by Jack Vance
“They may not be finished practicing, if you must know.”
“What are they practicing?”
“Oh —” Cooner made a vague gesture “— this and that. One thing or another.”
“I will watch the practice; I might learn something of interest.”
Cooner rolled his dog-brown eyes in distress. “I wonder if it is politic?”
“Aha! You have aroused my interest! Let us look in on this famous practice, and let us go softly.”
In a corner of the aft cargo bay, the pilgrims had shifted bales and crates to open up a space large enough for their table. Schwatzendale halted in the corridor, well back in the shadows and, despite Cooner’s uneasiness, watched the game from concealment.
Six men sat at the table. Schwatzendale recognized Zink, Quantic, Dury, Tunch, Kimmel and Lolling; they were playing with stiff cards two by three inches in dimension, similar to the chips used at the previous gaming. They were building houses, leaning the chips one against the other, delicately placing floors on the construction, then starting new tiers. They worked with a nervous tension, darting vigilant glances at their opponents, pausing only long enough to send one of their chips skimming across the table at a house which had been built to a respectable height. If the builder were deft, he caught the chip and added it to his own stack; if he were unlucky, the chip would strike his building and send it toppling into ruins. When this occurred, all the other players lunged forward to seize the fallen chips, while the builder sought to protect his belongings.
Schwatzendale asked Cooner: “What is the object of the game?”
“Each player tries to build a house six tiers high. If he succeeds, he wins all the chips which have gone into the other houses. Now, it is time that we show ourselves to the players.”
“Not yet! I want to see how the game goes.”
Cooner grumbled under his breath. With a mulish set to his face he started forward. Schwatzendale seized his collar and jerked him so that his head snapped back. “Stand quiet! Or I shall cut off your nose by the roots!”
Cooner sullenly stood back. “There is no need for rude behavior!”
Schwatzendale continued to watch the game. Quantic, using intense vigilance, built a house five tiers high and was starting on his sixth tier when the thin and rapacious Tunch hurled two chips in quick succession. Quantic was able to fend off the first chip, but the next struck his house full at the second tier, and the house collapsed, to Quantic’s outrage. The ruins were instantly attacked by Dury, Kimmel, Tunch and Zink. Quantic, despite his best efforts, lost half of his chips. In a fury he rose and shook his fist at Tunch, who responded with a fleering laugh of contempt. Meanwhile, Zink took advantage of the diversion to salvage four more of Quantic’s remaining chips.
Before Quantic could react, Lolling held up his two hands, bringing order to the group. He started to speak, but the peculiar timbre of Lolling’s voice, together with the acoustics of the chamber, muffled his words. He seemed to be instructing the group, who listened with earnest attention, nodding from time to time. He held up a white forefinger and spoke. The others nodded. Lolling held up two fingers, and again the others nodded. Lolling held up three fingers; the others broke into grins and chuckles. Lolling spoke another minute then looked from face to face to gauge his effect. Satisfied, he sat back in his chair.
Cooner now took the bit between his teeth and moved forward. He cleared his throat loudly, so that the gamesters all turned to look; Schwatzendale willy-nilly followed Cooner into the room.
Cooner called out, “I am here with the gentleman Fay Schwatzendale, whom you all know and admire! I mentioned that a game was in progress and he expressed interest. Perhaps, if you politely offered him a place at the table, he might be induced to join the game.”
“Of course,” cried Lolling. “We all respect Schwatzendale’s skill! He is a sportsman and one of our kind. Welcome, Fay Schwatzendale! Do you care to join our game?”
“Just for a moment or two,” said Schwatzendale. “I cannot hope to hold my own against six keen experts; still, I shall give the game a sporting try! What are the rules?”
Lolling explained. “First, you must know that this is a children’s game, active, happy and full of fun!”
“Good! I approve! What next?”
“We buy our chips. I act as banker.”
“Very well, and then?”
“Then we all set to work building houses, after the pattern you see in front of Zink. Our goal is to build six tiers high, which signalizes victory!”
“That sounds simple enough. Is that all I need to know?”
