Planet of Adventure

by Jack Vance

  "A moment," said Reith. "At a conscious level I am convinced of your integrity, but I can't control my instinctive suspicions. Let us make the arrangement together."

  "As you wish," said Helsse graciously. "I will send the chauffeur for the man."

  He spoke into the mesh.

  Anacho murmured, "If the arrangements were already made, the qualms of a trusting person might easily be drugged."

  Helsse nodded judiciously. "I believe I can assuage your anxieties."

  A moment later the old man sauntered up to the carriage.

  "Inside, if you please," said Helsse.

  The old man poked his white-maned face through the door. "My time is valuable; what do you want of me?"

  "A matter for your profit."

  "Profit, eh? I can at least listen." He entered the carriage, and seated himself with a comfortable grunt. The air took on the odor of a spicy, slightly rancid pomade. Helsse stood in front of him. With a side glance toward Reith he said,

  "Our arrangement is canceled. Do not heed my instructions."

  " 'Arrangement'? 'Instructions'? What are you talking about? You must mistake me for another. I am Zarfo Detwiler."

  Helsse made an easy gesture. "It's all one. We want you to translate a Wankh document for us, the guide to a treasure hoard. Translate correctly, you shall share the booty."

  "No, no, none of that." Zarfo Detwiler waved a black finger. "I'll share the booty with pleasure; additionally I want a hundred sequins, and no recriminations if I fail to satisfy you."

  "No recriminations, agreed. But a hundred sequins for possibly nothing?

  Ridiculous. Here: five sequins and eat your fill of the expensive sweetmeats."

  "That last I'll do anyway; am I not your invited guest?" Zarfo Detwiler popped a handful of dainties into his mouth. "You must think me a moon-calf to offer but five sequins. Only three persons in Settra can so much as tell you which side of a Wankh ideogram is up. I alone can read meaning, by virtue of thirty toilsome years in the Ao Hidis machine shops."

  The haggling proceeded; Zarfo Detwiler eventually agreed to fifty sequins and a tenth share of the assumptive spoils. Helsse signaled Reith, who produced the documents.

  Zarfo Detwiler took the papers, squinted, frowned, ran his fingers through his white mane. He looked up and spoke somewhat ponderously: "I will instruct you in Wankh communication at no charge. The Wankh are a peculiar folk, totally unique.

  Their brain works in pulses. They see in pulses and think in pulses. Their speech comes in a pulse, a chime of many vibrations which carries all the meaning of a sentence. Each ideogram is equivalent to a chime, which is to say, a whole unit of meaning. For this reason, to read Wankh is as much a matter of divination as logic; one must enunciate an entire meaning with each ideogram.

  Even the Wankhmen are not always accurate. Now this matter you have here-let me see. This first chimehm. Notice this comb? It usually signifies an equivalence, an identity. A square of this texture shading off to the right sometimes means

  'truth' or 'verified perception' or 'situation' or perhaps 'present condition of the cosmos.' These marks-I don't know. This bit of shading-I think it's a person talking. Since it's at the bottom, the base tone in the chord, it would seem that-yes, this trifle here indicates positive volition. These marks--hm. Yes, these are organizers, which specify the order and emphasis of the other elements. I can't understand them; I can only guess at the total sense.

  Something like 'I wish to report that conditions are identical or unchanged' or

  'A person is anxious to specify that the cosmos is stable.' Something of the sort. Are you sure that this is information regarding treasure?"

  "It was sold to us on this basis."

  "Hm." Zarfo pulled at his long black nose. "Let me see. This second symbol: notice this shading and this bit of an angle? One is 'vision'; the other is

  'negation.' I can't read the organizers, but it might mean 'blindness' or

  'invisibility...' "

  Zarfo continued his lucubrations, poring over each ideogram, occasionally tracing out a fragment of meaning, more often confessing failure, and becoming ever more restive. "You have been gulled," he said at last. "I'm certain there is no mention of money or treasure. I believe this is no more than a commercial report. It seems to say, as close as I can fathom: 'I wish to state that conditions are the same.' Something about peculiar wishes, or hopes, or volitions. 'I will presently see the dominant man, the leader of our group.'

