by Jack Vance
“We must destroy the beast,” said Sklar Hast in a voice of absolute dedication.
“Easier said than done. Though I expect that long years will pass before King Kragen again ventures, near a hoodwink tower.”
“In the meantime—the intercessors may not return,” said Phyral Berwick. “This is a distasteful situation. The act of placing restraints upon anyone violates our most cherished traditions—but it must be. The question becomes: how to enforce these restraints without inflicting harshness?”
The problem was debated at length, and finally a solution was achieved. Most of the coracles were to-be taken to a distant float and hidden, where the intercessors could not find them. Only sufficient coracles to serve the needs of swindlers and blackguards and hooligans, at their respective tasks of fish-swindling, arbor-building and net-emplacement, would be retained. These would be moved to a location forbidden to the intercessors on pain of incarceration in a withe cage. To guarantee that coracles would not be stolen by night, oars and sails would be impounded, in a locked and guarded case. Also—and this stratagem was propounded in a low voice by Roger Kelso, so that the intercessors might not hear—to the keel of each coracle, below the waterline, a line would be attached. This line would run underneath the float and communicate with an alarm of some kind. When the swindlers used a coracle, they would discreetly detach the line, and restore it when they returned. Sklar Hast suggested that four or five young swindlers be appointed to guard the coracles and to make sure that the alarm lines were at all times attached when the coracles were not in use.
The system was accepted as that which imposed the least rigor upon the intercessors. Barquan Blasdel, when the prohibitions were explained, waxed indignant. “First you kidnap us and bundle us across perilous seas, then you perform the infamy of proscribing to our feet certain portions of the float! What do you expect of us?”
“We expect cooperation,” said Sklar Hast in the driest of voices. “Also work. Here, on the New Floats, everyone works, including intercessors, because here there is no need for intercession.”
“You show no more humility or spiritual sense than a six-barb conger,” said Barquan Blasdel evenly.
Sklar Hast shrugged. “Eventually we will kill King Kragen, then you may walk where you will and be humble where you will—but until the loathsome beast settles dead to the ocean’s floor, you must keep a circumspect distance between yourself and our coracles.”
Barquan Blasdel stared at Sklar Hast a full ten seconds. “You have further designs upon the life of King Kragen?”
“Who knows what the future holds?” said Sklar Hast.
On the following day the great task of altering the wild new float began. Pads at the center of the float were designated for removal, in order to form a lagoon. Nigglers stripped away the surface skin, which would serve a great variety of purposes. The pulp below was cut into strips, which when dry and stiff would serve as insulation and planking, or when plucked and shredded became cushioning, fuel, or an ingredient of the coarse paper produced by scriveners. The ribs and tubes of the pads were put aside to season, and the lower membrane, this of the fine transparent quality suitable for windows, was taken. Below were the great cantilever ribs, from which coracle keels and sponge arbors were constructed, and below this the stems, over which sleeves were now fitted to extend above the water level. Sap exuding was collected in buckets, boiled and aged to make varnish. Later, perhaps in a month or two when the sap had stopped flowing, the stem would be cut by advertisermen, stripped of fiber for ropes and cordage, and woody strips for withe.
The aperture thus left vacant would become the float lagoon: an anchorage for coracles, a pond for captive food-fish, a source of scenic delight, and a locale for water sports.
While the nigglers stripped pad-skin from the future lagoon, others cleared away waste vegetation, which was burned for ash; boys climbed the central spikes with buckets, to collect pollen from the great fruiting pods, and this when tested proved to be a quality even finer and more fragrant than the famed Maudelinda yield, it which was a cause for great pleasure.
As soon as withes had been seasoned, larceners and felons set to work constructing huts, while the bezzlers, traditionally the monitors of sanitation, cleanliness, and the purity of the water supply, constructed reservoirs to store the afternoon rainfall. At all these tasks the intercessors, their spouses and children, assisted with more or less good grace and gradually became divided into two groups: those who gave over their initial resentment and began to adapt themselves Ito the new life, and those others—about half—who would not be reconciled and held themselves dourly aloof. Of the latter group Barquan Blasdel was the most notable representative, he made no secret of his continuing resentment. All were careful to observe the restraints put upon their movements, and night after night the coracle alarm remained undisturbed.
