by Jack Vance
Emerson increased magnification of the telescopic pane.
“It’s a boy, about seven or eight,” he said. “He’s looking at us—but he doesn’t seem particularly interested.”
The child turned back to the palace, and disappeared. Emerson uttered a soft ejaculation. “Did you see that?”
“What happened?” asked Wilhelm, the big blond second officer.
“He walked through the wall! As if it were air!”
Time passed; there was no further show of life. The crew fidgeted. “Why don’t they show some interest?” complained Swett the steward. “Even the kids walk away.”
Emerson shook his head in puzzlement. “Spaceships certainly don’t drop down every day.”
Wilhelm suddenly called out, “There’s more of them—two, three, six—a whole confounded tribe!”
They came from the forest, quietly, almost stealthily—by ones and twos, until a dozen stood near the ship. They wore smocks woven of coarse fiber, crude leather shoes with flaring tops. At their belts hung daggers of several sizes and complicated little devices built of wood and twisted gut. They were a hard-bitten lot, with heavy-boned faces and glinting eyes. They walked with a careful bend to the knee, which gave them a furtive aspect. They kept the ship between themselves and the palace at all times, as if anxious to escape observation.
Emerson said, “I can’t understand it. These aren’t just humanoid types; they’re human in every respect!” He looked across to where Boyd the biologist was finishing his final test. “What’s the story?”
“Clean bill of health,” said Boyd. “No dangerous pollen, no air-borne proteids, nothing remarkable in any way.”
“I’m going outside,” said Emerson.
Wilhelm protested, “They look untrustworthy and they’re armed.”
“I’ll take a chance,” said Emerson. “If they were hostile, I don’t think they’d expose themselves.”
Wilhelm was not convinced. “You never can tell what a strange race has in mind.”
“Nevertheless,” said Emerson, “I’m going out. You fellows cover me from the gun blisters. Also stand by the engines, in case we want to leave in a hurry.”
“Are you going out alone?” Wilhelm asked dubiously.
“There’s no point in risking two lives.”
Wilhelm’s square raw-boned face took on a mulish set. “I’ll go out with you. Two eyes see better than one.”
Emerson laughed. “I’ve already got two eyes. Besides, you’re second in command; your place is here in the ship.”
Cope, the young third officer, slender and dark, hardly out of his teens, spoke. “I’d like to go out with you.”
“Very well, Cope,” said Emerson. “Let’s go.”
Ten minutes later the two men stepped out of the ship, descended the ramp, stood on the soil of BGD 1169-2. The men and women from the forest still stood behind the ship, peering from time to time toward the palace. When Emerson and Cope appeared, they drew together, ready for either attack, defense or flight. Two of them fingered the wooden contrivances at their belts, which Emerson saw to be dart catapults. But otherwise there was no motion, friendly or otherwise.
The spacemen halted twenty feet distant. Emerson raised his hand, smiled in what he hoped to be a friendly manner. “Hello.”
They stared at him, then began muttering among themselves. Emerson and Cope moved a step or two closer; the voices became audible. A lank gray-haired man, who seemed to wield a degree of authority, spoke with peevish energy, as if refuting nonsense. “No, no—impossible for them to be Free-men!”
The gnarled, beady-eyed man to whom he spoke retorted, “Impossible? What do you take them for, then, if not Free-men?”
Emerson and Cope stared in amazement. These men spoke English!
Someone else remarked, “They’re not House Lords! Who ever saw House Lords like these!”
A fourth voice was equally definite. “And it’s a certainty that they’re not servants.”
“All of you talk in circles,” snapped one of the women. “Why don’t you ask them and be done with it?”
English! The accent was blurred, the intonation unusual; the language, nonetheless, was their own! Emerson and Cope came a step closer; the forest people fell silent, and shifted their feet nervously.
Emerson spoke. “I am Richard Emerson,” he said. “This is Howard Cope. Who are you people?”
