by Jack Vance
"You shall have your money," said Reith, "as soon as I see Ankhe at afram Anacho."
"You wish to see the blasphemer, the renegade?" roared Woudiver. "Go to the Glass Box, you will see him clearly enough."
"He is in the Glass Box?"
"Where else?"
"You are certain?"
Woudiver leaned back against the wall. "Why do you wish to know?"
"Because he is my friend. You betrayed him to the Dirdir; you must answer to me."
Woudiver began to swell, but Reith said in a weary voice, "No more drama, no more shouting. You gave Anacho to the Dirdir; now I want you to save him."
"Impossible," said Woudiver. "Even if I wished I could do nothing. He is in the Glass Box, do you hear?"
"How can you be sure?"
"Where else should he be sent? He was taken for his old crimes; the Dirdir will learn nothing of your project, if that is your worry." And Woudiver showed his mouth in a gigantic sneer. "Unless, of course, he himself reveals your secrets."
"In which case," said Reith, "you would likewise find yourself in difficulties."
Woudiver had no comment to make.
Reith asked in a gentle voice, "Can money buy Anacho's escape?"
"No," intoned Woudiver. "He is in the Glass Box."
"So you say. How can I be sure?"
"As I informed you-go look."
"Anyone who wishes can watch?"
"Certainly. The Box holds no secrets."
"What is the procedure?"
"You cross to Hei, you walk to the Box, you climb to the upper gallery which overlooks the fields."
"Could a person lower a rope, or a ladder?"
"Certainly, but he could not hope for long life; he would be thrust at once down upon the field ... If you plan anything of this nature I myself will come to watch."
"Suppose I were to offer you a million sequins," said Reith, "could you arrange that Anacho escape?"
Woudiver darted his great head forward. "A million sequins? And you have been crying poverty to me for three months? I have been deceived!"
"Could you arrange the escape for a million sequins?"
Woudiver showed a dainty pink tip of tongue. "No, I fear not ... a million sequins ... I fear not. There is nothing to be done. Nothing. So you have gained a million sequins?"
"No," said Reith. "I only wanted to learn if Anacho's escape was possible."
"It is not possible," said Woudiver crossly. "Where is my money?"
"In due course," said Reith. "You betrayed my friend; you can wait."
Again Woudiver seemed on the verge of swinging his great arm. But he said, "You misuse language. I did not 'betray': I exposed a criminal to his just deserts.
What loyalty do I owe you or yours? You have given none to me, and would do worse if opportunity offered. Bear in mind, Adam Reith, that friendship must work in two directions. Do not expect what you are unwilling to give. If you find my attributes distasteful, remember that I feel the same about yours. Which of us is correct? By the standards of this time and this place, it is certainly I. You are the interloper; your protests are ludicrous and unrealistic. You blame me for inordinacy. Do not forget, Adam Reith, that you chose me as a man who would perform illegal acts for pay. This is your expectation of me; you care nothing for my security or prospects. You came here to exploit me, to urge me to dangerous acts for trifling sums; you must not complain if my conduct seems merely a mirror of your own."
Reith could find no answer. He turned and left the office.
In the shed, work was proceeding at its usual pace: a haven of normalcy after the Carabas and the mind-twisting colloquy with Woudiver. Traz waited just inside the portal. "What did he say?"
"He said Anacho was a criminal, that I came here to exploit him. How can I argue?"
Traz curled his lip. "And Anacho?"
"In the Glass Box. Woudiver says it's easy to get in but impossible to get out."
Reith walked back and forth across the shed. Halting in the doorway, he looked across the water toward the great gray shape. He spoke to Traz: "Will you ask Deine Zarre to step out here?"
Deine Zarre appeared. Reith asked, "Have you ever visited the Glass Box?"
"Long ago."
"Woudiver tells me that a man might lower a rope from the upper gallery."
"Should he care so little for his life."
"I want two quantities of high-potency battarache-enough, say, to destroy this shed ten times over. Where can I get it in a hurry?"
Deine Zarre reflected a moment, then gave a slow fateful nod. "Wait here."