One evening Sklar Hast joined Roger Kelso and Rohan at a bench where they were comparing the one Memoria which had been confiscated from Barquan Blasdel with those that Meril Rohan had copied for herself. “I presume there are differences?” Sklar Hast asked.
“Indeed,” said Kelso. “It’s inevitable. The Firsts, whatever their other talents, had few literary skills; some of the books contain much repetition and dullness,
others are vainglorious and devote pages to self-encomium. Others are anxious to explain in great detail the vicissitudes that led to their presence on the Ship of Space. Some of this, inevitably, is omitted in the copying so that every new edition, in a sense, becomes a set of analects.” He tapped Barquan Blasdel’s books. “These are very old and are the most complete of my experience.” He opened one of the books, looked along the pages. “The Firsts were, of course, a very mixed group, derived from a social structure far more complicated than our own. Apparently, they might belong to several different castes at once. There are hints of this situation that I do not even profess to understand.”
“According to my reading of the Analects,” said Sklar Hast, “all describe the Home Worlds as a place of maniacs.”
“We have to take some of this with caution. Never forget that the Firsts were human beings very little different from ourselves. Some were of the most respected castes of the Home World society, until, as they explain it, persons in authority turned on them and instituted a savage persecution, ending, as we know, in our ancestors seizing control of the Ship of Space and fleeing here.”
“It is all very confusing,” said Sklar Hast. “None seems to have much contemporary application. For instance, they do not tell us how they boiled varnish on the Home World, or how they propelled their coracles. Do creatures like the kragen infest the Home Worlds? If so, how do the Home Folk deal with them? Do they kill them or feed them sponges? The Firsts, to my knowledge, are silent on these points.”
“Evidently they are not overly concerned,” said, Kelso reflectively. “Otherwise they would have dealt with these matters at length. There is much that they fail to make clear. As in our own case, the various castes seemed trained to explicit trades. Especially interesting are the memoirs of James Brunet. Like the others, he professes several castes: Scientist, Forger, Caucasoid. All are extinct among us, as the Forgers have all become scriveners. A part of his Memorium consists of rather conventional exhortations to virtue. But at the beginning of the book he says this.” Here Kelso opened a book and read:
“To those who follow us, to our children and grand-children, we can leave no tangible objects of value. We brought nothing to the world but ourselves and the wreckage of our lives. We will undoubtedly die here—a fate probably preferable to New Ossining, but by no means the destiny any of us had planned for ourselves. There is no way to escape. Of the entire group I alone have a technical education, most of which I have forgotten. And to what end could I turn it? This is a soft world. It consists of ocean, air, sunlight, and seaweed. There is land nowhere. To escape—even if we had the craft to build a new ship, which we do not—we need metal, and metal there is
none. Even to broadcast a radio signal we need metal. None … no clay to make pottery, no silica for glass, no limestone for concrete, no ore from which to smelt metal. Still, on reflection, all is not hopeless. Ash is similar chemically to fire clay. The shells of foraminifera are silica. Our own bones become a source of lime. A very high-melt, if low-quality, glass could result if the three were fused in the proper proportion. Presumably the ocean carries various salts, but how to extract the metal without electricity? There is iron in our blood: how to extract it? A strange helpless sensation to live on this world where the hardest substance is our own bone! We have, during our lives, taken so many things for granted, and now it seems that no one can evoke something from nothing … This is a problem on which I must think. An ingenious man can work wonders, and I, a successful forger—or rather, almost successful—am certainly ingenious.”
Roger Kelso paused in his reading. “This is the end of the chapter.”
