New Celebrations
Star Well and The Thurb Revolution Original Copyright © 1968 by Alexei Panshin. Masque World Original Copyright © 1969 by Alexei Panshin. All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1-930815-32-8
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New Celebrations
The Adventures of Anthony Villiers
By Alexei Panshin
ElectricStory.com, Inc.
Book I: Star Well
For George Price
and Bob Troester
INTRODUCTION
by Samuel R. Delany
Star Well is a wise, delightful, and well-turned book; and it is something I have never seen in science fiction before. It is the first of a series of novels that examines the proposition that the world is composed of small communities of mutual interest. When the pith of that statement is bared as astutely as it is in this novel, it does not matter which “small community” you belong to: Star Well hits.
I write this as the second volume of the adventures of Anthony Villiers nears completion. Looking for an analogue to this roman fleuve in the mainstream, I come up with A Dance to the Music of Time, perhaps Men of Good Will, definitely NOT Jalna. Twenty-eight-year-old Mr. Panshin’s credentials for the undertaking are impressive. He is the author of one fine and solidly classical sf novel, Rite of Passage; he was the recipient of a “Hugo” award from the World Science Fiction Convention in 1967 for his critical writing over the previous year; he recently published the first full-length study of Robert Heinlein, Heinlein in Dimension; his short stories have appeared in Analog, If, Fantasy & Science Fiction, and Galaxy.
What follows is a gallery of gamblers, duels and double-crosses, a minuet of manners and manners mangled; the machinery of the universe is speculated upon; inspector generals arrive to inspect it. And Anthony Villiers, gentleman par excellence, dashes through it all, buckling a swash or two, bungling a couple of others.
Mr. Villiers?
If you consider it impolite to strike up an acquaintance with someone you have not been formally introduced to, well—consider the introduction made.
New York, April 1968
To history buffs, the year was 4171 A.U.C. To Christians, it was 3418. To Moslems, it was late in the year 2882. But by common reckoning, the year was 1461.
1
The universal soil is not uniformly fertile. There are places where the stars don’t grow. Cutting into the edge of the Empire of Nashua is the Flammarion Rift, named after—never mind. Anyone dead that long is fortunate even to be known by a hole.
The only features of the rift are a few pieces of random sky junk. No one knows where they came from. No one has ever determined their number or charted their courses. However, there are rumors that a few are inhabited by men who prefer a cold and irregular existence to the certainties of warmer climates.
One exception: one rock is a regular port of call for ships that venture into the rift. This planetoid, Star Well, provides a rest in passage, warehouses, entertainment, comfort, games—everything, in short, but a sun, atmosphere, and close neighbors.
* * *
Anthony Villiers entered the casino in Star Well and looked about him with an elegant air of assurance that some might have taken for arrogance. There was no day or night within the planetoid. Ships arrived at irregular hours with passengers on every sort of sleeping and waking schedule. The casino was open round the clock and the play remained constant hour to hour.
Villiers moved among the tables, pausing occasionally, watching the play and moving on. He placed no bets himself. He was dressed ahead of the first fashion. His shoulder ribbons were green, his drapeau a darker green. His heels were a half inch, moderate considering that his natural height was not great. His hair—brown—was free.
He had been at Star Well through the arrival and departure of three ships and was beginning to be able to find his way through the maze with a certain degree of confidence, and to recognize schedules. He raised his eyebrows slightly to see that the floor man was Derek Godwin and not Hisan Bashir Shirabi, the obsequious owner of Star Well, usually himself in charge at this hour.
Godwin was dressed stylishly, too, but where Villiers’ clothes were a moderately voiced statement, Godwin’s were a strident claim, the choice of a man with an uncertain background or uncertain taste. Nonetheless, he stood out in this company for other reasons: not only was he second in authority in Star Well, but he had a certain reputation as a dangerous man.
“Good evening, Mr. Villiers.”
Villiers turned to find that the voice belonged to Norman Adams, a young gentleman he had had occasion to share a dinner table with. Though Adams was only a few years younger, he had a helter-skelter eagerness that made Villiers feel a sober dog.
“Mr. Adams,” he said.
Adams nodded in the direction Villiers had been looking. “In truth,” he said, “Godwin dresses well. I like the cut of his coat.”
“Yes,” said Villiers. “For parts as lonely as these, he manages to present an appearance that would pass inspection in grander company than he is likely to find here.”
“Do you think so?”
Adams himself was dressed well, but conservatively, as though he had been much influenced by the taste of older men, or perhaps had but recently arrived from some comparative backwater. Nonetheless, Villiers had seen one recent ex-priest and any number of off-duty Naval officers on Nashua itself in whose company Adams could comfortably have fitted.
“Yes,” Villiers said. “If you like his tastes, you might ask him for the name of his tailor while you have the opportunity to take advantage of it.”
Adams nodded. “A good idea, sir,” he said. “But Godwin is not precisely an approachable man. At least I don’t find him so. He makes me feel like a puppy who doesn’t know enough to sit quietly in the corner, and the more he retreats, the more I feel myself to press.”
