Various Fiction

by Robert Sheckley

  “Well, we must explain a few matters,” Zac said, “and then you will understand the position. Come, we can talk in a more comfortable place than this.”

  The guards formed up around them. Kemal turned to join them, then suddenly broke away. In two strides, he had gone past the guards before they could react, and was running fast toward the launch.

  The plan had formed in his mind instantly, and he had acted on it. Although it was a calculated risk, he doubted that Zac would kill him outright. If he could just get to the launch, he was sure he could pilot it. He remembered the turnings coming into the cavern. It would be simple enough to reverse them.

  Behind him he could hear Zac shouting orders. The guards were starting to react now, too late. He had reached the launch’s entryway . . .

  Then he was enveloped in the shattering scream of a D beam. Zac had been ready after all.

  Kemal tried to will himself through the hatch, but the sonic neuro disruptor bathed him in its ennervating noisy field. He fell backward into unconsciousness.

  9

  Kemal knew he was still alive by the throbbing pain throughout his body. He ached from head to foot, and had a splitting headache. He was alive, and of course there was something to be said for that. But at the moment, not much.

  “Feeling better, boy?” asked a voice.

  Kemal saw that he was not alone. There was a man in the cell with him. He was large, white-bearded, and wrapped in a rusty brown woolen cloak that looked strange in this world of tight-fitting, functional clothing. It gave the man a theatrical look. He appeared in his early fifties, though it was difficult to judge, because his face was mostly hidden by white whiskers.

  “Where am I?” Kemal asked.

  “Welcome to the central prison of Vitesse,” the bearded man said. “A noisome place, but you might as well call it home. It’s apt to be that for a while.”

  Kemal rubbed his fingers through his hair. He could hardly concentrate on the man’s words, his headache was so bad. The pain felt like a constricting net just inside his scalp. He was sure that his brains were going to be squeezed out through his nose in a thin gray trickle.

  “I don’t suppose you have anything for a headache?” he asked.

  “Got you with the disruptor beam, did they?” The bearded man chuckled. “Let me see what I can do.”

  In a rustle of garments, and accompanied by a smell of perspiration, the bearded man came over to him, grasped his head firmly with one hand, and began probing at his neck with strong fingers.

  “Hey, that hurts,” Kemal said, explaining more than complaining, because even the pain from the man’s fingers was better than the cataclysmic ache in his head.

  “I wish,” the bearded man said, “that Mother Nature would standardize the intracranial pressure point locations. Let me see, how about here . . . no, here!”

  The bearded man’s fingers tightened. Kemal felt a flash of pure light pass through him, and, as suddenly as that, his headache was gone, leaving behind only a dull, premonitory ache.

  Kemal stood and took a few experimental steps. “Amazing,” he said. “What did you do?”

  “Merely applied a little knowledge. It’s old stuff, from the forgotten pharmacopoeias of Earth. But it works. Now we can introduce ourselves properly. I am Egon, Master Musician, at your service.”

  “I am Kemal Gavilan,” Kemal said.

  Egon raised tufted white eyebrows. “Gavilan is a name that opens doors.”

  “It seems to have opened a cell door for me,” Kemal said.

  “Glad you can laugh about it,” said Egon. “Let me see now, which Gavilan are you? I’ve performed at many royal audiences, but I don’t remember seeing you there.”

  “I’ve just arrived on Mercury. I’m the son of Ossip, the former Sun King, who was brother to Gordon, the present ruler.”

  “And how did you come by this mishap?”

  “I don’t know,” Kemal said. “I came at my uncle’s bidding to sign a treaty with Kallag. I was kidnapped by some people from Vitesse and brought here.”

  The room was small, a three-meter cube without windows. There was a covered commode in one corner. Glowing strips in the ceiling gave a pale, shadowless light.

  “What have you done to offend the Vitessans?”

  “Nothing, as far as I know. I’ve never been anywhere to do anything to anyone,” he said, vaguely confused.

