Araminta Station (7 page)

Chilke at once instituted a general shake-up which in due course ran him afoul of Namour. At issue were the Yips assigned to the airport staff, where they performed such tasks as keeping the field in order, washing and cleaning the aircraft, checking spare parts in and out of the warehouse, and a few simple tasks of routine maintenance, or even mechanical work, under Chilke’s supervision.

Up to this time Chilke had not yet been assigned an assistant manager. To lighten his own work load, he trained his four Yips with care, and finally brought them to a level where they actually seemed interested in what they were doing. Nevertheless, at the end of their six-month stint, Namour sent them back to Yipton and assigned Chilke four fresh Yips.

Chilke protested with fervor: “What the bloody hell is going on? Do you think I’m running a ruddy educational institution here? Not on your life!”

Namour said coldly: “These people are here on six-month permits. That is the rule. I did not make this rule, but I am required to enforce it.”

“And sometimes you do,” said Chilke. “Sometimes you are busy elsewhere. At the hospital Yip orderlies get new cards every six months and nothing is said; also in the tailor shop and much of the domestic help. I’m not complaining; it only makes sense. Why train these geezers if you intend to send them back to Yipton? There’s no flyers at Yipton, so far as I know. If you want trained Yips for Yipton, you train them yourself.”

“You’re talking nonsense, Chilke!”

With amiable pertinacity Chilke continued. “If I can’t keep the ones I have now, don’t send any at all. I’ll bring in my own help.”

Namour drew himself up to his full height. Slowly turning his head, he brought a glacial stare to bear on Chilke. He said: “Listen well, Chilke, so that there will be no misunderstanding. Your orders come from me and you will do exactly as you are told. Otherwise, two roads lead into the future. The first is uneventful: you resign with your health and leave Araminta Station by the first ship.”

Chilke’s ropy grin grew even broader. He put his hand upon Namour’s face and pushed with great force, to send Namour reeling back against the wall. Chilke said: “That kind of talk makes me nervous. If we’re going to stay friends, you’ll beg my pardon with full sincerity and leave, smiling and closing the door quietly on your way out. Otherwise I’m going to tousle you around a bit.”

Namour, a Clattuc and no coward, was nonetheless a trifle daunted. At last he said: “Come on, then; we’ll see who gets tousled.”

The two men were much of a weight. Namour, with a good physique, stood taller by two inches. Chilke was more compact, burly at the chest and shoulders, with long arms and heavy fists. As the Yips and some boys from the lyceum watched, the two fought an epic battle, and in the end Chilke stood grinning his twisted grin down at Namour, half propped against the wall.

“Now then,” said Chilke. “Let’s face the facts. Why you brought me here I don’t know. You weren’t concerned for my welfare, and I don’t think you’re avid for the stuffed owl I owe you.”

Namour started to speak, then checked himself and painfully rubbed the side of his face.

Chilke went on. “Whatever the reason, I’m here. So long as I stay and keep your scheme going, I’m paying you all I owe you. Otherwise, and except for the owl, we’re even. You keep to your line of work and I’ll keep to mine. Now back to the help. I’ll take your six-month Yips, if you insist! But I’ll use them for dog work only and fill out with my own staff, which is the way I want it anyway.”

Namour pulled himself to his feet. “For your information, the Conservator won’t allow any more Yip extensions. If you don’t like it, go down to Riverview House and tousle him around like you did me.”

Chilke laughed. “I may be wild but I’m not reckless. I’ll have to puzzle this one out.”

Namour departed without further words. Relations thereafter between the two were polite but not overly cordial. Namour gave no more orders to Chilke, while Chilke made no further complaints in regard to the six-month Yips. Bureau D allowed him the services of Porric co-Diffin, to be trained as assistant manager, while the Yips were employed only at “dog work.”

Chapter I, Part 5

With the onset of autumn anticipation of the wine festival, Parilia, with its banquets, masques and revels began to color the thoughts of everyone. At Parilia almost any kind of eccentric behavior was not only condoned but encouraged, so long as a costume purported to conceal identities. Araminta Hotel had long been booked and overbooked, so that, during the week of Parilia, all manner of desperate expedients would become necessary. In the end, no one would suffer disappointment; if necessary, the six great houses would throw open their guest chambers and feed the visitors in the formal dining halls, and no one so lodged had ever been known to complain.