“In the main, yes. There are a few little tricks by which we hope to gain advantage, but the rules are strict!”
“Explain these rules, if you please.”
“You may not touch another player’s house with your hands or feet, nor propel more than a single chip at one time. We refer to these propelled chips as ‘missiles’. Should the house fall, any chip lying loose on the table may be ‘salvaged’ — that is the word we use. Reserve chips stacked at the edge of the table are out of bounds and safe from salvage.”
“Simple enough. What if, let us say, three players set up a cabal against another? What are the rules in this regard?”
“There are none, since such cabals are barred from play. It is every man for himself!”
Schwatzendale bought chips and the game commenced. He played with extreme caution, building a single tier, meanwhile hurling missiles at the structures of fellow gamesters, especially the houses of Zink, Tunch and Kimmel, which were rising apace. A missile flung by Dury destroyed Lolling’s house. Schwatzendale was quick to salvage a round dozen chips. One of his own chips brought down the four tiers which Tunch had erected, and again Schwatzendale alertly salvaged more than a dozen chips. Playing in this conservative style, he began to amass chips, while never himself building up from the first tier. His tactics began to irk the others, and they started to utter sneering remarks: “Well well, Schwatzendale; what a fine dog-house you have built!” And: “Come alive, Schwatzendale! This is not a game for dandified pretty boys! Play like a man!”
Tunch and Quantic, hoping to embarrass Schwatzendale, began to build tier upon tier at a reckless pace, with the result that Schwatzendale’s missiles, skimming with force and accuracy, brought disaster to both. Neither accepted the event with aplomb. Quantic waved his fists in the air and uttered sibilant curses, while Tunch’s face became rigid with fury. Meanwhile Schwatzendale adroitly salvaged thirty chips. By this time Kimmel, Dury and Tunch had lost so many chips that they were forced to apply to Lolling for reinforcements. Zink remonstrated with Schwatzendale. “You don’t understand the spirit of the game! We build recklessly, like gallant champions bent on glory!”
Schwatzendale said meekly, “I am still learning the rudiments of the game; you must not expect me to match your flair.”
Lolling said peevishly, “Whatever the case, you have already accumulated far more chips than you were issued.”
“That is known as ‘beginner’s luck’,” said Schwatzendale.
“Ha hm,” said Lolling. He glanced around the table, catching eyes, then held up a single white forefinger. “Let us proceed,” he said.
The game now seemed to change. The pilgrims played with caution, building rarely, guarding their modest two- or three-tier structures with both hands at the ready. Schwatzendale noticed the alteration in mood, and began to pile chip upon chip at top speed. Up went his tiers: two, three, four, five. Lolling rapped on the table and showed a single finger. Instantly each pilgrim sent missiles hurtling toward Schwatzendale’s house. They came in a salvo; he could not ward them off and his house collapsed into a ruin. Schwatzendale clasped the heap of chips with one arm and with the other struck at the onslaught of salvaging hands, to such good effect that he lost only a dozen chips. He turned to Lolling. “I understood that the rules barred both collusion and cabals.”
“So they do,” said Lolling severely
. “Everyone must obey this rule!”
“Then why did everyone act in close cooperation to destroy my house?”
“It must have been a freak coincidence, if indeed the case were real.”
“Then why did you hold up a finger? Was it a signal?”
“Of course not!” Lolling indignantly blew out his cheeks. “I reached up to scratch my nose! I suspect that you were misled by the gesture.” He looked around the table. “Schwatzendale is, in a sense, our guest; we must be sure that he is satisfied with the play; is that understood?”
From around the table came gruff sounds of assent.
“Very well then! Let us play the game!”
The house-building, the skirling of missiles and the groans of rage went on as before. Schwatzendale tried a new tactic, concentrating upon slow steady construction and deft interception of enemy missiles, and once again raised an edifice of five tiers. Watching in all directions at once, with nerves keyed to maximum alertness, he could build with one hand while capturing missiles with the other. Schwatzendale began to feel that he might win the game. At this point Lolling glanced around the table, as if assessing the levels of construction. Absent-mindedly he scratched his chest with two fingers.
