Tower of Zanid (3 page)

Fredro continued: “As example, one nineteenth-century pasha of Egypt planned to tear down Great Pyramid of Khufu for building-stone, under impression he was being enlightened modern statesman, like commercial-minded Europeans he knew.”

“Yes, yes, yes, but what’s that got to do with our sticking our heads into a noose by breaking into that thing? I know there’s a cult based upon alleged measurements of the interior… What’s that gang, Percy?”

“The Neophilosophical Society,” said Mjipa, “or as the Krishnan branch calls itself, the Mejraf Janjira.”

“What is?” asked Fredro.

“Oh, they believe that every planet has some monument— like that Egyptian pyramid you mentioned, or the Tower of the Gods on Ormazd—by whose measurements you can prophesy the future history of the planet. Their idea is that these things were put up by some space-traveling race, before the beginning of recorded history, who knew all future history because they’d seen it by means of a time-traveling gadget. Naturally they picked the Safq for that honor on Krishna. They turn people like that loose here, and then wonder why Krishnans consider all Earthmen cracked.”

Fallon said: “Well, I’m no scientist, Dr. Fredro, but I hardly suppose you take that sort of thing seriously. I must say you don’t look cracked, at least not on the outside.”

“Certainly not,” said Fredro.

“Then why are you so anxious to get inside? You won’t find anything but a lot of stone passageways and rooms, some fitted up for the Yeshtite services.”

“You see, Mr. Fallon,” said Fredro, “no other Terran has ever got into it and it might—ah—fling light on the history of the Kalwm and pre-Kalwm periods. If nobody goes in, then Balhibuma might destroy it when their own culture breaks down.”

“All very well, old chap. Not that I have any objection to science, mind you. Wonderful thing and all that.”

“Thank you,” said Fredro.

“But if you want to risk your neck, you’ll have to do it on your own.”

“But, Mr. Fallon…”

“Not interested. Definitely, absolutely, positively.”

“You would not—ah—be asked to contribute your services for gratis, you know. I have a small allowance on my appropriation for employ of native assistance”…”

“You forget,” broke in Mjipa, with an edge in his voice, “that Mr. Fallon, despite his manner of life, is not a Krishnan.”

Fredro waved a placatory hand, stammering: “I m-meant no slight, gentlemen…”

“Oh, stow it,” said Fallon. “I’m not insulted. I don’t share Percy’s prejudices against Krishnans.”

“I am not prejudiced,” protested Mjipa. “Some of my best friends are Krishnans. But another species is another species, and one should always bear it in mind.”

“Meaning they’re all right so long as they keep their place,” said Fallon, grinning wickedly.

“Not how I should have expressed it, but it’s the general idea.”

“Yes?”

“Yes. Different races of one species may be substantially the same mentally, as among Terrans—but different species are something else.”

“But we are talking about Krishnans,” said Fredro. “And psychological tests show no differences in average intelligence-level. Or if there are differences of averages, overlap is so great that average-differences are negligible.”

“You may trust your tests,” said Mjipa, “but I’ve known these beggars personally for years, and you can’t tell me they display human inventiveness and originality.”

Fallon spoke up: “But look here, how about the inventions they’ve made? They’ve developed a crude camera of their own, for instance. When did
you
invent something, Percy?”

Mjipa made an impatient gesture. “All copied from Terran examples. Leaks in the blockade.”

“No,” said Fredro. “Is not it either. Krishnan camera is case of—ah—stimulus-diffusion.”

“What?” said Mjipa.

“Stimulus-diffusion, term invented by American anthropologist Kroeber, about two centuries ago.”

“What does it mean?” asked Mjipa.

“Where they hear of something in use elsewhere and develop their own Version without have seen it. Some primitive Terrans a few centuries ago developed writing that way. But it still requires inventiveness.”

Mjipa persisted: “Well, even granting all you claim, these natives do differ temperamentally from us, and intelligence does no good without the will to use it.”

“How do you know they are different?” asked Fredro.

“There was some psychologist who tested a lot of them and pointed out that they lack some of our Terran forms of insanity altogether, such as paranoia…”

Fallon broke in: “Isn’t paranoia what that loon Kir’s got?”

Mjipa shrugged. “Not my field. But that’s what this chap said, also pointing out their strong tendency toward hysteria and sadism.”

