The Moon Moth and Other Stories
Read The Moon Moth and Other Stories Online
Authors: Jack Vance
Tags: #Science Fiction, #Fiction, #Short Stories, #General
THE MOON MOTH AND OTHER STORIES
Jack Vance
Enter the SF Gateway …
In the last years of the twentieth century (as Wells might have put it), Gollancz, Britain’s oldest and most distinguished science fiction imprint, created the SF and Fantasy Masterworks series. Dedicated to re-publishing the English language’s finest works of SF and Fantasy, most of which were languishing out of print at the time, they were – and remain – landmark lists, consummately fulfilling the original mission statement:
‘SF MASTERWORKS is a library of the greatest SF ever written, chosen with the help of today’s leading SF writers and editors. These books show that genuinely innovative SF is as exciting today as when it was first written.’
Now, as we move inexorably into the twenty-first century, we are delighted to be widening our remit even more. The realities of commercial publishing are such that vast troves of classic SF & Fantasy are almost certainly destined never again to see print. Until very recently, this meant that anyone interested in reading any of these books would have been confined to scouring second-hand bookshops. The advent of digital publishing has changed that paradigm for ever.
The technology now exists to enable us to make available, for the first time, the entire backlists of an incredibly wide range of classic and modern SF and fantasy authors. Our plan is, at its simplest, to use this technology to build on the success of the SF and Fantasy Masterworks series and to go even further.
Welcome to the new home of Science Fiction & Fantasy. Welcome to the most comprehensive electronic library of classic SFF titles ever assembled.
Welcome to the SF Gateway.
Contents
I
Magnus Ridolph sat on the Glass Jetty at Providencia, fingering a quarti-quartino of Blue Ruin. At his back rose Granatee Head; before him spread Mille-Iles Ocean and the myriad little islands, each with its trees and neo-classic villa. A magnificent blue sky extended overhead; and beneath his feet, under the glass floor of the jetty, lay Coral Canyon, with schools of sea-moths flashing and flickering like metal snowflakes. Magnus Ridolph sipped his liqueur and considered a memorandum from his bank describing a condition barely distinguishable from poverty.
He had been perhaps too trusting with his money. A few months previously, the Outer Empire Investment and Realty Society, to which he had entrusted a considerable sum, was found to be bankrupt. The Chairman of the Board and the General Manager, a Mr. See and a Mr. Holpers, had been paying each other unexpectedly large salaries, most of which had been derived from Magnus Ridolph’s capital investment.
Magnus Ridolph sighed, glanced at his liqueur. This would be the last of these; hereafter he must drink
vin ordinaire
, a fluid rather like tarragon vinegar, prepared from the fermented rind of a local cactus.
A waiter approached. “A lady wishes to speak to you, sir.”
Magnus Ridolph preened his neat white beard. “Show her over, by all means.”
The waiter returned; Magnus Ridolph’s eyebrows went S-shape as he saw his guest: a woman of commanding presence, with an air of militant and dignified virtue. Her interest in Magnus Ridolph was clearly professional.
She came to an abrupt halt. “You are Mr. Magnus Ridolph?”
He bowed. “Will you sit down?”
The woman rather hesitantly took a seat. “Somehow, Mr. Ridolph, I expected someone more—well…”
Magnus Ridolph’s reply was urbane. “A younger man, perhaps? With conspicuous biceps, a gun on his hip, a space helmet on his head? Or perhaps my beard alarms you?”
“Well, not exactly that, but my business—”
“Ah, you came to me in a professional capacity?”
“Well, yes. I would say so.”
In spite of the memorandum from his bank—which now he folded and tucked into his pocket—Magnus Ridolph spoke with decision. “If your business requires feats of physical prowess, I beg you hire elsewhere. My janitor might satisfy your needs: an excellent chap who engages his spare time moving bar-bells from one elevation to another.”
“No, no,” said the woman hastily. “I’m sure you misunderstand; I merely pictured a different sort of individual…”
Magnus Ridolph cleared his throat. “What is your problem?”
“Well—I am Martha Chickering, secretary of the Women’s League Committee for the Preservation of Moral Values. We are fighting a particularly disgraceful condition that the law refuses to abate. We have appealed to the better nature of the persons involved, but I’m afraid that financial gain means more to them than decency.”
“Be so kind as to state your problem.”
“Are you acquainted with the world—” she spoke it as if it were a social disease “—Kokod?”
Magnus Ridolph nodded gravely, stroked his neat white beard. “Your problem assumes form.”
“Can you help us, then? Every right-thinking person condemns the goings-on—brutal, undignified, nauseous…”
Magnus Ridolph nodded. “The exploitation of the Kokod natives is hardly commendable.”
“Hardly commendable!” cried Martha Chickering. “It’s despicable! It’s trafficking in blood! We execrate the sadistic beasts who patronize bull-fights—but we condone, even encourage the terrible things that take place on Kokod while Holpers and See daily grow wealthier.”
“Ha, ha!” exclaimed Magnus Ridolph. “Bruce Holpers and Julius See?”
“Why, yes.” She looked at him questioningly. “Perhaps you know them?”
