedestrians marched here and there around the square: short scowling men with black beards stumping along the sidewalks in company with heavy-bottomed women wearing black knee boots and broad-brimmed hats. These women walked with ponderous steps, as if conscious of an inner majesty. They looked neither right nor left. As Dame Hester turned from her inspection of the hotel, she inadvertently jostled one of the women. Dame Hester stepped back, eyebrows raised in haughty annoyance. The woman was portly, of middle age, with a broad face, close-set black eyes and a large wen on her cheek. The two women inspected each other coldly, from head to toe, before each turned with dignity and went on as before.