The Summer Thieves

by Paul Di Filippo

  Johrun followed slowly, reflecting that at least if his own life were a mess, he could still improve someone else’s. That he had positively affected the future of one he held so dear made the realization all the sweeter.

  In the Red Claw Room he hoped to find Minka sober and willing to humor him with her company, alone together, as lovers should be. But instead he encountered the five graduates deep in their cups and bellowing out their alma mater’s song, “To Saints Fontessa and Kuno We Pledge Our Shining Troth Eternal,” having suborned the paid musicians of Loftin’s Invigorators to supply the tune.

  Shaking his head, feeling utterly enervated, Johrun decided to head to his room for sleep.

  On the way, he stopped first at the offices of the lodge, intending to quickly fab another vambrace, for he felt somewhat helpless and naked without the device. He empathized all the more with Lutramella’s long deprivation.

  To his surprise, he found his Grandfather Xul and his future Grandfather-in-law Brayall closeted there, having absented themselves from the party. He was obviously interrupting a deep conversation. Both men looked concerned.

  “Is there anything wrong?”

  Xul clapped a hand on Johrun’s shoulder and grinned with an effort. “Nothing really, boy. Just a small query from the Brickers that needed our attention. You know how heedless of local time they are. Back on their world, it’s just noon and some functionary feels he has to perform at least one task before lunch, to justify his pay. In fact, it’s all handled now. So you can rest easy about your future.”

  That seemed an odd thing to say. But Johrun had no energy left to pursue the matter. He hugged the two old men and said, “I’ll see you at breakfast then.” They nodded as if eager to see him leave, so they might resume their discussion.

  After securing his new vambrace, Johrun wended his way to his room. There, thinking of how he had counted on spending this night with Minka, he fell quickly asleep before he could brood overlong.

  CHAPTER 4

  Anyone encountering for the first time the breakfast buffet at Danger Acres would have instantly understood why the wildlife resort enjoyed a sterling reputation among the majority of discerning worlds in the Quinary as a place that catered most ingeniously to both the creature comforts of its patrons, and their quest for entertainment. Similar hunting preserves, such as Fannerl Groves on Wembley and Pendury Lagoon on Wezn 6, might offer luxury, but only of the staid, conventional type found in any urban hotel. The genius of Danger Acres was that the place combined hearty frontier cuisine and ambiance with sophisticated embellishments, enjoyed in a festive atmosphere of make-believe, all conducing toward a gay abandonment of cares.

  This inspired refinement had been initiated not by the rather stolid Brayall Soldevere but by his wife, Grandma Fern, whose own upbringing on the world of Zatcho, known for its nearly seamless run of holiday entertainments, had contoured her tastes and imagination.

  The long floating table that hosted the breakfast choices—other meals at the lodge were more formal affairs—featured nearly a hundred homeostatic serving pots, racks, platters, and dispensers, holding everything from simple porridges and fruit compotes to entire succulent legs of marsh venison exuding fragrant steam and rich juices. Several cooking stations, staffed by agreeable chefs, offered customized plates at the order of the diner, such as griddle cakes with a choice of sweet or savory stuffings. Ferrying beverages and removing empty plates, the many indulgent servitors—whereas Sweetmeats Pasturage got by with five hundred or so transgenics, Danger Acres employed over a thousand humans—wore the costumes of a score of primitive tribes from across the many cubic lightyears of the Quinary. The waitpeople dressed in the bodypaint and wisp-frond skirts of the Korbanese had been chosen for their admirable physiques, and elicited smiles, sighs, and salacious suggestions from men and women alike.

  Johrun entered the big high-ceilinged room feeling refreshed and more optimistic than he had been last night. A solid sleep plus the eternally cajoling and revivifying airs of Verano, slipping sweetly in now through open bays of the Prandial Prowl, had wrought their usual effect. For the millionth time he acknowledged the good fortune that had bequeathed to him such a planet, from birth to the present moment. At this early juncture of a fresh new day it seemed entirely possible that all of yesterday had been a mere bad and uncomfortable dream, and that when Minka appeared this morning she would be the smiling, open-faced girl of old, eager to hurl herself enthusiastically at him, as she had done when they were twelve-year-olds and Johrun called to her from the strider-speckled waters below the ledge where she teetered, daring the girl to dive off and into Lake Yusaima.