Glawen had undertaken no special role at Parilia. He lacked proficiency with musical instruments, and the antics of Floreste’s Mummers interested him not at all. His studies at the lyceum had given him no difficulty, even though he had continued flight training, and at the end of the first quarter-term he was awarded a Certificate of Excellence. Arles received an Urgent Notice of Unsatisfactory Achievement.

Glawen’s methods were disarmingly simple: he did his work methodically, promptly and thoroughly. Arles used a different philosophy. From the beginning his work was meager, late and incomplete. He was nevertheless confident that through clever manipulation, bluff and sheer élan he could avoid tedious drudgery and drill and yet promote good grades for himself.

Upon receiving the Urgent Notice, Arles was both impatient and exasperated. In a single decisive gesture he crumpled the message and flung it aside; such was his opinion of all pedagogues! Why did they bother him with such priggish little messages? What did they hope to achieve? The notice told him nothing he wanted to hear; the pedants lacked all largeness of perception! Surely it was obvious that he could not cram his large and sweeping talents into the petty little pigeonholes which they had designated, and which were all they knew! Ah well, he must ignore, or by some means slide around, all this pettifoggery. One way or another things would sort themselves out and he would be graduated into full Agency. Any other possibility was unthinkable! If worse came to worst, he might even be forced to study! Or his mother, Spanchetta, would set matters right with a few well-chosen words, although involving Spanchetta was a risky business. Far better, if at all possible, to let sleeping dogs lie.

At the end of Arles’ second term - this would be at the beginning of summer, before Glawen’s sixteenth birthday – Arles had failed promotion into the third-year class. It was a serious situation which Arles could remedy only by attending summer school and passing an examination. Unfortunately, Arles had made other plans involving Master Floreste and the Mummers, which he did not wish to alter.

The Honorable Sonorius Offaw, superintendent of the lyceum, called Arles to his office and made the situation clear: if Arles failed to meet the lyceum’s minimum requirements before his twenty-first birthday, his Agency status would be canceled and he would become a collateral without option, which meant that under no circumstances could he regain Agency status, unlike collaterals who had met the educational qualifications.

Once or twice Arles tried to interrupt, in order to express his own views, but the superintendent made Arles listen to the very end, so that Arles became more annoyed and edgy than ever.

At last Arles said: “Sir, I understand that my grades should be better, but, as I tried to explain, I was ill during both of the midterm examinations, and did poorly. The instructors in each case refused to make allowances.”

“Rightly so. The examinations measure your scholastic achievements, not the state of your health.” He looked at Arles’ card. “I see you have opted into Bureau D.”

“I intend to be an oenologist,” said Arles sullenly.

“In that case, I advise that you attend summer school and make up your failed work; otherwise you will be cultivating your grapes in very far vineyards.”

Arles scowled. “I’m already committed to Master Floreste for the summer. I am a member of the Mummers Troupe, as you probably know.”

“That is irrelevant. I can hardly express myself more succinctly but I will try. Either do your schoolwork or fail to graduate.”

Arles cried out in pain: “But we will be making an off-world tour to Soum and Dauncy’s world, which I don’t want to miss!”

Sonorius Offaw rubbed his forehead with the tips of his fingers. You may go. I will communicate with your parents and inform them of your problem.”

Arles departed the office, and a day later intercepted the official note before it reached Spanchetta: an act of subtle ingenuity, Arles told himself with a grin. If his mother had read the note, she might well have kept him home all summer, with his nose pressed to the scholastic grindstone. What a bore! He desperately wanted to make this particular tour, if only to prevent Kirdy Wook from having a free hand with the girls. Not that Kirdy, a large earnest fresh-faced youth, was all that much of a threat.

So Arles avoided summer school, and toured off-world with the Mummers, returning to Araminta station a few days before Glawen’s birthday, much too late for summer session. When lyceum started, Arles found himself enrolled at the second-year level.

How should he best explain the matter to his mother?

By not explaining at all: that was the answer. The matter would probably evade her notice; then, by one means or another, he would repair the difficulty.