Fredro persisted: “That is not what I had so much in the mind. I have not been here before, but I have studied Krishnan arts and crafts on Earth, and these show the highest degree of imaginative fertility—sculpture, poetry, and such…”

Fallon, stifling a yawn, interrupted: “Mind saving the debate till I’ve gone? I don’t understand half of what you’re talking about… Now, how much would this stipend be?” he asked, more from curiosity than from any intention of seriously considering the offer.

“Two and one-half karda a day,” replied Fredro.

While this was a high wage in Balhib, Fallon had just turned down a lump-sum offer of a thousand. “Sorry, Dr. Fredro. No sale.”

“Possibly I could—I could squeeze a little more out of…”

“No sir! Not for ten times that offer. People have tried to
get
into that thing before and always came to a bad end.” .

“Well,” said Mjipa, “you’re destined for a bad end sooner or later anyway.”

“I still prefer it later rather than sooner. As you gentlemen know, I’ll take a chancer—but that’s not a chance, it’s a certainty.”

“Look here,” said Mjipa. “I promised Dr. Fredro assistance, and you owe me for past favors, and I particularly wish you to take the job.”

Fallon shot a sharp look at the consul. “Why particularly?”

Mjipa said: “Dr. Fredro, will you excuse us a few minutes? Wait here for me. Come along, Fallon.”

“Thank you,” said Fredro.

Fallon, scowling, followed Mjipa outside. When they found a place with nobody near, Mjipa said in a low voice: “Here’s the story. Three Earthmen have disappeared from my jurisdiction in the past three years, and I haven’t found a trace of them. And they’re not the sort of men who’d normally get into bad company and get their throats cut.”

“Well?” said Fallon. “If they were trying to get into the Safq, that proves my point. Serves them right.”

“I have no reason to believe they were
trying
to enter the Safq—but they might have been taken into it. In any case, I should be remiss in my duty, when confronted with a mystery like this, if I didn’t exhaust all efforts to solve it.”

Fallon shook his head. “If you want to get into that monstrosity, go ahead…”

“If it weren’t for the color of my skin, which can’t be disguised, I would.” Mjipa gripped Fallon’s arm. “So you, my dear Fallon, are going in, and don’t think you’re not.”

“Why? To make a fourth at bridge with these missing blighters?”

“To find out what happened. Good God, man, would you leave a fellow-Terran to the mercies of these savages?

“That would depend. Some Terrans, yes.”

“But one of your own kind…”

“I,” said Fallon, “try to judge people on their individual merits, whether they have arms or trunks or tentacles, and I think that’s a lot more civilized attitude than yours.”

“Well, I suppose there’s no use appealing, to your patriotism, then. But if you come around next ten-night for your longevity-dose, don’t be surprised if I’m just out of them.”

“I can get them on the black market if I have to.”

Mjipa glared at Fallon with deadly fixity. “And how long d’ you think you’d live to enjoy your longevity if I told Chabarian about your spying for the Kamuran of Qaath?”

“My sp— I don’t know what you’re talking about,” replied Fallon, icy fear shooting down his spine.

“Oh, yes you do. And don’t think I wouldn’t tell him.”

“So… with all your noble talk, you’d betray a fellow-Terran to the Krishnans after all?”

“I don’t like to, but you leave me no other choice. You’re no asset to the human race as you are—lowering our prestige, in the eyes of the natives.”

“Then why bother with me?”

“Because, with all your faults, you’re just the man for a job like this, and I won’t hesitate to force you to it.”

“How could I get in without a disguise?”

“I’ll furnish that. Now, I’m going back into that pavilion, either to tell Fredro you’ll make the arrangements, or to tell Kir’s minister about your meetings with that snake, Qais of Babaal. Which shall it be?”

Fallon turned his bloodshot eyes upon the consul. “Can you furnish me with some advance information? A plan of the interior, for instance, or a libretto of the rites of Yesht?”

“No. I believe the Neophilosophers know, or think they know, something about the interior of the building—but I don’t know of any members of that cult in Balhib. You’ll have to dig that stuff up yourself. Well?”

Fallon paused a minute more. Then, seeing Mjipa about to speak again, he said: “Oh, hell. You win, damn you. Now, let’s have some data. Who are these three missing Earthmen?”