  Something unknown. 'The leader is not helpful,' or perhaps 'stays aloof.' 'The leader slowly changes, or metamorphoses, to the enemy.' Or perhaps, 'The leader slowly changes to become like the enemy.' Change of some sort-I can't understand. 'I request more money.' Something about arrival of a newcomer or stranger 'of utmost importance.' That's about all."

  Reith thought to sense an almost imperceptible relaxation in Helsse's manner.

  "No great illumination," said Helsse briskly. "Well, you have done your best.

  Here is your twenty sequins."

  "'Twenty sequins'!" roared Zarfo Detwiler. "The price agreed was fifty! How can I buy my bit of meadowland if I am constantly cheated?"

  "Oh very well, if you choose to be niggardly."

  "Niggardly, indeed! Next time read the message yourself."

  "I could do as well, for all the help you've given us."

  "You were duped. That is no guide to treasure."

  "Apparently not. Well then, good day to you."

  Reith followed Zarfo from the carriage. He looked back in at Helsse. "I'll remain here, for a word or two with this gentleman."

  Helsse was not pleased. "We must discuss another matter. It is necessary that the Blue Jade Lord receives information."

  "This afternoon I will have a definite answer for you."

  Helsse gave a curt nod. "As you wish."

  The carriage departed, leaving Reith and the Lokhar standing in the street.

  Reith said, "Is there a tavern nearby? Perhaps we can chat over a bottle."

  "I am a Lokhar," snorted the black-skinned old man. "I do not addle my brains and drain my pockets with drink; not before noon, at any rate. However you may buy me a fine Zam sausage, or a clut of headcheese."

  "With pleasure."

  Zarfo led the way to a food shop; the two men took their purchases to a table on the street.

  "I am amazed by your ability to read the ideograms," said Reith. "Where did you learn?"

  "At Ao Hidis. I worked as a die cutter beside an old Lokhar who was a true genius. He taught me to recognize a few chimes, and showed me where the shadings matched intensity vibrations, where sonority equated with shape, where the various chord components matched texture and gradation. Both the chimes and the ideograms are regular and rational, once the eye and the ear are tuned. But the tuning is difficult." Zarfo took a great bite of sausage. "Needless to say, the Wankhmen discourage such learning; if they suspect a Lokhar of diligent study, he is discharged. Oh, they are a crafty lot! They jealously guard their role as intercessors between the Wankh and the world of men. A devious folk! The women are strangely beautiful, like black pearls, but cruel and cold, and not prone to dalliance."

  "The Wankh pay well?"

  "Like everyone else, as little as possible. But we are forced to concede. If labor costs rose, they would take slaves, or train Blacks and Purples, one or the other. We would then lose employment and perhaps our freedom as well. So we strive without too much complaint, and seek more profitable employment elsewhere once we are skilled."

  "It is highly likely," said Reith, "that the Yao Helsse, in the gray and green suit, will ask what we discussed. He may even offer you money."

  Zarfo bit off a chunk of sausage. "I shall naturally tell all, if I am paid enough."

  "In that case," said Reith, "our conversation must deal in pleasantries, profitless to both of us."

  Zarfo chewed thoughtfully. "How much profit had you in mind?"

  "I don't care to specify, si
nce you would only ask Helsse for more, or try to extract the same from both of us."

  Zarfo sighed dismally. "You have a sorry opinion of the Lokhar. Our word is our bond; once we strike a bargain we do not deviate."

  The haggling continued on a more or less cordial level until for the sum of twenty sequins Zarfo agreed to guard the privacy of the conversation as fiercely as he might the hiding place of his money, and the sum was paid over.

  "Back to the Wankh message for a moment," said Reith. "There were references to a 'leader.' Were there hints or clues by which to identify him?"

  Zarfo pursed his lips. "A wolf-tone indicating high-level gentry; another honorific brevet which might signify something like 'a person of the excellent sort' or 'in your own image,' 'of your sort.' It is very difficult. A Wankh reading the ideogram would understand a chime, which then would stimulate a visual image complete in essential details. The Wankh would be furnished a mental image of the person, but for someone like myself there are only crude outlines. I can tell no more."

