The Best of Jack Vance (1976) SSC Page 5

  “There’s been a death in the family,” explained Ullward. “The owner’s four-great-grandfather passed on and the space is temporarily surplus.”

  Ted nodded. “I hope you’re able to get it.”

  “I hope so too. I’ve got rather flamboyant ambitions—eventually I hope to own the entire quarterblock—but it takes time. People don’t like to sell their space and everyone is anxious to buy.”

  “Not we,” said Ravelin cheerfully. “We have our little home. We’re snug and cozy and we’re putting money aside for investment.”

  “Wise,” agreed Ullward. “A great many people are space-poor. Then when a chance to make real money comes up, they’re undercapitalized. Until I scored with the digestive pastilles, I lived in a single rented locker. I was cramped—but I don’t regret it today.”

  They returned through the glade toward Ullward’s house, stopping at the oak tree. “This is my special pride,” said Ullward. “A genuine oak tree!”

  “Genuine?” asked Ted in astonishment. “I assumed it was simulation.”

  “So many people do,” said Ullward. “No, it’s genuine.”

  “Take a picture of the tree, Iugenae, please. But don’t touch it. You might damage the bark.”

  “Perfectly all right to touch the bark,” assured Ullward.

  He looked up into the branches, then scanned the ground. He stooped, picked up a fallen leaf. “This grew on the tree,” he said. “Now, Iugenae, I want you to come with me.” He went to the rock garden, pulled a simulated rock aside, to reveal a cabinet with washbasin. “Watch carefully.” He showed her the leaf. “Notice? It’s dry and brittle and brown.”

  “Yes, Lamster Ullward.” Iugenae craned her neck.

  “First I dip it in this solution.” He took a beaker full of dark liquid from a shelf. “So. That restores the green color. We wash off the excess, then dry it. Now we rub this next fluid carefully into the surface. Notice, it’s flexible and strong now. One more solution—a plastic coating—and there we are, a true oak leaf, perfectly genuine. It’s yours.”

  “Oh, Lamster Ullward! Thank you ever so much!” She ran off to show her father and mother, who were standing by the pool, luxuriating in the feeling of space, watching the frogs. “See what Lamster Ullward gave me!”

  “You be very careful with it,” said Ravelin. “When we get home, we’ll find a nice little frame and you can hang it in your locker.”

  The simulated sun hung in the western sky. Ullward led the group to a sundial. “An antique, countless years old. Pure marble, carved by hand. It works too—entirely functional. Notice. Three-fifteen by the shadow on the dial…” He peered at his beltwatch, squinted at the sun. “Excuse me one moment.” He ran to the control board, made an adjustment. The sun lurched ten degrees across the sky. Ullward returned, checked the sundial. “That’s better. Notice. Three-fifty by the sundial, three-fifty by my watch. Isn’t that something now?”

  “It’s wonderful,” said Ravelin earnestly.

  “It’s the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen,” chirped Iugenae. Ravelin looked around the ranch, sighed wistfully. “We hate to leave, but I think we must be returning home.”

  “It’s been a wonderful day, Lamster Ullward,” said Ted. “A wonderful lunch, and we enjoyed seeing your ranch.”

  “You’ll have to come out again,” invited Ullward. “I always enjoy company.”

  He led them into the dining room, through the living room-bedroom to the door. The Seehoe family took a last look across the spacious interior, pulled on their mantles, stepped into their run-shoes, made their farewells. Ullward slid back the door. The Seehoes looked out, waited till a gap appeared in the traffic. They waved goodbye, pulled the hoods over their heads, stepped out into the corridor.

  The run-shoes spun them toward their home, selecting the appropriate turnings, sliding automatically into the correct lift and drop-pits. Deflection fields twisted them through the throngs. Like the Seehoes, everyone wore mantle and hood of filmy reflective stuff to safeguard privacy. The illusion-pane along the ceiling of the corridor presented a view of towers dwindling up into a cheerful blue sky, as if the pedestrian were moving along one of the windy upper passages.

  The Seehoes approached their home. Two hundred yards away, they angled over to the wall. If the flow of traffic carried them past, they would be forced to circle the block and make another attempt to enter. Their door slid open as they spun near; they ducked into the opening, swinging around on a metal grab-bar.