The gray-haired chief surveyed them with crafty impudence. “Who are we? We’re Free-men, as you must know very well. What do you here? What House are you from?”
Emerson said, “We’re from Earth.”
“‘Earth’?”
Emerson looked around the blank faces. “You don’t know of Earth?”
“No.”
“But you speak an Earth language!”
The chief grinned. “How else can men speak?”
Emerson laughed weakly. “There are a number of other languages.”
The chief shook his head skeptically. “I can’t believe that.”
Emerson and Cope exchanged glances of bewildered amusement. “Who lives in the palace?” Emerson asked.
The chief seemed incredulous at Emerson’s ignorance. “The House Lords, naturally. Genarro, Hesphor and the rest.”
Emerson considered the tall walls, which seemed, on the whole, ill-adapted to human requirements. “They are men, like ourselves?”
The chief laughed jeeringly. “If you would call such luxurious creatures men! We tolerate them only for their females.” From the men of the group came a lascivious murmur. “The soft sweet House Lord girls!”
The forest women hissed in anger. “They’re as worthless as the men!” exclaimed one leathery old creature.
There was a sudden nervous motion at the outskirts of the group. “Here they come! The House Lords!”
Quickly, with long, bent-kneed strides, the savages retreated, and were gone into the forest.
Emerson and Cope walked around the ship. Crossing the clearing in leisurely fashion were a young man and woman, a girl and the boy they had seen before. They were the most handsome beings the Earthmen had ever seen. The young man wore a skin-tight garment of emerald-green sequins, a complicated head-dress of silver spines; the boy wore red trousers, a dark blue jacket and a long-billed blue cap. The young woman and the girl wore simple sheaths of white and blue, stretching with easy elasticity as they walked. They were bare-headed; their pale hair fell flowing to their shoulders.
They halted a few yards from the ship, considered the spacemen with sober curiosity. Their expressions were identical: intent, intelligent, with a vague underlying hauteur. The young man glanced casually toward the forest, held up a small rod. A puff of blackness came forth, a black bubble wafted toward the forest, expanding enormously as it went.
From the forest came yelps of fear, the stumble of racing feet. The black bubble exploded among the trees, scattering hundreds of smaller black bubbles, which grew and exploded in their turn.
The sound of flight diminished in the distance. The four young House Lords, smiling a little, returned to Emerson and Cope.
“And who may you be? Surely not Wild Men?”
“No, we’re not Wild Men,” said Emerson.
The boy said, “But you’re not House Lords.”
“And certainly you’re not servants,” said the girl, who was several years older than the boy, perhaps fourteen or fifteen.
Emerson explained patiently, “We are astrographers, scientists, from Earth.”
Like the forest people, the House Lords were puzzled. “‘Earth’?”
“Good Heavens!” exclaimed Emerson. “Surely you know of Earth!”
They shook their heads.
“But you’re human beings—Earth people!”
“No,” said the young man, “We are House Lords. ‘Earth’ is nothing to us.”
“But—you speak our language—an Earth language!”
They shrugged and smiled. “There are a hundred ways in w
hich your people might have learned our speech.”
The matter seemed to interest them very little. The young woman looked toward the forest. “Best be careful of the Wild Men; they’ll do you harm if they can.” She turned. “Come, let us go back.”
“Wait!” cried Emerson.
They observed him with austere politeness. “Yes?”
“Aren’t you curious about us—interested in where we came from?”
The young man smilingly shook his head, and the silver spines of his headgear chimed like bells. “Why should we be interested?”
Emerson laughed in mingled astonishment and irritation.
“We’re strangers from space—from Earth, which you claim you never heard of.”
“Exactly. If we have never heard of you, how can we be interested?”
Emerson threw up his hands. “Suit yourself. However, we’re interested in you.”
The young man nodded, accepting this as a matter of course. The boy and girl were already walking away; the young woman had half-turned and was waiting. “Come, Hesphor,” she called softly.