Schwatzendale tensed, but no one seemed to notice. Across the table Cooner leaned against the cargo, idly toying with a length of dangling string. All was placid. Schwatzendale returned to work on his sixth tier. Behind him sounded a tremendous jangling crash, which set Schwatzendale’s nerves to vibrating like bulrushes in a wind. He jerked around to find that a bale of metal goods had fallen from on high to the deck. Schwatzendale whirled back to the table: too late! His house was a tumble of ruins. Only by dint of furious action was he able to rescue a dozen or so chips. Schwatzendale ruefully gauged his depleted reserve stockpile. There were enough chips for him to attempt one more house. He glanced around the table. The other players smiled and shook their heads in condolence.
Schwatzendale made sure that no other bales were ready to fall, then doggedly returned to construction. The pilgrims seemed absorbed in their own building. Cooner was engaged in another mindless game at the other side of the table, kicking at some loose dunnage.
Schwatzendale worked with both diligence and caution, capturing the occasional missiles hurled in his direction. No question but what he had the knack for this sort of game, he told himself, provided only that he used the proper vigilance. His tiers once more rose high: three, four, five. He laid the first chips in his sixth tier; once again he was close to victory. Lolling leaned forward in grave concern, and in order to support himself, lay three fingers flat upon the table. Schwatzendale went instantly on the alert, but no one else seemed to have noticed and their play went as usual. Tunch caught a missile thrown by Kimmel, while Dury, to better effect, sent a chip skirling on a fierce swoop to destroy Zink’s house. In the space beyond the table Cooner was bobbing foolishly up and down. Schwatzendale paid no heed. Beneath him something was amiss. His chair tilted over backward, sending him sprawling to the deck. Instantly he sprang erect and threw himself at the table, thereby saving eleven chips from the ruins of his house.
“Ah! Very sad!” Tunch commiserated. “A sad blow!” said Kimmel.
Schwatzendale adjusted his chair and re-seated himself. Lolling cautioned him. “That was a serious mistake! You should sit squarely and solidly in your chair, and refrain from tilting back.”
“Quite right,” said Schwatzendale. “It does not pay to be careless!”
“You have lost most of your chips. Do you wish to buy a fresh supply?”
“Of course! I am just now learning how to play the game, though I must visit my cabin for more money.”
Lolling said courteously, “You are a keen sportsman! We await your return with anticipation.”
Schwatzendale left the chamber and was gone for several minutes. As before, when returning, he halted in the shadows of the corridor and observed events at the gaming table. As before, he discovered Lolling instructing the other players, holding up first one finger, then two, then three. Lolling then made a comment which aroused laughter in the other pilgrims, even the dour Tunch. At this juncture, Schwatzendale re-entered the chamber. He was greeted with friendly banter and smiles. Kimmel called, “Perhaps you will enjoy better luck and not fall off your chair!”
Dury spoke a few words of reassurance, “We all go through ups and downs, but we find our true joy in the sport itself!”
Schwatzendale nodded without comment. He bought chips from Lolling, then returned to his chair. Quantic called out facetiously: “So now, Schwatzendale, it’s back to the drawing board, eh?”
“I’m afraid so,” said Schwatzendale. “My old tactics were not productive, but I am not discouraged! I plan ever more important construction. My houses shall rise high! Tier after tier; high as the sky, while all look on with wonder!” As Schwatzendale spoke, he raised his left hand and swept it back and forth in a series of ascending swerves, attracting the fascinated attention of the other gamesters. Meanwhile, with his right hand he squeezed a line of clear gel from a dispenser, along the edge of the table just behind his wall of chips. “But do not expect me to build as recklessly as before; I cannot trust you others to sympathize with my goals, so I must fend for myself. That, after all, is the philosophy of the game!”
“Just so!” “Absolutely right!” “Most wise!” were the responsive remarks.
Schwatzendale looked to Lolling. “I take it that in my absence the rules have not been altered or amended?”
“Certainly not! The rules are immutable!”
