Ecce and Old Earth (50 page)

In an instant Glawen was over the back fence. By the light of a dozen moons he picked his way through rubbish and rubble, and pits fitted with puddles of foul-smelling water.

The waste area gave upon a small back alley, with small lumpy structures to either side. Thirty yards ahead a tavern spilled colored light into the street. From within came the mutter of guttural voices, a strange whining music, and occasionally the high-pitched whinny of drunken female laughter. Glawen walked briskly past and in due course, after several false turnings, came out on the lakeside avenue.

As he walked he pondered. The coming of the constables so hard upon his own arrival did not seem to be coincidence. They had been notified by someone who knew that Keebles was dead. Glawen worked out a sequence of events which he found reasonable, if a number of assumptions were accepted. Assume that the young man in the blue cape were the same handsome young man who betrayed Miss Flavia Shoup; assume that he had arrived at Tanjaree almost at the same time as Glawen. Assume that he had taken note of Glawen and perhaps recognized him. Assume that he had approached Keebles and had received the same response given to Glawen. With these assumptions in place, then the sequence of events became clear. Arriving at the Argonaut Art Import and Export Company, the man had compelled Keebles to yield his information, then had killed him if only to deny Glawen the same information. Upon leaving the office, the murder had observed Glawen in Crippet Alley and had thereupon notified the constables of the horrid crime and the murderer's presence upon the scene.

Even if the sequence were faulty in part, Glawen was impelled to travel to Moonway at best speed.

Glawen returned to the Novial Hotel. The clerk gave him a distant nod, but clearly was not in a cordial mood. Repairing to his room, Glawen found that someone had strung up a mesh hammock, to be used should the insects become troublesome.

Glawen changed his clothes and returned to the lobby. The clerk had judiciously absented himself until his guest had settled down for the night. Glawen went to the public telephone. The Halcyon Travel Agency in the Cansaspara Hotel was still open, so he discovered, and would remain so until thirty-two o'clock.

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(8) Note: Among certain of Nion’s societies, including that centered upon Tanjaree, nocturnal meals, their content and degree of elaboration, were based upon phases and states of the moons. A person who ate the wrong sort of pold while, let us say, the moon Zosmei was on high would have committed a vulgar and laughable solecisms, so that forever after he would be known as a bumpkin.

CHAPTER IX

I.

The Halcyon Travel Bureau occupied a glass-enclosed office to the side of the Hotel Cansaspara lobby. A placard read:

Halcyon Travel Bureau

Travel services of every description.

TOURS, EXCURSIONS, EXPEDITIONS

Visit the far-flung backlands in comfort and
safety. See the real Nion! Study the habits of
mysterious peoples and observe
their orgiastic
rites! Dine under the hurtling moons at the Feast
of a Thousand Folds, or enjoy a sumptuous service
of your own familiar cuisine!

ONCE IN A LIFETIME CHANCE!

TRANSPORT GUIDES INFORMATION

Glawen entered the office. At the desk sat a tall dark-haired woman, handsome, trim of figure and clearly of off-world origin. A plaque on her desk read:

T. DYTZEN

Agent on duty.

She spoke: “Sir? Can I be of help?"

“I hope so," said Glawen. He seated himself in the chair beside the desk. “What is the best connection to Moonway? I want to get there in a hurry – now if not sooner”.

T. Dytzen smiled. “Have you been long on Nion?"

“I arrived just today.”

T. Dytzen nodded. “Before the week is out, you will stop using words like 'hurry' and 'soon' and 'immediately’. Well, let us see what can be done." T. Dytzen worked her information screen, “There are a number of carriers, but none are large-scale or well organized. Semi-Express is the only line keeping to a schedule, but you have just missed the evening flight; it left at twenty-nine twenty. It puts down at Port Frank Medich, and arrives at Moonway about twelve o'clock; that is to say, local dusk at Moonway. I mention this just to give you an idea of flight-time.”

“I see. What else is available?"

T. Dytzen consulted the screen. “At thirty-two forty the regular Blue Arrow service leaves Tanjaree, but it makes six local stops and arrives at Moonway tomorrow at twenty-six o'clock."

“What else do you have?”