He returned in something over an hour with two clay pots. "Here is battarache; here are fuses. It is contraband material; please do not reveal where you obtained it."
"The subject will never arise," said Reith. "Or so I hope."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
SHROUDED IN GRAY cloaks Reith and Traz crossed the causeway to the mainland. By a fine wide avenue, surfaced with a rough white substance that rasped underfoot, they entered the Dirdir city Hei. To either hand rose spires, purple and scarlet; those of gray metal and silver stood far to the north behind the Glass Box. The avenue led close beside a hundred-foot shaft of scarlet. Surrounding this was an expanse of clean white sand upon which rested a dozen peculiar objects of polished stone. Art-things? Fetishes? Trophies? There was no way of knowing. In front of the spire, on a circular plat of white marble, stood three Dirdir. For the first time Reith saw a Dirdir female. The creature was shorter and seemed less resilient, less flexible, than the male; her head was wider at the scalp and pointed at the area corresponding to a chin; she was somewhat darker in color: a pallid gray subtly shaded with mauve. The two stood contemplating the third, a male Dirdir whelp, half the size of the adult. From time to time the effulgences of the three twitched to point to one or another of the polished rock-pieces, an activity which Reith made no effort to understand.
Reith watched them in a mingling of revulsion and reluctant admiration, and he could not avoid thinking of the "mysteries."
Some time previously Anacho had explained the Dirdir sexual processes.
"Essentially, the facts are these: there are twelve styles of male sexual organs, fourteen of the female. Only certain pairings are possible. For instance, the Type One Male is compatible only with Types Five and Nine Female.
Type Five Female adjusts only to Type One Male, but Type Nine Female has a more general organ and is compatible with Types One, Eleven and Twelve Male.
"The matter becomes fantastically complex. Each male and female style has its specific and theoretical attributes, which are very seldom realized-as long as an individual's type is secret! These are the Dirdir 'mysteries'! Should an individual's type become known, he is expected to conform to the theoretical attributes of the type, regardless of inclination; he rarely does so, and is constantly embarrassed on this account.
"As you can imagine, a matter so complicated absorbs a great deal of attention and energy and, perhaps, by keeping the Dirdir fragmented, obsessed and secretive, has prevented them from overrunning the world of space."
"Amazing," said Reith. "But if the types are secret and generally incompatible, how do they mate? How do they reproduce?"
"There are several systems: trial marriage, the so-called 'dark gatherings,'
anonymous notices. The difficulties are transcended." Anacho paused a moment, then proceeded delicately. "I need hardly point out that low-caste Dirdirmen and Dirdirwomen, lacking the 'noble divinity' and without 'secrets,' are thus held to be deficient and somewhat clownish."
"Hmm," said Reith. "Why do you specify 'low-caste Dirdirmen'? What of the Immaculates?"
Anacho cleared his throat. "The Immaculates obviate shame by elaborate surgical methods. They are allowed to alter themselves in accordance with one of eight styles; thus they are conceded 'secrets' as well, and may wear Blue and Pink."
"What about mating?"
"It is more difficult, and in fact becomes an ingenious
analogue of the Dirdir system. Each style will match at most two styles of the other sex."
Reith could no longer restrain his mirth. Anacho listened with an expression, half-grim, half-rueful. "What of yourself?" asked Reith. "How far did you involve yourself?"
"Not far enough," said Anacho. "For certain reasons I wore Blue and Pink without providing myself the requisite 'secret.' I was declared an outlaw and an atavism: this was my situation at our first meeting."
"A curious crime," said Reith.
Now Anacho darted for his life across the simulated landscape of Sibol.
The avenue leading to the Glass Box became even broader, as if in some attempt to keep it in scale with the vast bulk. Those who walked the rasping white surface-Dirdir, Dirdirmen, common laborers in gray cloaks-seemed artificial and unreal, like figures in classical perspective exercises. As they walked they looked neither right nor left, passing Reith and Traz as if they were invisible.
Scarlet and purple spires reared to all sides; ahead stood the Glass Box, dwarfing all else. Reith began to suffer oppression of the spirit; Dirdir artifacts and the human psyche were in discord. To tolerate such surroundings, a man eventually must deny his heritage and submit to the Dirdir world-view. In short, he must become a Dirdirman.