The final day of the quarter-term was a half day, and the students were allowed a free afternoon. Glawen, Arles and four others took themselves to the dock beside the airport, to oversee the arrival of the ferry from Yipton with a contingent of workers for the grape harvest.

The group consisted of Glawen, Arles, Kirdy Wook, Uther Offaw, Kiper Laverty and Cloyd Diffin. Kirdy, the oldest and, like Arles, a Mummer, was a large careful young man, somber of manner, with round blue eyes, large features, and a fair, almost pinkish complexion. He used a terse mode of speaking, perhaps to disguise his shyness. In general the girls thought Kirdy dull and a trifle self-righteous. Sessily Veder, whose pretty face and irrepressible personality charmed all who saw her, referred to Kirdy as a “fussy old pussycat.” If he heard her, he gave no sign, but a week later, to the surprise of everyone, he joined the Bold Lions, as if to demonstrate that he wasn’t such a dullard after all.

Kiper Laverty, who was Glawen’s age, contrasted in every way with Kirdy, in that he was brash, noisy, active, not at all shy, and ready for any and all mischief.

Uther Offaw, a complicated individual almost as old as Kirdy, performed meticulous work at the lyceum, but in private demonstrated a wry mentality which spun off ideas wild, quaint and sometimes reckless. His hair, a straw-colored ruff, grew back from a high forehead which seemed to funnel directly into a long nose. Uther was also a Bold Lion.

Cloyd Diffin, another Bold Lion, presented a staid imperturbable face to the world. He was strong and stocky, with dark hair, a heavy hooked nose and massive chin. Cloyd formulated few ideas of his own but could be counted upon to follow the lead of others.

The six youths strolled up Beach Road to the dock, where the ferry from Lutwen Atoll was about to discharge its cargo of Yips. At the debarkation gate stood Namour, the labor coordinator: a man tall and handsome with a head of glistening white hair. Namour, a Clattuc collateral, had fared far and wide across the Reach; he had known good times and bad; he had engaged in a hundred exploits and adventures, most of which he refused to discuss. He claimed to have seen everything worth seeing and to have done everything worth doing: a cool flat statement which no one had ever challenged. His experiences had left him with a patina of urbane good manners and an understated elegance, which Arles thought to use as a model for his own conduct.

The six youths joined Namour, who acknowledged their presence with an austere nod. Arles asked: “How many in today’s load?”

“According to the roster, one hundred and forty.”

“Hmmf! That’s quite a parcel. Are they all grape workers?”

“I expect we’ll use some of them at Parilia.”

Arles inspected the Yips lined up along the ship’s rail: young men and women dressed alike in knee-length white kirtles. They waited quietly, with mild expressions: by and large a well-favored folk. The. young men were of uniformly good physique, if somewhat slender, with bronze skins, ringlets of dusty-blond hair, golden-hazel eyes set faunlike, widely apart. The faces of the girls were softer and rounder, and their hair showed generally a darker copper-gold color. Their arms and legs were slim and graceful: no question but what the Yip girls were beautiful. Some folk were especially intrigued by what they considered a hint of an alien, or nonhuman, quality, which just as many others failed to perceive.

The gates opened; the Yips filed past a desk, announced their names in soft slurred voices and received their work permits. Namour and the six youths stood to the side, watching the process.

“Alike as peas in a pod,” Kiper reported to Glawen. “That’s how they look to me.”

“It might be that we look exactly alike to them.”

“I hope not,” said Kiper. “I wouldn’t want even a Yip to think that I looked like Uther or Arles.”

Uther laughed, but Arles turned a haughty glance over his shoulder. “I heard that, Kiper. Such remarks are not well advised.”

“Kiper is very ugly,” said Uther. “I endorse his remark.”

“Well, yes,” said Arles. “On those grounds I do too.”

Uther asked: “Have you noticed the odor, when the breeze blows this way? It’s the typical Yip reek, that you notice when you go out on the Concourse at Yipton.” He referred to a faint soft scent, like waterweeds, with a hint of spice and indefinable human exudation.

“Some say it’s a result of their diet,” Namour told the group. “Personally, I suspect that a Yip smells like a Yip, and that is that.”