  The Prowl was already half-filled with lively chattering customers, for the business of Danger Acres was to continue unabated during the wedding week. Tours and hunts alike had to be conducted as usual. (The Soldeveres did not exclude any visitors interested just in viewing—at a safe remove, of course— the exotic beasts which the other clients were intent on bagging.) There had been some debate about shutting the enterprise down for the duration, and making the week an entirely private affair. But the wedding party, even though it numbered over two hundred, certainly did not need the entire facility, and in fact would have rattled lonesomely around the big lodge like a cup of dried peas in a hogshead. And so the wedding guests were mixed in with the regular clientele in a scintillating blend.

  Johrun looked about for familiar faces, saw none, and, with a sigh, arranged a solo seat at a small table near one of the windows. He would have liked to dine with his parents, and Minka’s, so as to get their candid reactions to Minka’s wayward displays—last night in public, everyone had been very formal and noncommittal—but that could wait. (Memory of Xul and Brayall’s strange late-hours tete-a-tete cropped up, but led nowhere.)

  After getting a carafe of accra tea and a chilled glass of plum juice from a very vivacious young blonde woman whose rump was painted in teal and lemon stripes and whose shaped-light nametag read CANDELA, Johrun found his appetite suddenly stoked, and he strolled over to the food concourse. There he heaped his plate with flaky cream-leaf, dashed eggs, meaty choucroute, and sweet-potato strings. Back at the table he ate with gusto while consulting his replacement vambrace. (He wondered if Lutramella had gotten any sleep at all last night, or if she had stayed awake until her lust for knowledge was temporarily sated.)

  The bride and groom’s official schedule for the week ahead consisted of an elaborate audiovisual presentation laying out all the arranged activities that would culminate in the wedding of Minka Soldevere and Johrun Corvivios just six days from now. Johrun had played no part in scripting or filming this show, and was surprised to find a digital avatar of himself performing, reciting lines he had never said. He resolved to counsel Minka against such license after they were wed. No point in making a fuss about it now, though, given that it was a done deal.

  In any case, the major activities outlined for today, aside from endless eating and drinking (Johrun tried to estimate exactly how many tuns of imported Smokestone prosecco this crowd could consume) were to consist of an extensive pool party, followed by a formal ball that evening. Tomorrow’s main exercise was to be an actual safari. Guest who wished to shoot had been asked to register in advance and provide some Quinary-certified credentials attesting to their competence. Johrun was not surprised to learn that some fifty individuals would be going out armed, in five separate squads. After all, many of these folks were friends of the Soldeveres, and had probably been active patrons here before.

  Johrun found that he had been pre-registered as a hunter, and so had Minka. He and Minka would be under the guidance of Bona Jebb Tipstaff, the head safari master, who oversaw the other twelve bonas. Normally Tipstaff did not conduct hunts himself, and his participation in this one was obviously a tribute to the romantic couple. Johrun knew him well, and liked the man’s modest expertise. He could not object to that aspect of the plan.

  But although long experienced in the sport, Johrun was
not a true enthusiast, and in fact sometimes felt that recreational killing held not a few distasteful aspects. Especially since some of the hybrid prey animals had been designed with higher levels of intelligence, so as to provide more challenging sport. Much better to raise dumb food beasts such as the herples, even if the stock animals all ended up just as dead for the pleasure of humans as those trophy beasts. However, as the cynosure of the celebration, and also as the future co-owner of Danger Acres, Johrun could hardly be expected to deny his participation.

  After mopping up the last of his eggs, Johrun placed a call to Arbona, the chimera they had left in charge of their ranch, and learned that all was well there. He contemplated another run at the buffet, but had to acknowledge he was well stuffed. So he got up to search out someone, anyone, who could further his various desires, whether that be Minka, his parents, or even Lutramella. Johrun was curious to learn if possession of her own vambrace had perhaps changed the splice’s plans to leave Verano and retire offplanet. Maybe a solid connection to the Quinary at large would satisfy her desire for a change of scene, and she could be persuaded to finish out her days at Sweetmeats Pasturage. Surely if his quiet old nursemaid stayed out from underfoot, Minka would not object to her presence . . .