They came up beside two other men, like themselves muffled in hooded gray cloaks. Reith spoke: "Perhaps you will inform us. We want to visit the Glass Box but we do not understand the procedure."
The two men gave him an uncertain appraisal. They were father and son, both short, round-faced, with round little paunches, thin arms and legs. The older man said in a reedy voice, "One merely mounts by the gray ramps; there is no more to know."
"You yourselves go to the Glass Box?"
"Yes. There is a special hunt at noon, for a great Dirdirman villain, and there may well be a tossing."
"We had heard nothing of this. Who is this Dirdirman villain?"
The two again examined him dubiously, apparently from a condition of innate uncertainty. "A renegade, a blasphemer. We are scourers at the Number Four Fabrication Plant; we received information from the Dirdirmen themselves."
"You go often to the Glass Box?"
"Often enough." The father spoke rather tersely. The son amplified: "It is authorized and endorsed by the Dirdirmen; there is no expense."
"Come," said the father. "We must hurry."
"If you have no objection," said Reith, "we will follow you and take advantage of your familiarity with the procedures."
The father agreed with no great enthusiasm. "We do not care to be delayed." The two set off up the avenue, heads crouched upon their shoulders, a gait characteristic to the Sivishe laborers. Imitating the sag-necked slouch Reith and Traz followed. The glass walls reared overhead like vitreous cliffs, showing spots of a red-magenta glow where the illumination from within penetrated the glass. Angling along the sides were ramps and escalators coded by color; purple, scarlet, mauve, white and gray, each rising to different levels. The gray ramps led to a balcony only a hundred feet from the ground, evidently the lowest.
Reith and Traz, joining a stream of men, women and children, climbed the ramp, passed through an ill-smelling passage which twisted forward and back and suddenly emerged upon a bright bleak expanse, illuminated by ten miniature suns.
There were low crags and rolling hills, thickets of harsh vegetation: ocher, tan, yellow, bone-white, pale whitish brown. Below was a brackish pond, a thicket of hard white cactus-like growths; in the near distance stood a forest of bone-white spires identical in shape and size to the Dirdir residential towers. The similarity, thought Reith, could not be coincidental; on Sibol the Dirdir evidently inhabited hollow trees.
Somewhere among the hills and thickets wandered Anacho, in fear of his life, bitterly regretting the impulse which had brought him to Sivishe. But Anacho was not to be seen; in fact nowhere was there sign of either man or Dirdir. Reith turned to the two laborers for explanation.
"It is a quiet period," stated the father. "Notice the hill yonder? And its equal at the far north? These are base camps. During a quiet period the game takes refuge at one or the other of the camps. Let me see; where is my schedule?"
"I carry it," said the son. "Quiet continues yet an hour; the game is at this close hill."
"We are in good time. According to rules of this particular cycle, there will be darkness in one hour, for a period of fourteen minutes. Then South Hill becomes fair territory and the game must vacate to North Hill, which in its turn becomes refuge. I am surprised that with so notorious a criminal, they do not allow Competition rules."
"The schedule was established last week," replied the son. "The criminal was taken only a day or so ago."
"We still may see good techniques, and perhaps a tossing or two.
"In one hour, then, the field goes dark?"
"For fourteen minutes, during which the hunt begins."
Reith and Traz returned to the outside balcony and the suddenly dim landscape of Tschai. Pulling their hoods close, hunching their necks, they sidled down the ramp to the ground.
Reith looked in all directions. Cloaked laborers marched stolidly up the gray ramp. Dirdirmen used the white ramps; Dirdir rode mauve, scarlet and purple escalators to the high balconies.
Reith went to the gray glass wall. He sat down and pretended to adjust his shoe.
Traz stood in front of him. From his pouch Reith brought forth a pot of battarache and an attached timer. He carefully adjusted a dial, pulled a lever, laid it beside a shrub, against the glass wall.
No one heeded. He adjusted the timer on the second pot of battarache, gave pouch, battarache and timer to Traz. "You know what to do."