  "You work in Settra?"

  "Alas. A man of my years and impoverished: isn't it a pity?

  But I near my goal, and then back to Smargash, in Lokhara, for a bit of meadow, a young wife, a comfortable chair by the hearth."

  "You worked in the space shops at Ao Hidis?"

  "Yes, indeed; I transferred from the tool works to the space shops, where I repaired and installed air purifiers."

  "Lokhar mechanics must be very skillful, then."

  "Oh, indeed."

  "Certain mechanics specialize upon the installation of, say, controls and instruments?"

  "Naturally. Complex trades, both."

  "Have such mechanics immigrated to Settra?"

  Zarfo gave Reith a calculating glance. "How much is the information worth to you?"

  "Control your avarice," said Reith. "No more money today. Another sausage, if you like."

  "Later, perhaps. Now as to the mechanics: in Smargash are dozens, hundreds, retired after lifetimes of toil."

  "Could they be tempted to join in a dangerous venture?"

  "No doubt, if the danger were scant and the profit high. What do you propose?"

  Reith threw caution to the winds. "Assume that someone wished to confiscate a Wankh spaceship and fly it to an unspecified destination: how many specialists would be required, and how much would it cost to hire them?"

  Zarfo, to Reith's relief, did not stare in bewilderment or shock. He gnawed for a moment at the last of the sausage. Then, after a belch, he said, "I believe that you are asking if I consider the exploit feasible. It has often been discussed in a jocular manner, and for a fact the ships are not stringently guarded. The project is feasible. But why should you want a spaceship? ,I do not care to visit the Dirdir on Sibol or test the infinity of the universe."

  "I can't discuss the destination."

  "Well then, how much money do you offer?"

  "My plans have not progressed to that stage. What do you consider a suitable fee?"

  "To risk life and freedom? I would not stir for less than fifty thousand sequins."

  Reith rose to his feet. "You have your fifty sequins; I have my information. I trust you to keep my secret."

  Zarfo sat sprawled back in his chair. "Now then, not so fast. After all I am old and my life is not worth so much after all. Thirty thousand? Twenty? Ten?"

  "The figure starts to become practical. How much of a crew will we need?"

  "Four or five more, possibly six. You envision a long voyage?"

  "As soon as we are in space, I will reveal our destination. Ten thousand sequins is only a preliminary payment. Those who go with me will return with wealth beyond their dreams."

  Zarfo rose to his feet. "When do you propose to leave?"

  "As soon as possible. Another matter: Settra is overrun with spies; it's important that we attract no attention."

  Zarfo gave a hoarse laugh. "So this morning you approach me in a vast carriage, worth thousands of sequins. A man watches us even now."

  "I've been noticing him. But he seems too obvious to be a spy. Well, then, where shall we meet, and when?"

  "Upon the stroke of midmorning tomorrow, at the stall of Upas the spice merchant in the Cercade. Be certain you are not followed ... That fellow yonder I believe to be an assassin, from the style of his garments."

  The man at this moment approached their table. "You are Adam Reith?"

  "Yes."

  "I regret to say that the Security Assassination Company has accepted a contract made out in your name: the Death of the Twelve Touches. I will now administer the first inoculation. Will you be so good as to bare your arm? I will merely prick you with this splint."

  Reith backed away. "I'll do nothing of the sort."

  "Depart!" Zarfo Detwiler told the assassin. "This man is worth ten thousand sequins to me alive; dead, nothing."

  The assassin ignored Zarfo. To Reith he said, "Please do not make an undignified display. The process then becomes protracted and painful for us all. So then-"

  Zarfo roared: "Stand away; have I not warned you?" He snatched up a chair and struck the assassin to the ground. Zarfo was not yet satisfied. He picked up the splint, jabbed it into the back of the man's thigh, through the rust-ocher corduroy of his trousers. "Halt!" wailed the assassin. "That is Inoculation Number One!"