  At the busy entrance to the Prowl where newcomers and departees were in flux, Johrun was nearly bowled over by an enormous figure trotting backwards through the crowd so as to address those following him. Ox Nixon, one of the illustrious alumni of Saints Fontessa and Kuno, was outlining his planned assault on the buffet.

  “And after I wipe bare the platter heaped high with chive fritters, I will make my move on the unsuspecting bison haunch, followed by three or four game pies and enough cups of hot mocambo to float a battleship!”

  The women, Trina Mirid and Viana Salp, laughed heartily at Ox’s declaration, urging him on with cries of “Tell us more!” and “What next?” The elegant Braheem Porter declared, “Ox, you were ever the best trencherman at Saint Squared U. I recall when you drove the refectory prefect to quit his post and join the Order of the Huddleston Martyrs.”

  Johrun deftly sidestepped the blind steamroller approach of the giant and saw Minka, striding abreast of Anders Braulio. She looked more self-composed, less manic—although her gaze still exhibited an unnatural restlessness, a kind of darting apprehensiveness.

  Coming alongside his future bride, Johrun clasped her upper arm, pausing her while he leaned in for a kiss. Minka allowed his lips to graze her cheek. Then, apparently reconsidering her demure stance, or motivated by some imp of the perverse, she grabbed Johrun by the ears and glued her lips to his in a demonstration of unbounded lust.

  When Johrun broke free he found the five students grinning at his obvious discomfiture. Minka herself seemed unconcerned with her overweening display. Johrun glared back hotfaced at the others until Anders broke the standoff. The handsome fellow, dressed in supple golden leather trousers and a cream-colored kameez, looked well recovered from any overindulgences of the night before.

  “Journeys end in lovers meeting! The wisdom of the ancients is borne out yet again! I think we are all just settling into ourselves after yesterday’s confusing arrivals and social plunges. Let us all just wrap ourselves around some breakfast, and we’ll be solid, sensible citizens again.”

  Anders draped an arm in comradely fashion over Johrun’s shoulder and Johrun was perforce made to accompany the gaggle of graduates.

  At their chosen table, Ox quickly began to make good on his boasts. He seemed more food-processing machine than man. Braheem, Trina, and Viana attempted to sample at least a tiny bite of everything, leaving much wasted food behind on their plates before multiple returns to the buffet. Anders and Minka ate more conventionally. Johrun had no stomach for more food, but did drink too much of the stimulating hot mocambo, leaving him jittery, while he listened to Minka explain her post-graduation travels to him.

  “I did so want to see the fabled Glass Grottos on Irion. And Irion is much closer to Loudermilk III than it is to us here. Merely two days’ crossbrane travel. And I knew it might be my last chance for a while to make such a visit, since I had to return home to my duties.”

  Johrun wanted to object to this arid classification of their wedding and married life, but bit his tongue.

  “And with Anders having his ship handy, it seemed destined. Despite all the nervous nesters warning us that the phagoplasm outbreak would make such a visit impossible. But we persisted, and luck was with us. The day of our arrival marked the first time the area around the Glass Grotto was deemed free of the pests.”

  Anders interjected, “Well, we did skirt the clearance by a few hours, knowing we had to be back here by a certain day”

  “Oh, but it was so worth it! The shimmers, the refractions. the reflections, the facets—it was like being enclosed alive in some diamond worn by a goddess!”

  Johrun’s cautious nature returned to the matter of the health risks on Irion and the interdiction. “The phagoplasm plague— what’s the exact nature of that? I’m sure the authorities must have had good reason for forbidding any trespassing.”