  “Too bad,” Egon said. “If you had insulted one of their officials, there might be a chance of apologizing and getting out. But if you’re in on unspecified charges . . . Well, maybe it won’t be too terrible. You’re a Gavilan; they must want you for something.”

  “No doubt,” Kemal said. “But what do they have you in for?”

  Egon grinned, showing broken teeth in his broad, whiskered face. “A difference of opinion, nothing more.”

  “Concerning what, if I may inquire?” The old man was the first person he’d met who didn’t seem to want something from him: Kemal liked that.

  “I came to collect the Musicians’ Tax, and there was some difference of opinion as to the percentage we are entitled. That led to angry words, and those, in turn, brought me here.”

  “For how long?”

  “Until they come to their senses. The Vitessan officials have behaved like fools. I expect my release momentarily.”

  “You seem very sure of yourself,” Kemal said, envying Egon his self-confidence.

  Egon grinned, his crooked yellow teeth showing again. “When a Musician is seized, all entertainment is stopped until he is released. A city like Vitesse is barely tolerable with entertainment. If they don’t have me out in a day or two, they’ll have riots on their hands. Not even Dancers can live without the Musicians’ Guild’s services.”

  “I was kidnapped by a Dancer,” Kemal said. “She brought me here.”

  “Where else would she bring you? Obviously not to Kallag.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because of the Kallag-Dancer troubles, of course. But I see that you’re not up on your local politics.”

  “I just came here from Mars.”

  “Yes, you seem a little green. Your uncle didn’t brief you?” Egon smiled and winked. “Had his reasons, no doubt.”

  “Can you tell me what he left out? Why have the Vitessans kidnapped me? And what do the Dancers have to do with it?”

  Egon stood up and swirled his cloak around his shoulders. With practiced oratorical skill, he declaimed, “To understand politics here, you must know about the Maccabbee Caverns. There’s no other area on Mercury like them. They slope deep into Mercury, and were the best place on the planet in which to found a city.

  “Originally, one group won the contract. Illiad Organizers provided the first settlers, set up the political structure, and contracted to put in the actual city. They were granted the territorial rights to the Maccabbee Caverns. Work began. But soon enough, there was trouble.

  “Within weeks of contracts being let and work begun, two factions vied for political control. The founding charter provided for almost everything except a clear-cut way to settle internecine disputes.

  “With opinion divided almost in half, Illiad split into two entities. They agreed to share all assets and to expand respectively into the north and south branches of the cavern system. Thus were born Kallag and Vitesse.

  “Little was known of the caverns, and at first there was no way to say which was better. But soon it became apparent that Kallag had the richer territory. Many important ore and chemical deposits were found even at the beginning. Spurred by the richness of the finds, off-planet people came to Kallag to settle and mine the caves, to raise families and increase the population. Vitesse lagged behind and risked falling under political control of its neighbor. But a balance of sorts was maintained . . . until recently, when the Dancers’ status became an issue.”

  “But what has that to do with me?” Kemal asked.

  “Why were you sent to Kallag?”

  “To sig
n a treaty between Kallag and Mercury Prime.”

  “There’s your answer. The Sun King has finally come to terms with Kallag over the Dancers, granting their political control to Kallag, which has been claiming them for a long time. Vitesse, seeking to prevent this, has supported the Dancers and now has kidnapped you with Dancer assistance.”

  “My being in a cell in Vitesse won’t stop Gordon himself or one of his sons from signing the treaty.”

  “Won’t it?” Egon asked. “I see your uncle didn’t brief you on your own position in this.”

  “How could I have a position? I’m newly arrived from Mars.”

  Egon cocked his head to one side, listening intently. Kemal heard it, too: the sound of footsteps in the corridor outside the cell.

  Egon said to Kemal, “I think you may have your questions answered by someone more knowledgeable than I.”

  The door opened, and a guard walked in. He was pushed out of the way by Duernie, moving impatiently from behind him.

  “This is not correct!” she stormed at Zac, who followed behind her. “You cannot put our representative in a cell, like a common criminal. This is an insult to the Dancers!”