  Zarfo seized a handful of splints from the splayed-open wallet. "And here," he roared, "are numbers Two to Twelve!" And with a foot on the man's neck he thrust the handful into the twitching buttocks. "There you are, you knave! Do you want the next episode, Numbers Thirteen to Twenty-four?"

  "No, no, let me be; I am a dead man now!"

  "If not, you're a cheat as well as an assassin!"

  Passersby had halted to watch. A portly woman in pink silk rushed forward. "You hairy black villain, what are you doing to that poor assassin? He is only a workman at his trade!"

  Zarfo picked up the assassin's work sheet, looked down the list. "Hm. It appears that your husband is next on his list."

  The woman looked with startled eyes after the assassin now tottering off down the street.

  "Time we were leaving," said Reith.

  They walked through back alleys to a small shed, screened from the street by a lattice of woven withe. "It is the neighborhood corpsehouse," said Zarfo. "No one will bother us here."

  Reith entered, looked gingerly around the black benches on one of which lay the hulk of a small animal.

  "Now then," said Zarfo, "who is your enemy?"

  "I suspect a certain Dordolio," said Reith. "I can't be sure."

  Zarfo scrutinized the work sheet. "Well, we shall see. 'Adam Reith, the Travelers' Inn-Contract Number Two-three-o-five, Style Eighteen; prepaid.' Dated today, surcharged 'Rush.' Prepaid, eh? Well then, let us try a ruse. Back to my cottage."

  He took Reith to one of the brick towers, entered by an arched doorway. On a table rested a telephone. Zarfo lifted the instrument with cautious fingers.

  "Connect me with the Security Assassination Company."

  A grave voice spoke. "We are here to serve your needs."

  "I refer to Contract Number Two-three-o-five," said Zarfo, "relating to a certain Adam Reith. I can't find the estimate and I wish to pay the charges."

  "A moment, my lord."

  The voice presently returned. "The contract was prepaid, my lord; and was scheduled for execution this morning."

  "Prepaid? Impossible. I did not prepay. What is the name on the receipt?"

  "The name is Helsse Izam. I'm sure there is no mistake, sir."

  "Perhaps not. I'll discuss the matter with the person involved."

  "Thank you, sir, for your custom."

  CHAPTER NINE

  REITH RETURNED TO the Travelers' Inn, and with a certain trepidation, entered the foyer where he found Traz. "What has occurred, if anything?"

  Traz, the most lucid and decisive of individuals, was less deft when it came to communicating a mood. "The Yao-Helsse, is tha
t his name? became silent after you left the carriage. Perhaps he found us strange company. He told us that tonight we would dine with the Blue Jade Lord, that he would come early to instruct us in decorum. Then he drove off in the carriage."

  A perplexing sequence of events, reflected Reith. An interesting point: the contract had specified Twelve Touches. If his death were urgently required, a knife, a bullet, an energy bolt would serve the purpose. But the first of twelve injections? A device to stimulate haste?

  "Many things are happening," he told Traz. "Events I don't pretend to understand."

  "The sooner we leave Settra the better," gloomed Traz.

  "Agreed."

  Anacho the Dirdirman appeared, freshly barbered and splendid in a new high-collared black jacket, pale blue trousers, scarlet ankle-high slippers with modish upturned toes. Reith took the two to a secluded alcove and described the events of the day. "So now we need only money, which I hope to extract from Cizante tonight."

  The hours of the afternoon passed slowly. At last Helsse appeared, wearing a modish suit of canary yellow velvet. He gave polite greetings to the group. "You are enjoying your visit to Cath?"

  "Indeed yes," said Reith. "I have never felt so relaxed."

  Helsse maintained his aplomb. "Excellent. Now, in regard to this evening, Lord Cizante suspects that you and your friends might find a formal dinner somewhat tedious. He recommends rather a casual and unstructured tiffin, at a time to suit your convenience: now, if you so desire."

  "We are ready," said Reith. "But, to anticipate any misunderstanding, please remember that we insist upon a dignified reception. We do not intend to slink into the palace by a back entrance."