  They removed their mantles and run-shoes, sliding skillfully past each other. Iugenae pivoted into the bathroom and there was room for both Ted and Ravelin to sit down. The house was rather small for the three of them; they could well have used another twelve square feet, but rather than pay exorbitant rent, they preferred to save the money with an eye toward Iugenae’s future.

  Ted sighed in satisfaction, stretching his legs luxuriously under Ravelin’s chair. “Ullward’s ranch notwithstanding, it’s nice to be home.” Iugenae backed out of the bathroom.

  Ravelin looked up. “It’s time for your pill, dear.”

  Iugenae sullenly took a pill from the dispenser. “Runy says you make us take pills to keep us from growing up.”

  Ted and Ravelin exchanged glances.

  “Just take your pill,” said Ravelin, “and never mind what Runy says.”

  “But how is it that I’m 38 and Ermara Burk’s only 32 and she’s got a figure and I’m like a slat?”

  “No arguments, dear. Take your pill.”

  Ted jumped to his feet. “Here, Babykin, sit down.”

  Iugenae protested, but Ted held up his hand. “I’ll sit in the niche. I’ve got a few calls that I have to make.”

  He sidled past Ravelin, seated himself in the niche in front of the communication screen. The illusion-pane behind him was custom-built—Ravelin, in fact, had designed it herself. It simulated a merry little bandit’s den, the walls draped in red and yellow silk, a bowl of fruit on the rustic table, a guitar on the bench, a copper teakettle simmering on the countertop stove. The pane had been rather expensive, but when anyone communicated with the Seehoes, it was the first thing they saw, and here the house-proud Ravelin had refused to stint.

  Before Ted could make his call, the signal light flashed. He answered; the screen opened to display his friend Loren Aigle, apparently sitting in an airy arched rotunda, against a background of fleecy clouds—an illusion which Ravelin had instantly recognized as an inexpensive stock effect.

  Loren and Elme, his wife, were anxious to hear of the Seehoes’ visit to the Ullward ranch. Ted described the afternoon in detail. “Space, space, and more space! Isolation pure and simple! Absolute privacy! You can hardly imagine it! A fortune in illusion-panes.”

  “Nice,” said Loren Aigle. “I’ll tell you and you’ll find it hard to believe. Today I registered a whole planet to a man.” Loren worked in the Certification Bureau of the Extraterrestrial Properties Agency.

  Ted was puzzled and uncomprehending. “A whole planet? How so?” Loren explained. “He’s a freelance spaceman. Still a few left.”

  “But what’s he planning to do with an entire planet?”

  “Live there, he claims.”

  “Alone?”

  Loren nodded. “I had quite a chat with him. Earth is all very well, he says, he prefers the privacy of his own planet. Can you imagine that?”

  “Frankly, no! I can’t imagine the fourth dimension either. What a marvel, though!”

  The conversation ended and the screen faded. Ted swung around to his wife. “Did you hear that?”

  Ravelin nodded; she had heard but not heeded. She was reading the menu supplied by the catering firm to which they subscribed. “We won’t want anything heavy after that lunch. They’ve got simulated synthetic algae again.”

  Ted grunted. “It’s never as good as the genuine synthetic.”

  “But it’s cheaper and we’ve all had an enormous lunch.”

  “Don’t worry a
bout me, Mom!” sang Iugenae. “I’m going out with Runy.”

  “Oh, you are, are you? And where are you going, may I ask?”

  “A ride around the world. We’re catching the seven o’clock shuttle, so I’ve got to hurry.”

  “Come right home afterward,” said Ravelin severely. “Don’t go anywhere else.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Mother, you’d think I was going to elope or something.”

  “Mind what I say, Miss Puss. I was a girl once myself. Have you taken your medicine?”

  “Yes, I’ve taken my medicine.”

  Iugenae departed; Ted slipped back into the niche. “Who are you calling now?” asked Ravelin.

  “Lamster Ullward. I want to thank him for going to so much trouble for us.”

  Ravelin agreed that an algae-and-margarine call was no more than polite.