“I’d like to talk to you,” Emerson said. “There’s a mystery here—something we should straighten out.”
“No mystery. We are House Lords, and this our House.”
“May we come into your house?”
The young man hesitated, glanced at the young woman. She pursed her lips, shook her head. “Lord Genarro.”
The young man made a small grimace. “The servants are gone; Genarro sleeps. They may come for a short time.”
The young woman shrugged. “If Genarro wakes, he will not be pleased.”
“Ah, but Genarro—”
“But Genarro,” the woman interrupted quickly, “is the First Lord of the House!”
Hesphor seemed momentarily sulky. “Genarro sleeps, and the servants are gone. These outland wild-things may enter.”
He signaled to Cope and Emerson. “Come.”
The House Lords strolled back through the garden, talking quietly together. Emerson and Cope followed, half-angry, half-sheepish. “This is fantastic,” Emerson muttered. “Snubbed by the aristocracy half an hour after we arrive.”
“I guess we’ll have to put up with it,” said Cope. “They know things we’ve never even thought of. That black bubble, for instance.”
The boy and girl reached the wall of the palace. Without hesitation they walked through the glistening surface. The young man and woman followed. When Emerson and Cope reached the wall, it was solid, super-normally cold. They felt along the smooth surface, pushing, groping in exasperation.
The boy came back through the wall. “Are you coming in?”
“We’d like to,” said Emerson.
“That’s solid there.” The boy watched them in amusement. “Can’t you tell where it’s permeable?”
“No,” said Emerson.
“Neither can the Wild Men,” said the boy. He pointed. “Go through there.”
Emerson and Cope passed through, and the wall felt like a thin film of cool water.
They stood on a dull blue floor, with silver filaments tracing a looped pattern. The walls rose high all around them. A hundred feet above, bars of black substance protruded from the metal, and the air around the tips seemed to quiver, like the air over a hot road.
There was no furniture in the room, no trace of human habitation.
“Come,” said the boy. He crossed the room, walked through the wall opposite. Emerson and Cope followed. “I hope we can find our way out,” said Cope. “I wouldn’t want to climb these walls.”
They stood in a hall similar to the first, but with a floor of a resilient white material. Their bodies felt light, their steps took them farther than they expected. The young man and woman were waiting for them. The boy had stepped back through the wall; the girl was nowhere in sight.
“We can stay with you a moment or two,” said the young man. “Our servants are gone; the house is quiet. Perhaps you’d care to eat?” Without waiting for response he reached forward. His hands disappeared into nowhere. He drew them back, pulling forth a rack supporting trays and bowls of food-stuffs—wedges of red jelly, tall white cones, black wafers, small green globular fruits, flagons containing liquids of various colors.
“You may eat,” said the young woman, motioning with her hand.
“Thank you,” said Emerson. He and Cope gingerly sampled the food. It was strange and rich, and tingled in the mouth like carbonated water.
“Where does this food come from?” asked Emerson. “How can you pull it out of the air like that?”
The young House Lord looked at his hands. “The servants put it there.”
“Where do the servants get it?”
The young man shrugged. “Why should we trouble ourselves, so long as it’s there?”
Cope asked quizzically, “What would you do if your servants left you?”
“Such a thing could never happen.”
“I’d like to see your servants,” said Emerson.
“They’re not here now.” The young man removed his headgear, tucked it into an invisible niche. “Tell us about this ‘Earth’ of yours.”
“It’s a planet like this one,” said Emerson, “although men and women live much differently.”
“Do you have servants?”
“None of us have servants now.”
“Mmmph,” said the young woman in barely dissembled scorn. “Like the Wild Men.”
Cope asked, “How long have you lived here?”
The question seemed to puzzle the House Lords. “‘How long?’ What do you mean?”
“How many years.”
“What is a ‘year’?”
“A unit of time—the interval a planet takes to make a revolution around its sun. Just as a day is the time a planet takes to rotate on its axis.”