T. Dytzen proposed several other services which sooner or later put into Moonway. “These are for the most part air-vans, not too fast, with a passenger capacity of thirty or forty. They are cheap to operate and make a tolerable profit for the owners, but essentially there is not enough traffic to support fast service to these outlying camps and villages. So you use what is available and call it 'adventure’. The tourists complain very little.”

“Can I hire a flitter? One way or another, I must get out to Moonway and fast."

T. Dytzen gave her head a dubious shake. “I don’t quite know what to tell you. There is little choice between Murk’s Deluxe and Sky-waft. I cannot recommend either. Murk’s vehicles – I have heard them called 'contraptions' – are not dependable and those at Sky-waft are no better; in fact they may be worse. Neither will rent a vehicle without a pilot, to make sure the tourist does not decide to fly over Tangting Forest. Still, if you like, I will call Murk's to find what they have on hand.”

“Please do."

T. Dytzen touched telephone buttons, which presently induced a surly response. “What do you want, then? I was sound asleep.”

“Strange,” said T. Dytzen. “Your advertisement says: “Expert service, night and day; we never sleep!”

“That only happens when we have vehicles to rent.”

“And now you have none?”

“I have two, but they are in service.”

“The advertisement states that Murk’s Deluxe maintains a fleet of a dozen vehicles of several types.”

“That is an old advertisement. Call some other day, if you will." The telephone screen went blank.

T. Dytzen told Glawen: “I expected nothing more. Still, for the sake of perseverance I will call Sky-waft.” She touched telephone buttons. There was no response whatever.

“Sky-waft appears to have closed for the day,” said T. Dytzen. Tomorrow I will ask why its advertisement reads: ‘DEPENDABLE! VIGILANT! ALWAYS ON THE JOB!'." She ruminated. “Perhaps your best recourse is the provincial Mail Service at eleven o'clock during the forenoon. It makes a number of stops, as many as seven or eight, and arrives at Moonway about noon local time – which is to say close on thirty-seven or thirty-eight o'clock.”

“Are there no other aircraft? What about private vehicles? Or freight services? There must be someone making deliveries around the outback."

“So there are,” said T. Dytzen. She looked in a directory. “Most of the offices will be closed at this time.”

“There might be a schedule of departures at the port.”

T. Dytzen gave a noncommittal nod and tapped the call buttons. She spoke, was transferred to another office, spoke again, waited and spoke to a third individual. After a brief conversation, she turned from the telephone to Glawen. “You are in luck. All-world Cargoes is making deliveries in the Moonway sector. The carrier departs Bay 14 at the spaceport in about half an hour. I spoke with the pilot; he says he will take you out for twenty sols. Is that satisfactory? It's about what you would pay on the Semi-Express.”

”I’m agreeable to the price, but when does he arrive?"

T. Dytzen spoke a few words into the telephone, then turned back to Glawen. “Arrival is an hour or so later than Semi-Express time.”

“Sign me aboard.”

T. Dytzen spoke a few more words, then turned away from the telephone. “Go directly out upon Bay 14 and stand by the front of the carrier. Don’t be conspicuous or tell anyone what you are doing. The pilot will approach you. My fee, incidentally is five sols.”

II.

Glawen returned to the Novial Hotel, where he found the clerk once again at his post. He checked out, to the clerk’s indignation. “Have all our meticulous efforts gone for naught?”

“I don’t have time to explain,” said Glawen. “But two facts are certain. Pharisse will rise in the morning and you will never see me again.”

Glawen went at best speed to the spaceport. At the canteen he bought packets of biscuits, cheese, salted fish, pickles, and four flasks of imported beer, then went out upon the freight dock. He found Bay 14, where a cargo carrier of medium size had been loaded and made ready for departure. He went to stand in the shadows near the control cupola.

Five minutes later a tall thin man wearing a short-sleeved work suit came down the dock, walking with a loose and easy stride which Glawen thought might indicate a correspondingly easy temperament. He looked to be about Glawen’s age, with cropped flax-yellow hair, guileless blue eyes, features of no particular distinction. He halted in front of Glawen. “I am Rak Wrinch, and I drive this vehicle. Do you have something for me?”

"Just some money.”