  Ted called, expressed his thanks, then—almost as an afterthought—chanced to mention the man who owned a planet.

  “An entire planet?” inquired Ullward. “It must be inhabited.”

  “No, I understand not, Lamster Ullward. Think of it! Think of the privacy!”

  “Privacy!” exclaimed Ullward bluffly. “My dear fellow, what do you call this?”

  “Oh, naturally, Lamster Ullward—you have a real showplace.”

  “The planet must be very primitive,” Ullward reflected. “An engaging idea, of course—if you like that kind of thing. Who is this man?”

  “I don’t know, Lamster Ullward. I could find out, if you like.”

  “No, no, don’t bother. I’m not particularly interested. Just an idle thought.” Ullward laughed his hearty laugh. “Poor man. Probably lives in a dome.”

  “That’s possible, of course, Lamster Ullward. Well, thanks again, and good night.”

  The spaceman’s name was Kennes Mail. He was short and thin, tough as synthetic herring, brown as toasted yeast. He had a close-cropped pad of gray hair, a keen, if ingenuous, blue gaze. He showed a courteous interest in Ullward’s ranch, but Ullward thought this recurrent use of the world “clever” rather tactless.

  As they returned to the house, Ullward paused to admire his oak tree.

  “It’s absolutely genuine, Lamster Mail! A living tree, survival of past ages! Do you have trees as fine as that on your planet?”

  Kennes Mail smiled. “Lamster Ullward, that’s just a shrub. Let’s sit somewhere and I’ll show you photographs.”

  Ullward had already mentioned his interest in acquiring extraterrestrial property; Mail, admitting that he needed money, had given him to understand that some sort of deal might be arranged. They sat at a table; Mail opened his case. Ullward switched on the wallscreen.

  “First I’ll show you a map,” said Mail. He selected a rod, dropped it into the table socket. On the wall appeared a world projection: oceans, an enormous equatorial landmass named Gaea; the smaller subcontinents Atalanta, Persephone, Alcyone. A box of descriptive information read:

  MAIL’S PLANET

  Claim registered and endorsed at Extraterrestrial

  Properties Agency

  Surface area: 0.87 Earth normal

  Gravity: 0.93 Earth normal

  Diurnal rotation: 22-15 Earth hours

  Annual revolution: 2.97 Earth years

  Atmosphere: Invigorating

  Climate: Salubrious

  Noxious conditions and influences: None

  Population: 1

  Mail pointed to a spot on the eastern shore of Gaea. “I live here. Just got a rough camp at present. I need money to do a bit better for myself. I’m willing to lease off one of the smaller continents, or, if you prefer, a section of Gaea, say from Murky Mountains west to the ocean.”

  Ullward, with a cheerful smile, shook his head. “No sections for me,

  Lamster Mail. I want to buy the world outright. You set your price; if it’s within reason, I’ll write a check.”

  Mail glanced at him sideways.

  “You haven’t even seen the photographs.”

  “True.” In a businesslike voice, Ullward said, “By all means, the photographs.”

  Mail touched the projection button. Landscapes of an unfamiliar wild beauty appeared on the screen. There were mountain crags and roaring rivers, snow-powdered forests, ocean dawns and prairie sunsets, green hillsides, meadows spattered with blossoms, beaches white as milk.

  “Very pleasant,” said Ullward. “Quite nice.” He pulled out his checkbook. “What’s your price?”

  Mail chuckled and shook his head. “I won’t tell. I’m willing to lease off a section—providing my price is met and my rules are agreed to.”

  Ullward sat with compressed lips. He gave his head a quick little jerk. Mail started to rise to his feet.

  “No, no,” said Ullward hastily. “I was merely thinking…Let’s look at the map again.”

  Mail returned the map to the screen. Ullward made careful inspection of the various continents, inquired as to physiography, climate, flora, and fauna.

  Finally he made his decision. “I’ll lease Gaea.”

  “No, Lamster Ullward!” declared Mail. “I’m reserving this entire area—from Murky Mountain and the Calliope River east. This western section is open. It’s maybe a little smaller than Atalanta or Persephone, but the climate is warmer.”