  Kemal at first thought she was talking about Egon, but as Duernie approached the prince and helped him to stand, he realized that she meant him!

  “It was all a mistake,” Zac said. “I told them to take him to the hospital, not to the cell.” To Kemal he said, “I apologize most abjectly, Your Highness. Permit me to escort you to the apartments that have been prepared for your stay.”

  “I do not intend to stay!” Kemal shouted, growing more and more confused and less and less inclined to accept Vitessan hospitality.

  “As to that, let us go elsewhere and discuss it.”

  Kemal paused. “Why have you imprisoned this man?” he asked, indicating Egon. “The Musicians have always been allowed free passage among Mercury’s arcologies.”

  “Things have changed since King Ossip’s time,” Zac said. “But it is of little concern. As a courtesy to you, I will have him released. Guard, see to it! Now, let me escort you myself.”

  Kemal nodded in thanks to Egon, then allowed himself to be led out of the cell. Duernie was already several strides ahead of him and Zac. Still angry. Was she ever anything but angry? Kemal wondered. Did she ever smile? And what did she mean, when she called him the representative of the Dancers?

  10

  Zac regained his lead, led Kemal and Duernie from the prison, and escorted them into a bubble-topped electric car. He punched in a destination, and the car piloted itself along the monorails that connected all parts of Vitesse.

  The Warren city looked unlike any Kemal had seen on Mars. It was a three-dimensional structure linked together at all levels by the monorails and elevator systems. Vast pillars rose hundreds of meters into the air, providing a superstructure. The entire city reflected overhead lighting. Zac explained that the lighting was set up to present a circadian rhythm based on Earth’s. Artificial clouds diffused the lighting effects and reduced glare. Wind also was simulated. At the city’s center was Central Pond, an artificial lake that provided boating, swimming, even fishing. Sunset and sunrise effects were also created.

  The city itself was handsomely laid out, with a good mixture of buildings intercut with hydroponic garden areas, in which Vitesse grew a significant portion its own food. There was even some well-landscaped forest land.

  One thing that could not be disguised was a low, continuous vibration that accompanied the three passengers wherever they went. It was the sound of the city on the move, inching its way deeper underground, extending itself into the cave system. The industrial-sized air makers and air conditioners, too, created a continuous background hum and vibration. The soil temperature outside the city was constant, at about 300 degrees Fahrenheit, hot but manageable for the city’s life-maintaining machinery. In the center of Vitesse, Kemal saw crowds in bars and saloons, coffeehouses and public squares. Many people had an absentminded air. They seemed to be listening to the sound of the city’s engines, for on their changing tones rode the hopes and fears of the city. There was an air of anxiety that was almost palpable, and Kemal had the impression that the city was on the verge of an explosion.

  The electric car stopped, and Zac and Duernie brought Kemal through a doorway to a walled garden. Kemal found it hard to believe that he was underground in a cramped and, to believe Egon, desperate city.

  Certainly there was spaciousness and amenity here. There was a little brook, the water limpid over smooth pebbles, the whole suffused with autumnal green. And over there, the little wooden bridge (its wood imported from Earth at great expense) looked bucolic and inadvertent. Just the place for lovers, Kemal thought, or solitary walkers—or prisoners, perhaps.

  Zac brought Kemal through the garden to a suite of well-appointed rooms, rather ornate, with overstuffed sofas and high-backed chairs.

  “These are yours during your stay with us,” Zac said. “Consider this a hotel of the highest caliber. There is a menu on the dresser over there. Full laundry service. There’s a computer terminal from which you can call for all services. Perhaps you would like a rest. You and I and Duernie can dine together later and discuss everything.”

  “You were going to explain matters to me,” Kemal said. “I still don’t understand why I have been detained.”

  “My boy, it’s simple.” Zac smiled as much as Duernie did not. “Your uncle’s proposed treaty with Kallag is not acceptable to Vitesse. You see, it cedes political control of the Dancers to Kallag. And that we cannot allow, eh, Duernie?”