“Well, there was Lavrenti Botkin, the popular-science writer. He went out to walk on the city wall one evening and never came back.”

“I read something about it in the
Rashm
at the time. Go on.”

“And there was Candido Soares, a Brazilian engineer—and Adam Daly, an American factory manager.”

Fallon asked, “Do you notice anything about their occupations?”

“They’re all technical people, in one sense or another.”

“Mightn’t somebody be trying to round up scientists and engineers to build modern weapons for them? That sort of thing has been tried, you know.”

“I thought of that. If I remember rightly,” said Mjipa, “you once attempted something of the sort yourself.”

“Now, now, Percy, let’s let the dead past bury the dead.”

Mjipa continued: “But that was before we had the Saint-Remy pseudo-hypnotic treatment. If only it had been developed a few decades earlier… Anyway, these people couldn’t give out such knowledge—even under torture—any more than you or I could. The natives know that. However, when we find these missing people, we shall no doubt find the reason for their abduction.”

The Long Krishnan day died. As he opened his own front door, Anthony Fallon’s. manner acquired a subtle furtiveness. He slipped stealthily in, quietly took off his sword-belt, and hung it on the hatrack.

He stood for a moment, listening, then tiptoed into the main room. From a shelf he took down a couple of small goblets of natural crystal, the product of the skilled fingers of the artisans of Majbur. They were practically the only items of value in the shabby little living-dining room. Fallon had picked them up during one of his rare flush periods.

Fallon uncorked the bottle (the Krishnans had not yet achieved the felicity of screw-caps) and poured two hookers of kvad. At the gurgle of the liquid a female Krishnan voice spoke from the kitchen: “Antane?”

“It is I, dear,” said Fallon in Balhibou. “Home the hero…”

“So there you are! I hope you enjoyed your worthless self at the Festival. By Anerik the Enlightener, I might be a slave for all the entertainment I receive.”

“Now, Gazi my love, I’ve told you time and again…”

“Of course you’ve told me! But need I believe such moonshine? How big a fool think you I am? Why I ever accepted you as
jagain
I know not.”

Stung to his own defense, Fallon snapped: “Because you were a brotherless woman, without a home of your own. Now stop yammering and come in and have a drink. I’ve got something to show you.”

“You
zaft
!” began the woman furiously, then as the import of his words sank in: “Oh, in that case, I’ll come forthwith.”

The curtain to the kitchen parted and Fallon’s jagaini entered. She was a tall, powerfully built Krishnan woman, well made and attractive by Krishnan standards. Her relationship to Fallon was neither that of mistress nor that of wife, but something of both.

For the Balhibuma did not recognize marriage, holding it impractical in a warrior race, such as they had been in earlier centuries. Instead each woman lived with one of her brothers, and was visited at intervals by her jagain—a voluntary relationship terminable at whim, but exclusive while it lasted. Meanwhile the brother reared the children. Therefore, instead of the patronymics of the other Varasto nations, the Balhibuma tagged themselves with the name of the maternal uncle who had reared them. Gazi’s full name was Gazi er-Doukh, Gazi the niece of Doukh. A woman who—like Gazi—actually lived with her jagain was deemed unfortunate and déclassé.

Fallon, looking at Gazi in the doorway, wondered if he had been so clever in choosing Krishna as the scene of his extraterrestrial activities. Why didn’t he walk out on her? She could not stop him. But she cooked well; he was fond of her in a way…

Fallon held up the goblet that he had poured for her. She took it, saying: “ ’Tis grateful, but I’ve seen you’ve spent the last of our housekeeping money on it.”

Fallon dug out the wallet that hung from his belt, and displayed the fistful of gold pieces that he had extracted from Qais. Gazi’s eyes widened; her hand shot out to snatch. Fallon jerked the money back, laughing, then handed her two tenkard coins. The rest he put back in the wallet.

“That should keep the ménage running for a few ten-nights,” he said. “When you need more, ask.”

“
Bakhan,
” she muttered, sinking into the other chair and sipping. “If I know you, ‘twill do no good to ask where you got these.”

“None whatever,” he replied cheerfully. “Some day you’ll learn that I
never
discuss business. That’s one reason I’m alive.”

“A vile, indign business, I’ll warrant.”

“It feeds us. What’s dinner?”

“Cutlets of unha with badr, and a tunest for dessert. Is your mysterious business over for the day?”