  “There aren’t any mountains on the western section,” Ullward protested. “Only these insignificant Rock Castle Crags.”

  “They’re not so insignificant,” said Mail. “You’ve also got the Purple Bird Hills, and down here in the south is Mount Cariasco—a live volcano. What more do you need?”

  Ullward glanced across his ranch. “I’m in the habit of thinking big.”

  “West Gaea is a pretty big chunk of property.”

  “Very well,” said Ullward. “What are your terms?”

  “So far as money goes, I’m not greedy,” Mail said. “For a twenty-year lease: two hundred thousand a year, the first five years in advance.”

  Ullward made a startled protest. “Great guns, Lamster Mail! That’s almost half my income!”

  Mail shrugged. “I’m not trying to get rich. I want to build a lodge myself. It costs money. If you can’t afford it, I’ll have to speak to someone who can.”

  Ullward said in a nettled voice, “I can afford it, certainly—but my entire ranch here costs less than a million.”

  “Well, either you want it or you don’t,” said Mail. “I’ll tell you my rules, then you can make up your mind.”

  “What rules?” demanded Ullward, his face growing red.

  “They’re simple and their only purpose is to maintain privacy for both of us. First, you have to stay on your own property. No excursions hither and yon on your own property. Second, no subleasing. Third, no residents except yourself, your family, and your servants. I don’t want any artists’ colony springing up, nor any wild noisy resort atmosphere. Naturally you’re entitled to bring out your guests, but they’ve got to keep to your property just like yourself.”

  He looked sideways at Ullward’s glum face. “I’m not trying to be tough, Lamster Ullward. Good fences make good neighbors, and it’s better that we have the understanding than hard words and beam-gun evictions later.”

  “Let me see the photographs again,” said Ullward. “Show me West Gaea.”

  He looked, heaved a deep sigh. “Very well. I agree.”

  The construction crew had departed. Ullward was alone on West Gaea. He walked around the new lodge, taking deep breaths of pure quiet air, thrilling to the absolute solitude and privacy. The lodge had cost a fortune, but how many other people of Earth owned—leased, rather—anything to compare with this?

  He walked out on the front terrace, gazed proudly across miles—genuine unsimulated miles—of landscape. For his home site, he had selected a shelf in the foothills of the Ullward Range (as he had renamed the Purple Bird Hills). In front spread a great golden savannah dotted with blue-green trees; behind rose a tall gray cliff.

  A stream rushed d
own a cleft in the rock, leaping, splashing, cooling the air, finally flowing into a beautiful clear pool, beside which Ullward had erected a cabana of red, green and brown plastic. At the base of the cliff and in crevices grew clumps of spiky blue cactus, lush green bushes covered with red trumpet-flowers, a thick-leafed white plant holding up a stalk clustered with white bubbles.

  Solitude! The real thing! No thumping of factories, no roar of traffic two feet from one’s bed. One arm outstretched, the other pressed to his chest, Ullward performed a stately little jig of triumph on the terrace. Had he been able, he might have turned a cartwheel. When a person has complete privacy, absolutely nothing is forbidden!

  Ullward took a final turn up and down the terrace, made a last appreciative survey of the horizon. The sun was sinking through banks of fire-fringed clouds. Marvelous depth of color, a tonal brilliance to be matched only in the very best illusion-panes!

  He entered the lodge, made a selection from the nutrition locker. After a leisurely meal, he returned to the lounge. He stood thinking for a moment, then went out upon the terrace, strolled up and down. Wonderful! The night was full of stars, hanging like blurred white lamps, almost as he had always imagined them.

  After ten minutes of admiring the stars, he returned into the lodge. Now what? The wallscreen, with its assortment of recorded programs. Snug and comfortable, Ullward watched the performance of a recent musical comedy.

  Real luxury, he told himself. Pity he couldn’t invite his friends out to spend the evening. Unfortunately impossible, considering the inconvenient duration of the trip between Mail’s Planet and Earth. However—only three days until the arrival of his first guest. She was Elf Intry, a young woman who had been more than friendly with Ullward on Earth. When Elf arrived, Ullward would broach a subject which he had been mulling over for several months—indeed, ever since he had first learned of Mail’s Planet.