The House Lords were amused. “That’s a queer thought: magnificently arbitrary. What possible use is such an idea?”
Emerson said dryly, “We find time measurements useful.”
The House Lords smiled at each other. “That well may be,” Hesphor remarked.
“Who are the Wild Men?” asked Cope.
“Just riff-raff,” said the young woman with a shudder. “Outcasts from Houses where there was no room.”
“They harass us; they try to steal our women,” said the young man. He held up his hand. “Listen.” He and the young woman looked at each other.
Emerson and Cope could hear nothing.
“Lord Genarro,” said the young woman. “He comes.”
Hesphor looked uneasily at the wall, glanced at Emerson and Cope, then planted himself obstinately in the middle of the hall.
There was a slight sound. A tall man strode through the wall. He wore shining black, a black helm. His hair was copper-gold, his eyes frost-blue. He saw Emerson and Cope; he took a great stride forward. “What are these wild things doing here! Are you all mad? Out, out with them!”
Hesphor interposed. “They are strangers, from another world; they mean no harm.”
“Out with them! Eating our food! Ogling the Lady Faelm!” He advanced menacingly; Emerson and Cope stepped back. “Wild things, go!”
“Just as you like,” said Emerson. “Show us the way out.”
“One moment!” said Hesphor. “I invited them here; they are my charges.”
Genarro turned his displeasure against the young House Lord. “Do you wish to join the Wild Men?”
Hesphor stared at him; their eyes locked, then Hesphor wilted, turned away.
“Very well,” he muttered. “They shall leave.” He whistled; through the wall came the boy. “Take the strangers to their ship.”
“Quickly!” roared Genarro. “The air reeks; they are covered with filth!”
“This way!” The boy scampered out of the wall; Emerson and Cope followed with alacrity.
Through two walls they passed and once more stood in the open air. Cope heaved a deep sigh. “Genarro’s hospitality leaves
much to be desired.”
The girl came out of the palace and joined the boy.
“Come,” said the boy. “We’ll take you to your ship; you’d best be away before the servants return.”
Emerson looked back toward the palace, shrugged. “Let’s go.”
They followed the boy and girl through the formal garden, past the white-trunked trees, the beds of black moss, the pink and white candy floss. The Gaea, at the far end of the clearing, seemed familiar and homelike; Emerson and Cope hurried their steps.
They passed a clump of gray-stalked bamboo. There was a rustle of movement, a quick rush; they were surrounded by Wild Men. Hands gripped Emerson and Cope, their weapons were snatched.
The boy and girl, struggling, kicking, screaming, were seized; nooses were dropped around their bodies, they were tugged toward the jungle.
“Loose us!” yelled the boy. “The servants will pulverize you.”
“The servants are gone,” cried the wild chief happily. “And I’ve got what I’ve wanted for many years—a fresh beautiful House Lord girl.”
The girl sobbed and screamed and tore at her bonds; the boy struggled and kicked. “Easy, boy,” the chief warned. “We’re close enough to cutting your throat as it is.”
Arms shoved; the party moved at a trot across the garden, toward the jungle. “Why are you taking us?” panted Emerson. “We’re no good to you.”
“Only in what your friends will give to have you back.” The chief grinned knowingly over his shoulder. “Weapons! Good cloth! Good shoes!”
“We don’t carry such things with us!”
“You’ll wait till we get them!”
The forest was only fifty yards away. The boy flung himself flat on the ground, the girl did likewise. Emerson felt the grasp on his arms relax; he broke loose, swinging his fists. He struck a Wild Man, who fell to the ground. The chief snatched out his catapult, aimed it. “One move and you’re dead!”
Emerson stood rigid. The Wild Men seized the boy and girl; the party moved ahead.
But now the raid had been noticed at the palace; the air pulsed to a weird high whistle. The Wild Men increased their pace.
From the palace came a fan of black, shearing down like a great dark vane, striking the ground at the forest’s edge.