“He seems to have been a man of no great force,” mused Sklar Hast. “It is true that metal can be found nowhere, except where the savages contemptuously discard it.” On the bench before them was the bit of metal which had once graced the workroom of Barquan Blasdel. Sklar Hast lifted it, hefted it. “Obdurate stuff indeed.” He reached for the crude copper necklace that they had found on the wild floats. “Here is the great mystery: Where, how do the savages derive this?”
Roger Kelso heaved a deep sigh, shook his head in perplexity. “Eventually we will learn.” He returned to the book. “He writes his next chapter after a lapse of months:
“Before I proceed, I must provide as best I can a picture of the way the universe works, for it is clear that none of my colleagues are in any position to do so, excellent fellows though they are. Please do not suspect me of whimsy: our personalities and social worth undoubtedly vary with the context in which we live.”
Here Kelso looked up. “I don’t quite understand all of his implications. Does he mean that his colleagues are excellent fellows? Or were not? Why should he say this? His own caste doesn’t seem to be the highest… I suppose that the matter is unimportant.” He turned the pages. “He now goes into an elaborate set of theorizations regarding the nature of the world, which, I confess, I find over complex, even artificial. There is no consistency to his beliefs. Either he knows nothing, or is confused, or the world essentially is inconsistent. He claims that all matter is composed of less than a hundred ‘elements,’ joined together in ‘compounds.’ The elements are constructed of smaller entities: ‘electrons,’ ‘protons,’ ‘neutrons,’ and others, which are not necessarily matter, but forces, depending on your point oft view; when electrons move, the result is an electric current: a substance or condition—he is not clear here—of great energy and many capabilities. Too much electricity is fatal; in smaller quantities we use it to control our bodies. According to Brunet, all sorts of remarkable things can be achieved with electricity.”
“Let us provide ourselves an electric current then,” said Sklar Hast. “This may become our weapon against the kragen.”
“The matter is not so simple. In the first place, the electricity must be channeled through metal wires.”
“Here is metal,” said Sklar Hast, examining the fragments before him, “though this is hardly likely to be sufficient.”
“The electricity must also be generated,” said Kelso. “On the Home Planet this seems to be a complicated process, requiring a great deal of metal.”
“Then how do we get metal? Are we so backward that, while even the savages strew it around like sponge-husk, we have none?”
Kelso tilted his head dubiously sidewise. “On other planets there seems to be no problem. Ore is refined and shaped into a great variety of tools. Here we have no ore. In other cases, metals are extracted from the sea, once again using electricity.”
Sklar Hast made a sound of disgust. “This is like chasing oneself around a pole. To procure metal, we need electricity. To obtain electricity, metal is required. How does one break into this closed circle? The savages are more adept than we. Do they also wield electricity? Perhaps we should send someone to learn from them.”
“Not I,” said Kelso. He returned to the book. “Brunet mentions various means to generate electricity..,There is the ‘voltaic cell,’ where two metals are immersed acid. He describes a means to derive the acid, using rain-water, sea-brine, and electricity. Then there is thermoelectricity, photoelectricity, chemical electricity, electricity produced by cataphoresis, electricity generated by moving a wire near another wire in which electricity flows. He states that all living creatures produce small quantities of electricity.”
“What of metal?” asked Sklar Hast. “Does he indicate any simple methods to secure metal?”
Kelso turned pages, paused to read. “He mentions that blood contains a small quantity of iron. He suggests a method for extracting it, by using a high degree of heat. But he also points out that there is at hand no substance capable of serving as a receptacle under such extremes of heat. He states that on the Home World many plants concentrate metallic compounds, and suggests that certain of our own sea-plants might do the same. But again either heat or electricity is needed to secure the pure metal.”
Sklar Hast ruminated. “Our first and basic problem, as I see it, is self-protection. We need a weapon to kill King Kragen in the event that he tracks us across the sea. It might be a device of metal—or it might be a larger and more savage kragen, if such exist … ” He considered. “Perhaps you should make production of metal and electricity your goal, and let no other pursuits distract
you. I am sure that the council will agree and put at your disposal such helpers as you may need.”