Magnus Ridolph sat back in his chair, turned the liqueur down his throat. “To some slight extent. We had what I believe is called a business connection. But no matter, please continue. Your problem has acquired a new dimension, and beyond question the situation is deplorable.”
“Then you agree that the Kokod Syndicate should be broken up? You will help us?”
Magnus Ridolph spread his arms in a fluent gesture. “Mrs. Chickering, my good wishes are freely at your disposal; active participation in the crusade is another matter and will be determined by the fee your organization is prepared to invest.”
Mrs. Chickering spoke stiffly. “Well, we assume that a man of principle might be willing to make certain sacrifices—”
Magnus Ridolph sighed. “You touch me upon a sensitive spot, Mrs. Chickering. I shall indeed make a sacrifice. Rather than the extended rest I had promised myself, I will devote my abilities to your problem…Now let us discuss my fee—no, first, what do you require?”
“We insist that the gaming at Shadow Valley Inn be halted. We want Bruce Holpers and Julius See prosecuted and punished. We want an end put to the Kokod wars.”
Magnus Ridolph looked off into the distance and for a moment was silent. When at last he spoke, his voice was grave. “You list your requirements on a descending level of feasibility.”
“I don’t understand you, Mr. Ridolph.”
“Shadow Valley Inn might well be rendered inoperative by means of a bomb or an epidemic of Mayerheim’s Bloat. To punish Holpers and See, we must demonstrate that a non-existent law has been criminally violated. And to halt the Kokod wars, it will be necessary to alter the genetic heritage, glandular make-up, training, instinct, and general outlook on life, of each of the countless Kokod warriors.”
Mrs. Chickering blinked and stammered; Magnus Ridolph held up a courteous hand. “However, that which is never attempted never transpires; I will bend my best efforts to your requirements. My fee—well, in view of the altruistic ends in prospect, I will be modest; a thousand munits a week and expenses. Payable, if you please, in advance.”
Magnus Ridolph left the jetty, mounted Granatee Head by steps cut into the green-veined limestone. On top, he paused by the wrought-iron balustrade to catch his breath and enjoy the vista over the ocean. Then he turned and entered the blue lace and silver filigree lobby of the Hotel des Mille Iles.
Presenting a bland face to the scrutiny of the desk clerk he sauntered into the library, where he selected a cubicle, settled himself before the mnemiphot. Consulting the index for Kokod, he punched the appropriate keys.
The screen came to life. Magnus Ridolph inspected first a series of charts which established that Kokod was an exceedingly small world of high specific gravity.
Next appeared a projection of the surface, accompanied by a slow-moving strip of descriptive matter:
Although a small world, Kokod’s gravity and atmosphere make it uniquely habitable for men. It has never been settled, due to an already numerous population of autochthones and a lack of valuable minerals.
Tourists are welcomed at Shadow Valley Inn, a resort hotel at Shadow Valley. Weekly packets connect Shadow Valley Inn with Starport.
Kokod’s most interesting feature is its population.
The chart disappeared, to be replaced by a picture entitled, ‘Typical Kokod Warrior (from Rock River Tumble)’, and displaying a man-like creature two feet tall. The head was narrow and peaked; the torso was that of a bee—long, pointed, covered with yellow down. Scrawny arms gripped a four-foot lance, a stone knife hung at the belt. The chitinous legs were shod with barbs. The creature’s expression was mild, almost reproachful.
A voice said, “You will now hear the voice of Sam 192 Rock River.”
The Kokod warrior inhaled deeply; wattles beside his chin quivered. From the mnemiphot screen issued a high-pitched stridency. Interpretation appeared on a panel to the right.
“I am Sam 192, squadronite, Company 14 of the Advance Force, in the service of Rock River Tumble. Our valor is a source of wonder to all; our magnificent stele is rooted deep, and exceeded in girth only by the steles of Rose Slope Tumble and crafty Shell Strand Tumble.
“This day I have come at the invitation of the (untranslatable) of Small Square Tumble, to tell of our victories and immensely effective strategies.”
Another sound made itself heard: a man speaking falsetto in the Kokod language. The interpretation read:
Question: Tell us about life in Rock River Tumble.
Sam 192: It is very companionable.
Q: What is the first thing you do in the morning?
A: We march past the matrons, to assure ourselves of a properly martial fecundity.
Q: What do you eat?
A: We are nourished in the fields.
(Note: The Kokod metabolism is not entirely understood; apparently they ferment organic material in a crop, and oxidize the resultant alcohols.)
Q: Tell us about your daily life.
A: We practice various disciplines, deploy in the basic formations, hurl weapons, train the kinderlings, elevate the veterans.
Q: How often do you engage in battle?
A: When it is our time: when the challenge has issued and the appropriate Code of Combat agreed upon with the enemy.
Q: You mean, you fight in various styles?
A: There are 97 conventions of battle which may be employed: for instance, Code 48, by which we overcame strong Black Glass Tumble, allows the lance to be grasped only by the left hand and permits no severing of the leg tendons with the dagger. Code 69, however, insists that the tendons must be cut before the kill is made and the lances are used thwart-wise, as bumpers.