  Duernie didn’t answer, but her face looked, if possible, even angrier than usual.

  Kemal asked, “Do you really believe that kidnapping me will stop my uncle from signing any treaty he wants to sign?”

  “Oh, yes,” Zac said, “I think it will. For a while, at least. No treaty can legally be made respecting the Dancers without the signature and approval of their representative. That will be difficult to get, as long as we hold him here.”

  “I’m their representative?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You must have me mixed up with someone else.”

  “Not at all. Gordon was really trying to sneak one past everybody, wasn’t he? He neglected to tell even you that you are the legitimate representative of the Dancers. It is an honor you inherited directly from your father, Ossip, who was their great champion.”

  Kemal stared at him, trying to retain his composure. He had just received the one part of his father’s heritage that he hadn’t expected, or wanted: an obligation.

  11

  “Why do you always look so angry?” asked Kemal, as Duernie peered out the window at the passing crowds.

  They were in a small, private club off Vitesse’s main concourse. Zac had asked Kemal to meet him there, and, not wanting to try an escape before he knew more, Kemal obliged. Arriving, he had found Duernie, sitting at a table by the window. He had gone over and joined her.

  She turned back to him. “The freedom of my people is at issue here. That is not something to smile about.”

  “No, but it’s no reason to constantly frown, either.”

  She frowned. “That is easy for you to say. You have no commitments.”

  “How do you know that?” Kemal demanded.

  “Because I know about you. You were brought up in military schools on Mars. You’ve come here now to sign away our freedoms.”

  “Duernie, I’ve told you, I was deceived by Gordon. He didn’t tell me the issues. I’ll make up my own mind before I sign anything.”

  “You’re a Gavilan. You’ll do what they tell you.”

  “I’m Ossip’s son,” Kemal said. “I’ll do what I think is right.”

  She seemed to weigh his words. “How can you know what is right for the Dancers, when you’ve never seen how we live?”

  “You can tell me about it.”

  “Yes.” Her expression was scornful. “I suppose that wi
ll have to suffice.”

  Zac came in then, looking very pleased with himself. He sat down at their table.

  “Well, Kemal,” he said, “I hope you have not had too bad a time with us in Vitesse.”

  “You have been hospitable enough,” he conceded reluctantly.

  “I hope you will tell that to the Sun King,” Zac replied, ignoring the prince’s tone.

  “Oh, am I going to see Gordon again sometime soon?” His tone had turned sarcastic.

  “Yes, quite soon, in fact. We of Vitesse have come to an accommodation with Mercury Prime.”

  Duernie looked surprised. “What accommodation?”

  “My dear,” Zac said, “Vitesse and the Dancers have been allies for many years in our struggle against the forces of Kallag and Mercury Prime. We of Vitesse are grateful and will never forget our obligations toward your people. Nevertheless, politics being what they are, we have found it expedient to make a treaty with the Sun King, in order to preserve the rights and privileges of all. This treaty includes valuable tax concessions for your people.”

  “Zac!” Duernie was alarmed. “Have you abandoned the cause of Dancer independence?”

  “Not at all!” Zac cried. “Oh, we must make temporary concessions, that can’t be helped, but we will continue to use our best efforts toward eventual Dancer independence.”

  “But they are independent now!” Kemal said.

  “No, I’m afraid not,” Zac said. “But the new treaty is a step in the right direction. Trust me, Duernie. It will be all right in the long run.” He turned to Kemal. “We will repatriate you to Mercury Prime within the next few hours. You can sign the treaty, and all will be well.” He smiled. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Gordon knew about Duernie all along, and permitted her to kidnap you in order to put pressure on Kallag. Such subtlety would be in keeping with his nature.”

  “It would be very much like my uncle,” Kemal agreed.

  “I must take leave of you. Duernie, do not think too badly of Vitesse. Be assured of our goodwill.” Zac left in a flutter of smiles.

  As they watched Zac go, Kemal said to Duernie, “Do you still have that scout ship?”