Traz reluctantly took the pouch. "The plan may succeed, but you and Anacho will both certainly be killed."
Reith pretended that Traz was wrong for once, for the encouragement of them both. "Drop off the battarache-you'll have to hurry. Remember, just opposite to here. There isn't much time. And I'll see you at the construction shed."
Traz turned away, concealing his face in the folds of his hood. "Very well, Adam Reith."
"But just in case something goes wrong: take the money and leave as fast as you can."
"Goodbye."
"Hurry now."
Reith watched the gray shape diminish along the base of the Glass Box. He drew a deep breath. There was little time. He must commit himself at once; if darkness arrived before he had located Anacho, all the effort and risk were in vain.
He returned back up the gray ramp, passed through the portal into the Sibol glare.
He scanned the field, taking careful note of landmarks and directions, then moved south around the deck, toward South Hill. The spectators became less numerous, most tending toward the middle or the north.
Reith selected a spot near a stanchion. He looked right and left. No one stood within two hundred feet of him. The decks above were empty. He brought out a coil of light rope, parted it, passed it around the stanchion, threw the parts down. With a look to right and left he swung himself over the rail, lowered himself to the hunting ground.
He did not go unnoticed. Pallid faces peered down in wonder. Reith paid them no heed. He no longer shared their world; he was game. He pulled the rope down and ran off toward South Hill, coiling the rope as he ran through forests of bristle, over limestone juts and coffee-colored chert.
He neared the first slopes of South Hill, sighting neither hunters nor game. The hunters would now be taking such positions as tactics dictated; the game would be lurking at the base of South Hill, wondering how best to reach the sanctuary of North Hill. Reith suddenly came upon a young Gray, crouched in the shadow of a white bamboo-like growth. He wore sandals and a breech-clout; he carried a club and a cactus-prong dagger. Reith asked him, "Where is the Dirdirman, the one just put out on the field?"
The Gray gave his head an indifferent jerk. "There might be one such around the hill. Leave me; you create a flurry of darkness with your cloak. Drop it o
ff; your skin is the best camouflage. Don't you know the Dirdir observe your every move?"
Reith ran on. He saw two elderly men, stark naked, with stringy muscles and white hair, standing poised like specters. Reith called out, "Have you seen the Dirdirman anywhere near?"
"Up beyond, or so it may be. Take yourself off, with your dark cloak."
Reith scrambled up a jut of sandstone. He called out: "Anacho."
No response. Reith looked at his watch. In ten minutes the field would go dark.
He searched the side of South Hill. A little distance away he glimpsed movement: persons running off through the thicket. His cloak seemed to arouse antagonism; he removed it, threw it over his arm.
In a hollow Reith found four men and a woman. They showed him the faces of hunted animals, and would not reply to his question. Reith labored up the hill, to gain a better view. "Anacho!" he called. A figure in a white smock swung around. Reith felt engulfed in relief; his knees felt weak; tears came to his eyes. "Anacho!"
"What do you do here!"
"Hurry. This way. We're about to escape."
Anacho looked at him in stupefaction. "No one escapes the Glass Box."
"Come along! You'll see!"
"Not that way," cried Anacho hoarsely. "Safety lies to the north, on North Hill!
When the darkness comes the hunt starts!"
"I know, I know! We don't have much time. Come this way. We must take cover somewhere over yonder; we must be ready."
Anacho threw his hands in the air. "You must know something I don't know."
They ran back the way Reith had come, to the western face of South Hill. As they ran Reith gasped out the details of the plan.
Anacho asked in a hollow voice, "You did all this ... for me? You came down here on the field?"
"No matter about that. Now-we want to be close to that tall clump of white bristles. Where shall we take cover?"
"Within the clump-as good as any. Notice the hunters! They take their positions.
They must keep off half a mile until the darkness comes. We are just barely within the sanctuary. Those four are marking us!"
"Darkness will be coining in seconds. Our plan is this: we run due west, toward that mound. From there we work to that bank of brown cactus and around the southern edge. Most important: we must not become separated!"