“Well, perhaps an opportunity will present itself,” Villiers said.
Adams rattled the stack of tokens in his hand. “Do you gamble?”
Villiers said, “I seek to ape affluence by compounding my bills, but I have yet to find a game to my liking.”
Adams laughed.
“Would you care to join me in a small game between ourselves?” Villiers asked. “Raffles, perhaps?”
Adams made a face. “I used to play that with my sisters.”
“Simple games can still be interesting.”
“No disrespect, sir, but I think I’d prefer a more active pleasure.” Adams pointed at the colored fountain of the Flambeau. The red ball danced on the cone of flame and then fell as the fire died. “I feel my luck tonight.”
“In that case, allow me to accompany you.”
They walked arm-in-arm to the Flambeau table. Adams was much the larger, round-faced, not yet used to his size and strength, something of the puppy he had likened himself to. Villiers was small, slight and quick, and rather more reserved. Adams, enjoying himself hugely, placed emphatic bets, smiled widely when he won and drew pained breaths when he lost. He lost more than he won. Villiers stood at his elbow as the game followed its steady cycle. The game, like all its ancestors before it, allocated bets at varying odds, and Villiers played conservatively, small
bets on odd or even, white or black. If he lost more than he won, he did not lose much. He offered Adams no advice on his play.
At last, Adams rattled three final tokens in his fist and then held them out on the tips of his fingers as he considered.
“Poor things,” he said. “Well, one last bet. Let me see—fifteen is a round number and today’s date.”
“Today is the sixteenth,” said the operator of the table. “The date changed thirty minutes ago.”
“Ah,” said Adams, “then the ship from Morian arrives tomorrow?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well. Nonetheless, I like fifteen.” He dropped the tokens on the number and touched the brown and friendly figure in the background of the square. “And I had a pet gorf when I was a boy.”
“A good reason for making a choice on a final bet,” Villiers said. Instead of following his usual practice, he dropped his token on the picture of the little animal too. “I believe I’ll join you.”
“The betting is closing. The betting is closing. The betting is closed.”
The fire slowly rose, showing first scarlet, then luminous sulphur yellow. The fire swirled and flames of blue and green and purple played their own private games. On top of all the red ball bobbed, King of the Mountain. Then suddenly the flame was gone and the king was without his mountain, The ball floated slowly down, a ball no longer. It touched the bowl, bounced, touched again, and collapsed in a puddle.
“Sixteen, animal, black,” announced the table man. He and his assistant began raking in tokens and paying the few winners around the wide table.
“Damnation!” said Adams. “I should have followed the date! I knew it. I’ve been so close this evening. I hate to quit now.” He checked his pockets, pulled out a purse and began counting his money. “Yes. If you will wait, Mr. Villiers, I will be back directly.”
Villiers said, “Luck doesn’t seem to be running our way tonight.”
“But it is!”
Villiers measured the few tokens he held between finger and thumb. “Do you say so? Perhaps it would be best to let a final bet be a final bet and end the evening. Come, sir, I’ll buy you a drink or a smoke, whichever you prefer.”
Adams said, “No, thank you, Mr. Villiers.”
A voice bid them good evening and they turned to discover Godwin. He, also, was a taller, more robust man than Villiers. His face was narrow and his nose large and pointed, which gave him a vulpine air. His long black hair was caught at the sides in matching ornamental pins with silver figures. He wore a thin mustache that he constantly sleeked with a thumbnail, lending the impression that it might be its narrow self from attrition rather than design.
“Good evening, Mr. Godwin,” said Villiers.
“Enjoying yourselves, I trust?”
Villiers shrugged. “Indifferently. I must confess that I would prefer more individual sport. Would the house, in your person, favor me with a game of raffles?” He turned to Adams. “It is your intention, is it not, to continue to play Flambeau?”
“It is.”
“Then, Mr. Godwin?”
Godwin regarded him with his usual cold glance. “You play raffles, do you? I might have supposed. But up until now you have been content with the tables.”
“Up until now it has not mattered to me whether I won or lost.”
“I might oblige you, then, if you need to lose to a man rather than to a machine.” Godwin raised a be-ringed hand and made two rapid hand signals.
“Mr. Shirabi allows you this much latitude?”
Godwin flared. “I don’t need Shirabi’s permission! He has no con—” Then he checked himself and lowered his voice. “Say, if you will, that I am trusted to the extent of a game of raffles.”
“Ah, you play well, then?” Villiers turned to Adams. “If you will excuse us? Perhaps we may share an evening again before your ship leaves.”
Adams salaamed with a regimental exactness. “Mr. Villiers. Mr. Godwin, sir.”
Godwin grunted and turned away. Villiers joined him. Adams looked after them for a moment as they walked together between the widely spaced tables, his face tightening like a child’s who has accidentally chosen the smaller slice of cake. Then he turned to go for his tokens.
As they walked, Villiers said to Godwin, “I confess I was surprised to find you on the floor at this hour.”
“Oh?”
“It seems to me that on other occasions Mr. Shirabi has overseen operations at this time.”