“I would be pleased to do my best.”
“And I,” said Sklar Hast, “I will reflect upon the kragen.”
Chapter 11
Three days later a kragen was seen, a beast of not inconsiderable size, perhaps twenty feet in length. It came cruising along the edge of the float and, observing the men, stopped short. For twenty minutes it floated placidly, swirling water back and forth with its vanes. Then slowly it swung about and continued along the line of floats.
A month passed, during which the community achieved a rude measure of comfort. A large quantity of stalk and withe had been cut, scraped and racked. A rope-walk had been rigged, and root-wisp was being twisted into rope. Three large pads had been cut from the side and center of the float, creating a large lagoon with a relatively narrow mouth—this at the request of Sklar Hast. Arbors were constructed, seeded with sponge-floss, and lowered into the water.
During this period four kragen had passed by. The fourth occurrence seemed to be a return visit of the first. On this fourth visit the kragen paused, inspected the lagoon with care. It tentatively nudged the net, which had just been set in place, then backed away and presently floated off.
Sklar Hast watched the occurrence. Then he went to inspect the new-cut stalk, which now was sufficiently cured. He laid out a pattern, and work began. First a wide base was built near the narrow mouth of the lagoon, with a substructure extending down to the main stem of the float. On this base was erected an A-frame derrick of glued withe, seventy feet tall, with integral braces, the entire structure whipped tightly with strong line and varnished. Another identical derrick was built to over-hang the ocean. Before either of the derricks were completed, a small kragen broke through the net to feast upon the yet unripe sponges. “At your next visit, you will not fare so well,” Sklar Hast called to the beast. “May the sponges rot in your stomach!”
The kragen swam lazily off down the line of floats, unperturbed by the threat. It returned two days later. This time the derricks were guyed and in place, but not yet fitted with tackle. Again Sklar Hast reviled the beast, which this time ate with greater fastidiousness, plucking only those sponges which like popcorn had overgrown their husks. The men worked far into the night installing the strut which, when the derrick tilted out over the water, thrust high the toppin
g-halyard to provide greater leverage.
On the next day the kragen returned and entered the lagoon with insulting assurance, a beast somewhat smaller than that which Sklar Hast had captured on Tranque Float, but nonetheless a creature of respectable size. Standing on the float, a stalwart old swindler flung a noose around the creature’s turret and on the pad a line of fifty men marched away with a heavy rope. The astonished kragen was towed to the outward-leaning derrick, swung up and in. The dangling vanes were lashed; it was lowered to the float. As soon as the bulk collapsed, the watching folk, crying out in glee, shoved forward, almost dancing into the gnashing mandibles. “Back, fools!” roared Sklar Hast.
“Do you want to be cut in half? Back!” He was largely ignored. A dozen chisels hacked at the horny hide; clubs battered at the eyes. “Back!” raged Sklar Hast. “Back! What do you achieve by antics such as this? Back!”
Daunted, the vengeful folk moved aside. Sklar Hast took chisel and mallet and, as he had done on Tranque e Float, cut at the membrane joining dome to turret. He was joined by four others; the channel was swiftly cut, and a dozen hands ripped away the dome. Again, with pitiless outcry, the crowd surged forward. Sklar Hast’s efforts to halt them were fruitless. The nerves and cords of the creature’s ganglionic center were torn from the turret, while the kragen jerked and fluttered and made a buzzing sound with its mandibles. The turret was plucked clean of the wet-string fibers as well as other organs, and the kragen lay limp.
Sklar Hast moved away in disgust. Rollo Barnack jumped up on the hulk. “Halt now! No more senseless hacking! If the kragen has bones harder than our own, we will want to preserve them for use. Who knows what use can be made of a kragen’s cadaver? The hide is tough; the mandibles are harder than the deepest stalk. Let us proceed intelligently!”