  Anders waved away Johrun’s concerns. “Paltry and exiguous! The infestation consisted merely of a kind of semi-sentient stealthy mycocelium that is wont to inveigle its animal victims into a kind of involuntary syzygy. Completely macroscopic, not like some kind of invisible germ, and hence easy to avoid. The Blue Doyens of Irion were utterly overreacting. Why, they lost millions of chains in stymied tourist trade! And of course I was there, ever vigilant, for the whole excursion, to make sure no harm came to your bride.”

  Johrun resented the proprietary note in Anders’s voice, but again chose not to rebuke the man. After all, these annoying school chums of Minka’s would be gone in a few days, and he and Minka would have the rest of their life together to share. He could be magnanimous and tolerate the gaffes and crudity of the gang.

  “Well, I thank you, Anders.” Seeking to change the subject, Johrun said, “I expect to see all of you at the swim today and the dance tonight.”

  “We wouldn’t miss it! But what I’m really keen on is the hunt tomorrow.”

  “Do you shoot?”

  “Yes, of course. My uncle Zerb—that esteemed patron of this establishment whom Minka’s grandpop knows—taught me from youth. I registered early this morning. And while it took some doing—Minka had to intervene—I’m to form part of your party, under that Tipstaff fellow. Just me, though. Ox, Braheem, Viana, Trina—they all would rather climb a prickle-pod tree bare-arsed than go on safari.”

  Johrun could feel his ire rising, but tamped it down. “That’s fine. We hunt gryffoths tomorrow, you know. Big game. Have you ever gone up against such?”

  “No, but I don’t anticipate any difficulties. Does it really matter what kind of beast stands on the wrong end of a ceegee rifle?”

  “No,” said Johrun. “It only matters what kind of hunter stands on the working end of the gun.”

  And realizing he would never deliver a more satisfying riposte or engineer a better departure line, Johrun stood to leave.

  “Minka, I’ll call for you at noon.”

  The young woman seemed more subdued than eager. “I’ll be ready.”

  Out in the main lobby, Johrun brought up the locator tags on his extended family. Somewhat to his surprise, he found all eight of them clustered in the same room. Could there still be any planning left to do for the wedding that would bring them all into such late council? Johrun resolved to find out what was happening.

  The boardroom of Danger Acres was reached down a long offlimits corridor behind the main registration desk. Broadcasting his private identity to all wards and baffles, Johrun’s vambrace secured him admission past several locked doors. Through the last one, he encountered all his beloved family—both those linked by blood and those linked by spirit— seated around a big circular table of scented silver marne wood. Inexplicably, they regarded his entrance not with joy, but with varying degrees of muted ch
agrin, solicitous affection, and peeved upset. Johrun was taken aback by their less-than-enthusiastic reception, but tried to make light of the situation.

  “Do I intrude on the secret plans for my bachelor party perhaps? Were you arguing over how many naked temptresses can fit in a cake? If so, I’ll leave . . .”

  Landon, his father, stood up and attempted a half-hearted smile. “You officious young dolt! Come here. If I thought you really wanted a bachelor party, I’d have already arranged for the importation of a bevy of beauties from the Sarzanan casinos! No, this is strictly a business meeting, concerning an unexpected matter that lands with unfortunate timing. But since you’ve tracked us down here, you might as well get in on it. Although after you learn all, you need not really trouble yourself with the annoying affair, since there’s nothing you can add to its solution.”

  Landon conducted Johrun to an empty seat next to his, and the young man dropped down, awaiting the offered explanation. Brayall and Xul, the elders, looked significantly at each other, and then Johrun’s own grandfather, Xul, spoke.

  “You are aware, I am sure, of how the Soldeveres and the Corvivioses came into possession of Verano.”

  “Of course. It’s a living legend. You and Grandpa Brayall, before even you knew Grandma Chirelle and Grandma Fern, won our world in a game of chance from its original discoverer, Honko Drowne. He grudgingly made over the title to you both, the Brickers affirmed the transfer in their registry, and that was that.”

  “Yes, this is the essence of our history. Or so we always affirmed. But yesterday we received an official communication from the Brickers on Bodenshire stating that they have recently uncovered something amiss with the original transfer and registration, upon application for investigation by a third party. It appears that Verano might not be properly endorsed in our names.”