“That will do nicely.”

Glawen paid over twenty sols.

Wrinch looked up and down the dock. “Jump up into the cab, and keep out of sight."

Five minutes later the carrier lifted from the spaceport and started up through the night toward its cruising altitude. Overhead drifted the moons of Nion, lambent globes of many soft shades and sizes, sometimes eclipsing, sometimes seeming to race, sometimes rollicking like happy children. Glawen thought that it might be easy to attach mystical meaning to their interplay.

Wrinch verified what Glawen had already assumed: that he was an off-worlder from Kyper Clty on Sylvanus. He looked sidelong at Glawen. “You've never been there?”

“Never,” said Glawen. “Sylvanus is one of the many worlds I know nothing about, except that it is somewhere in Virgo.”

“True. It’s not so bad a place, as worlds go. Every year the Bang-bird Festival draws in tourists from everywhere.

You must have heard of the Bang-bird races.”

“I'm afraid not."

“These creatures are called 'birds' only out of politeness. Mix up a dragon, an ostrich and a devil and you have a bang-bird. They stand twelve feet high, walk on two legs, with long necks and tall heads; they are vicious unless treated carefully when young, and are not stupid. Still, they are useless for anything but saddle-animals, and every year they run the Grand Champion Races at Kyper City. The riders are a special caste and religious, since they are almost always killed by the birds in the end. But the rider who wins the Grand Race becomes a great celebrity, with much money, and never rides again.”

“The races must be quite a sight.”

“Indeed. There are always two or three riders thrown, and then there is turmoil while the birds stop to kill the riders, whom they hate, so the tourists always go away in awe. Where is your home?”

“Araminta Station on Cadwal, at the back of Perseus."

“I never heard of Cadwal either.” He refused Glawen’s offer of food. “I ate before departure.”

“What time will we arrive at Moonway?”

“You are in a hurry?”

“I would like to arrive before the Semi-Express, if possible."

“Out of the question, I must put down at Port Klank to discharge three pumps for the water system. After Port Klank, by rights I should make for Yellow Blossom, then Moonway, but I suppose I could call at Moonway first and then cut north to Yellow Blossom. That would save an hour or two.”

“And time of arrival?”

“About fourteen o'clock. How is that?”

“It will have to do.”

Wrinch looked curiously at Glawen. “Have you been there before?"

“No.”

“It is a fascinating place. The Standing Stones are sometimes called monuments to ancient heroes, but they are more; they represent the ancient heroes themselves: personalities which have never died. During certain lunar patterns they come out and play the old games again. Tourists who are caught out among the Stones at these times are killed at once, though ordinarily the Shadowmen are a quiet lot, without much to say. The moons control their emotions. If the tourists fail to follow the rules which are posted for them, their throats are cut.”

Glawen found his eyes growing heavy; he had missed much sleep. At the back of the cab were a pair of settees; Glawen stretched out on one and, after checking the auto-pilot, Wrinch laid his long frame down on the other. The two slept, and the carrier flew alone through the night. Glawen was wakened by a jar and a thud; he raised himself to find daylight outside and Pharisse several hours high. The carrier had landed upon the spongy surface of a small plateau. To the west, north and south spread a wide landscape of other such plateaus, rising above the intervening sea bottom. To the east, and near the carrier, a dozen concrete buildings stood in a line, facing what appeared to be experimental plots of off-world vegetation.

Wrinch had already jumped down from the cupola, to see to the delivery of his freight. With three other men he went to the rear of the carrier; the doors were opened, several items of cargo were unloaded with the help of a small lift-truck; then the doors were slammed shut and, after a moment of conversation, Wrinch climbed back into the cupola. He made marks on his manifest, adjusted the auto-pilot, and once again the carrier took to the air.

“That was Port Klank,” said Wrinch. “Some agronomists from Earth, either visionaries or madmen, are trying to grow terrestrial flora on a soil which is essentially pure pold. They claim the chemistry is right; that no toxic metals are present, only the macro-molecules typical of metamorphosed pold. So they use bacteria to break down these molecules, along with the viruses of Nion and experimental soil conditioners. They claim that in ten years each of these plateaus will look like a forested island instead of what you see today.”