“You are very observant. Shirabi had some . . . warehouse work he wanted to supervise personally.”
“There are things, then, that you aren’t . . . permitted . . . to handle?”
Godwin gave Villiers a sharp glance, then smiled thinly. They had reached the side of the casino where a table and two chairs were being placed by two floor workers. One of them handed Godwin several packs of cards.
He motioned Villiers to take a seat. Seating himself, he said, “If Shirabi were here, would you have challenged him to play?”
“Perhaps.”
“That coarse a man? I know you better than that. You would never sit to play with a man who is that obviously not a gentleman.”
Villiers smiled faintly, but made no comment.
Godwin opened a pack of cards. “What stakes will you have?”
“You name them.”
“Ten royals a game, five on crevasses, a royal for odd points.”
“In that case, you must accept my vowel. I haven’t enough to cover those stakes on my person. Or, if you would prefer, I’ll go to my quarters and return.”
“It won’t be necessary,” Godwin said. “Your losses can be added to your bill.”
“Most kind.”
“Shall we match cards for deal?”
“Not necessary,” said Villiers. “Deal, Mr. Godwin.”
Godwin dealt their hands, then placed the stack at the right. As he was dealing, Villiers said, “I am reminded. I meant to ask the name of your tailor.”
Godwin regarded his cards briefly after completing the deal, then looked at Villiers. “Your clothes seem well enough, if a bit dull. Still, if you would like . . .”
Villiers laughed. “I’ve misled you, I’m afraid. This is not for my benefit, but for Mr. Adams. He seems to prefer your taste and my company.”
“That puppy!” Godwin said explosively, and played.
“As you say. You both see him in the same way.”
“We both?”
“You and himself. I think he feels his lack of polish and finds you the most shining gentleman in sight. It’s a compliment, sir, I should think. You discard well.”
“If you find the boy such good company, you might introduce him to your own tailor.”
“My tailor, unfortunately, is not near at hand. And, again as you say, my clothes are dull.”
Godwin looked at him across the narrow table. “And my tailor is at hand?”
Villiers shrugged and played a card. “I merely agreed to ask for his name. I have no ambitions for such a striking appearance as yours. As you see, I have neither your size nor your dash.”
“You say he prefers my taste and your company. Do you think he would prefer my company if I encouraged him?”
“Very likely,” said Villiers.
The hand ended then with Villiers technically the winner. In money, he was slightly the poorer since Godwin had scored two crevasses, but the deal passed to his hands, giving him a slight advantage. He dealt methodically, with none of the slickness that Godwin had displayed.
“However,” Villiers said, “I suppose that I would prefer that you reserved your favor.”
Godwin raised his eyebrows.
“I suspect you might become irritated with Mr. Adams and find it necessary to kill him.”
Godwin laughed. “You needn’t worry, Villiers. I’ve made a resolution to avoid trouble this year. As Shirabi said, five men last year was excessive and one led to complications. A Naval ship put in to investigate. Quite natu
rally I was vindicated, but the answering of questions was a bore. And I agree—I would soon become irritated with Adams. Mr. Adams.”
Godwin leaned forward and picked up a discard. “Thank you. You know, there are several things about you that puzzle me.” He played a card. “You are an enigmatic man, sir.”
“Not at all,” said Villiers. “If anything, I have a reputation for being altogether too open.”
“Perhaps, perhaps.” Godwin looked at him directly. “But you do dress well. No, no—you do. Your manners are—shall we say—better than my own. Your baggage is both expensive and of considerable size. Yet you travel with no servant. Do you not admit that this seems strange?”
Godwin played his last card and Villiers laid his hand down.
“You play well, Mr. Godwin. Shall we have a third hand?”
“If you like. But I’m afraid that it must be the last.”
As Godwin dealt, Villiers said, “There is no puzzle, I’m afraid. My man and I have temporarily been separated by circumstance. I expect him to arrive on the next ship from Morian.”
“Quite simple indeed,” Godwin said. “Then tell me if you will why you insisted so genteelly on this game?”
“Again there is no puzzle. I have no objection to losing money at the gaming table. It is a normal living expense. However, I prefer the random games that I play to actually have a random element. If it is lacking then, in your words, I prefer to lose to a man rather than a machine.”
Godwin paused abruptly in his play. Then, after a moment, he laughed coldly and laid down a card. “You are observant.”
“If you mean your occasional lapses as we have been playing, they haven’t been greatly expensive. If you mean the Flambeau table, being observant wasn’t necessary. Your table man is an antic. He was chasing Mr. Adams’ bets around and around the table, playing tag.”
Godwin’s eyebrows lifted and his thumb ran thoughtfully over his mustache. He raised his hand and made another signal. Almost immediately a hulk wearing the casino uniform was standing by the table. He was closer to seven feet in height than to six. His right hand was a broad scoop and his thumb was the size of two of Villiers’ fingers. His left hand was in a pocket, toying with something. His nose was low-bridged and turned up on the end. In effect, the nostrils were set directly in the face. The face itself was round and piggish in appearance.
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