“In that case, let us play the game!”
Each builder bent forward at once, and with guarded looks to left and right began their constructions. Schwatzendale built with the same methodical manner as before, but now each chip was unobtrusively touched to the adhesive gel at points of contact with the other chips, so that, when put in place, it instantly became part of a rigid unit. He worked without apparent haste, but relieved of the need to fend off missiles, he was able to build at speed. Up went his tiers: two, three four. Lolling began to show interest. After a look around the table to catch his comrades’ attention, he unobtrusively laid a single finger upon his chest. At once a salvo of six missiles hurtled down upon Schwatzendale’s house. Two struck his house, causing no damage; Schwatzendale captured the other four and added them to his stockpile, while the pilgrims looked on in surprise.
Play continued. Lolling showed two fingers. Down from the ceiling came a flapping hairy insect a foot in diameter; it struck Schwatzendale on the chest. As he recoiled in horror he thought he heard Cooner’s chortle. At the same time a torrent of missiles struck down at Schwatzendale’s house, which only vibrated to the strikes.
The insect was a contrivance of wire, paper, and hair, with a grotesque head molded from dough. The string which had guided it lay across the table and disappeared into the shadows. Cooner stood by innocently. Schwatzendale tossed the contrivance to the floor and added the spent missiles to his reserves. He called out to Cooner: “Why did you throw that insect at me? You might have cost me a large number of chips!”
Cooner showed no remorse. “The thing was just a toy. It escaped from my control. Need you be so surly? It was only in fun!”
Lolling said, “Do not victimize poor Cooner; he was only playing with his toy! After all, you suffered no damage.”
Tunch muttered, “It is a mystery! Schwatzendale’s house is like a fortress of alloy steel! It is beyond my comprehension!”
“The house is only a house, as you can see,” said Schwatzendale. “Do not maunder over trifles! Let the game proceed!”
Schwatzendale began to fit chips to his sixth tier.
Lolling gave a groan of anguish, and placed three fingers upon the table. Schwatzendale instantly cried out to Cooner, who stood by the wall, “Take your hand off that switch! Do not turn off the lights, or I will lock you into the latrine for a week; the charge shall be ‘interfering with ship’s el
ectrical gear’!”
Cooner reluctantly turned away from the switch. Schwatzendale completed the sixth tier of his house. “The game is done!” he cried. “I claim victory!”
The other players slumped back in dismay. Schwatzendale swept their houses into a pile of something over two hundred chips, which he stacked in front of him. A problem remained: how to dismantle his own house without exciting suspicion? He looked around the table. “I take it that we are keen for a new game? I am at the top of my form, and ready for anything!”
“Not I!” growled Tunch. “You have impoverished us all with your weird antics.”
Lolling had trouble finding his voice, but at last managed to say, “I too am done for the day.” He rose to his feet and stalked from the chamber.
“I will remain for a bit,” said Schwatzendale. “I want to count my chips. Perhaps I will practice my techniques, in case that we play another game.”
“Practice all you like,” snapped Tunch. “I doubt if it will do you any good, since I for one will play no more games with you.” He walked stiffly away.
“Nor I,” said Kimmel. “There is something about you and your play which afflicts me with a sick dismay.” He too left the chamber, followed by the others.
Schwatzendale dismantled his house, scraped adhesive from chips and table, gathered up his booty and went his way.
Chapter X
1
In Handbook to the Planets, Myron learned that Mariah was the sixth world in orbit around the white star Pfitz. At this point a footnote explained that the locator, Abel Merklint, had named the star Laura Ardelia Pfitz, to memorialize a childhood sweetheart, but time and usage had abbreviated the name.
Myron learned further that Mariah, though slightly larger than Earth, exerted somewhat less gravitational force by reason of a lower overall density.
Abel Merklint, like many others of his calling, was both a man of letters and a romantic philosopher. He described Mariah as a ‘protean world’, endowed with innumerable beauties, and at the same time haunted by much that was dark and terrible. In the ‘General Remarks’, at the bottom of his original report, Merklint had noted:
