by Jack Vance
By some subtlety of pose Elfane gave him to understand that she had definitely stopped, that she had joined him. She said, "You've been avoiding me—when I need someone to talk to the most."
Joe said searchingly, "Elfane—have you ever been in love?"
Her face was puzzled. "I don't understand."
Joe grunted. "Just an Earth abstraction. Whom do you mate with on Kyril?"
"Oh—persons who interest us, whom we like to be with, who make us conscious of our bodies."
Joe turned back to the stars. "The subject is a little deep."
Her voice was amused and soft. "I understand very well, Joe."
He turned his head. She was smiling. Rich ripe lips, the passionate face, dark eyes holding an eagerness. He kissed her like a thirsty man drinking.
"Elfane… ?"
"Yes?"
"On Ballenkarch—we'll turn around, head back for Earth. No more worry, no more plotting, no more death. There's so many places I want to show you—old places, old Earth, that's still so fresh and sweet."
She moved in his arms. "There's my own world, Joe —and my responsibility."
Tensely Joe said, "On Earth you'll see it as it is—a vile muck, as degrading to the Druids as it is miserable to the slaves."
"Slaves? They serve the Tree of Life. We all serve the Tree of Life in our different ways."
"The Tree of Death!"
Elfane disengaged herself without heat. "Joe—it's something which I can't explain to you. We're bound to the Tree. We are its children. You don't understand the great truth. There is one universe, with the Tree at the hub, and the Druids and the Laity serve the Tree, at bay to pagan space.
"Someday it will be different. All men will serve the Tree. We'll be born from the soil, we'll serve and work and finally give our lives into the Tree and become a leaf in the eternal light, each to his place. Kyril will be the goal, the holy place of the galaxy."
Joe protested, "But you give this vegetable—an enormous vegetable but still a vegetable—you give this vegetable a higher place in your mind than you do humanity. On Earth we'd chop the thing up for stove wood. No, that's not true. We'd run a spiral runway around the thing, send excursion trips up and sell hot dogs and soda pop on the top. We'd use the thing, not let it hypnotize us by its bulk."
She had not heard him. "Joe—you can be my lover. And we'll live our life on Kyril and serve the Tree and kill its enemies…" She stopped short, stunned by Joe's expression.
"That's no good—for either of us. I'll go back to Earth. You stay out here, find another lover to kill your enemies for you. And we'll each be doing what we want. But the other won't be included."
She turned away, leaned on the rail, stared dismally out at the midship stars. Presently, "Were you ever in love with any other woman?"
"Nothing serious," lied Joe. And, after a moment, "And you—have you had other lovers?"
"Nothing serious…"
Joe looked at her sharply but there was no trace of humor on her face. He sighed. Earth was not Kyril.
She said, "After we land on Ballenkarch what will you do?"
"I don't know—I haven't made up my mind. Certainly nothing to do with Druids and Mangs, I know that much. Trees and empires can all explode together so far as I'm concerned. I have problems of my own…" His voice dwindled, died.
He saw himself meeting Harry Creath. On Mars, with his mind full of Margaret—on Io, Pluto, Altair, Vega, Giansar, Polaris, Thuban, even as recently as Jamivetta and Kyril—he had been conscious of nothing quixotic, nothing ridiculous in his voyaging.
Now Margaret's image had begun to blur—but blurred as it was he heard the tinkling chime of her laugh.
With a sudden flush of embarrassment he knew that she would find a great deal of amusement in the tale of his venturings—as well as astonishment, incredulity and perhaps the faintest hint of scorn.
Elfane was regarding him curiously. He came back to the present. Strange, how solid and real she seemed in contrast to his thought-waifs. Elfane would find nothing amusing in a man roaming the universe for love of her. On the contrary she would be indignant if such were not the case.
"What will you do on Ballenkarch then?" she asked.
Joe rubbed his chin, stared out at the shifting stars. "I guess I'll look up Harry Creath."
"And where will you look for him?"
"I don't know. I'll try the civilized continent first."
"None of Ballenkarch is civilized."
"The least barbarian continent, then!" said Joe patiently. "If I know Harry, he'll be in the thick of things."
"And if he's dead?"
"Then I'll turn around and go home with my conscience clear."
Margaret would say, "Harry dead?" And he saw the pert lift of her round chin. "In that case he loses by default. Take me, my chivalrous lover, sweep me away in your white spaceboat."
He stole a glance at Elfane, became aware of a tart flowering incense she was wearing. Elfane was galvanic with life and thought and wonder. She took life and emotion seriously. Of course Margaret had a lighter touch, an easier laugh, was not intent on killing enemies of her religion. Religion? Joe laughed shortly. Margaret barely recognized the word.
"Why do you laugh?" Elfane asked suspiciously.
"I was thinking of an old friend," said Joe.
Ballenkarch! A world of fierce gray storms and bright sunlight. A world of blazing color and violent landscape—of rock palisades like walls across the sky—of forests, dim, tall, sequestered—of savannahs ankle-deep in the greenest of grass, coursed by slow mighty rivers. In the low latitudes jungles crowded and jostled, trod under the weaker growths, built up mile after mile of humus until at last the elevation so created acted as a brake on their vitality.
And among the mountain passes, through the forests, wandering across the plains, rolled the Ballenkart clans in caravans of brightly-painted wains. They were great bull-voiced men in armor of steel and leather, wasting their blood in vendetta and duel.
They lived in an atmosphere of epic—of raids, massacres, fights with tall black jungle bipeds, fearsome and semi-intelligent. For weapons they used swords, lances, a portable arbalest which flung fist-size stones. Their language, divorced from the current of galactic civilization a thousand years, was a barely understandable pidgin and they wrote in pictographs.
The Belsaurion set down on a green plain drenched in sunlight. In the distance rain hung in veils from a black welter of clouds and a gorgeous rainbow arched over a forest of tall blue-green trees.
A rude pavilion of logs and corrugated metal served as depot and waiting room and when the Belsaurion finally shuddered to rest a little wagon with eight creaking wheels came chugging out across the grass, stopped alongside the ship.
Joe asked Hableyat, "Where is the city?"
Hableyat chuckled. "The Prince won't allow a ship any closer to his main settlements for fear of slavers.
These burly Ballenkarts are much in demand on Frums and Perkins for bodyguards."
The port was opened to the outdoors. Fresh air, smelling of damp earth, swept into the ship. The steward announced to the saloon, "Passengers wishing to alight may do so. You are cautioned not to leave the vicinity of the ship until transportation has been arranged to Vail-Alan."
Joe looked around for Elfane. She was speaking vehemently to the two Druid missionaries and they listened with expressions of mulish obstinacy. Elfane became enraged, jerked away, marched white-faced to the port and outside. The Druids followed, muttering to each other.
Elfane approached the driver of the eight-wheeled vehicle. "I wish to be conveyed to Vail-Alan at once."
He looked at her without expression. Hableyat touched her elbow. "Priestess, an air-car shortly will arrive to convey us a great deal faster than this vehicle."
She turned, walked swiftly away. Hableyat leaned close to the driver, who whispered a few sentences. Hableyat's face changed in the slightest degree—a twitch of a muscle, a deepening of his j
owl-crease. He saw Joe watching, instantly became businesslike and the driver was once more blank-faced.
Hableyat moved off by himself in a preoccupied manner. Joe joined him. "Well"—sardonically—"what's the news?"
Hableyat said, "Very bad—very bad indeed—"
"How so?"
Hableyat hesitated an instant, then blurted in as frank an exhibition of emotion as Joe had seen him express, "My opponents at home are much stronger with the Lathbon than I knew. Magnerru Ippolito himself is at Vail-Alan. He has reached the Prince and evidently has uttered some unsavory truths regarding the Druids. So now I learn that plans for a Druid cathedral and monastery have been abandoned and that Wanbrion, a Sub-Thearch, is guarded closely."
In exasperation Joe surveyed the portly Hableyat. "Well, isn't that what you want? Certainly a Druid advising the Prince wouldn't help the Mangs."
Hableyat shook his head sadly. "My friend, you are as easily gulled as my militant countrymen."
"I suppose I'm dense."
Hableyat held his hands out from his sides as if revealing all to Joe by the gesture. "It's so obvious."
"Sorry."
"In this manner—the Druids plan to assimilate Ballenkarch to themselyes. My opponents on Mangtse, learning of this intent, rush forward to oppose it tooth and nail. They will not consider implications, probable eventualities. No, since it is a Druid scheme it must be countered. And with a program which, in my opinion, will seriously embarrass Mangtse."
"I see what you're driving at," said Joe, "but not how it works."
Hableyat faced him with an amused expression. "My dear fellow, human reverence is by no means infinite. I would say that the Kyril Laity lavish the maximum on their Tree. So—what will be the reaction to news of another divine Tree?"
Joe grinned. "It will cut their reverence toward the first tree in half."
"Naturally I am unable to estimate the diminution but in any event it will be considerable. Doubt, heresy, will find ears and the Druids will notice that the Laity is no longer unquestioning and innocent. They identify themselves now with the Tree. It is theirs, unique of its kind, solitary in the universe.
"Then—suddenly another Tree exists on Ballenkarch —planted by the Druids and there are rumors that its presence is politically motivated." He raised his eyebrows expressively.
"But the Druids, by controlling Ballenkarch and these new industries, can still wind up on the credit side."
Hableyat shook his head. "My friend, Mangtse is potentially the weakest world of the three. That's the crux of the entire matter. Kyril has its manpower, Ballenkarch has the mineral and agricultural wealth, an aggressive population, a warlike tradition. In any association of worlds Ballenkarch eventually will be the cannibal mate devouring his spouse.
"Think of the Druids—the epicures, the sophisticated masters of five billion slaves. Picture them trying to dominate Ballenkarch. It is laughable. In fifty years the Ballenkarts would be whipping the Thearchs from the gates of Divinal and burning the Tree for a victory bonfire.
"Consider the alternative —Ballenkarch tied to Mangtse. A period of tribulation, profit for none. And now the Druids will have no choice —they will have to buckle down and work. With the Ballenkart industries denied them they will of necessity bring new ways to Kyril— factories, industries, education. The old ways will go.
"The Druids might or might not lose the reins of power—but Kyril would remain an integrated industrial unit and there would go the natural market for Mang products. So you see, with the Kyril and Ballenkarch markets both removed our own Mang economy would dwindle, suffer. We would be forced to recover our markets by military action and we might lose."
"I understand all this," said Joe slowly, "but it gets nowhere. Just what do you want?"
"Ballenkarch is self-sufficient. At the moment neither Mangtse nor Kyril can exist alone. We form a natural couple. But as you see the Druids are dissatisfied with the influx of wealth. They demand more and they think to acquire it by controlling the Ballenkarch industries.
"I want to prevent this—and I also want to prevent a Mangtse-Ballenkarch understanding, which would be prima facie unnatural. I wish to see a new regime on Kyril, a government committed to improving the productive and purchasing power of the Laity, a government committed to the natural alliance with Mangtse."
"Too bad the three worlds can't form a common council."
Hableyat sighed. "That idea, while felicitous, flies in the face of three realities. First, the current policy of the Druids—second, the ascendancy of the Red-branch on Mangtse—and third, the ambitions of the Prince of Ballenkarch. Change all three of these realities and such a union might be consummated. I for one would approve it—why not?" he mused as if to himself and behind the bland yellow mask Joe glimpsed the face of a very tired man.
"What will happen to you now?"
Hableyat pursed his lips dolefully. "If my authority actually has been superseded I will be expected to kill myself. Don't look bewildered—it is a Mang custom, a method of underscoring disapproval. I fear I am not long for the world."
"Why not return to Mangtse and repair your political fences?"
Hableyat shook his head. "That is not our custom. You may smile but you forget that societies exist through general agreement as to certain symbols, necessities which must be obeyed."
"Here comes the air-car," said Joe. "If I were you, instead of committing suicide, I'd try to work out some kind of scheme to get the Prince on your side. He seems to be the key. They're both after him, Druids and Mangs."
Hableyat shook his head. "Not the Prince. He's a queer man, a mixture of bandit, jester and visionary. He seems to regard this new Ballenkarch as an interesting game, a sportive recreation."
XI
The air-car landed, a big-bellied transport in need of paint. Two large men in red knee-length breeches, loose blue jackets, black caps, swaggered from the air-car, wearing the placidly arrogant expressions of a military elite.
"Lord Prince sends his greetings," said the first to the Beland officer. "He understands that there are foreign agents among the passengers, so he will have all who land conveyed before him at once."
There was no further conversation. Into the car trooped Elfane and Hableyat, the two Druids clutching their portable altar, the Mangs, glaring yellow-eyed at Hableyat, and Joe. These were all for Ballenkarch—the Cils and the aged woman in the black gown would continue their journey to Castlegran, Cil or Beland and none were discharged from the hold.
Joe crossed the fuselage, dropped into a seat beside Elfane. She turned her head, showed him a face which seemed drained of its youth. "What do you want with me?"
"Nothing. Are you angry with me?"
"You're a Mang spy."
Joe laughed uneasily. "Oh—because I'm thick with Hableyat?"
"What did he send you to tell me now?"
The question took Joe aback. It opened up a vista for speculation. Could it be possible that Hableyat was using him as a means to convey ideas of Hableyat's choosing to the Druids through Elfane?
He said, "I don't know whether or not he wanted this to reach you. But he explained to me why he's been helping you bring your Tree here and it sounds convincing to me."
"In the first place," said Elfane scathingly. "We have no more Tree. It was stolen from us at Junction." Her eyes widened and she looked at him with a sudden suspicion. "Was that your doing too? Is it possible that…"
Joe sighed. "You're determined to think the worst of me. Very well. If you weren't so damned beautiful and appealing I would think twice about you. But you're planning to bust in on the Prince with your two milk-faced Druids and you think you can wind him around your finger. Maybe you can. I know very well you'd stop at nothing. And now I'll get off my chest what Hableyat said and you can do what you like with the information."
He glared at her, challenging her to speak, but she tossed her head and stared hard out the window.
"He believes that if you succee
d in this mission, then you and your Druids will wind up playing second fiddle to these tough Ballenkarts. If you don't succeed —well, the Mangs will probably figure out something unpleasant for you personally but the Druids—according to Hableyat—eventually will come out ahead."
"Go away," she said in a choked voice. "All you do is scare me. Go away."
"Elfane—forget all this Druid-Mang -Tree-of-Life stuff and I'll take you back to Earth. That is if I get off the planet alive."
She showed him the back of her head. The car buzzed, vibrated, rose into the air. The landscape dished out below them. Massive mountains shot and marbled with snow and ice, luxuriant meadowland with grass glowing the sharp bright color of prismatic green, spread below. They crossed the range. The car jerked, jolted in bumpy air, slanted down toward an inland sea.
A settlement, obviously raw and new, had grown up on the shore of this sea. Three heavy docks, a dozen large rectangular buildings—glass-sided, roofed with bright metal—formed the heart of the town. A mile beyond a promontory covered with trees overlooked the sea and in the shadow of this promontory the car grounded.
The door opened. One of the Ballenkarts motioned brusquely. "This way."
Joe followed Elfane to the ground and saw ahead a long low building with a glass front looking across the vista of sea and plain. The Ballenkart corporal made another peremptory motion. "To the Residence," he said curtly.
Resentfully Joe started for the building, thinking that these soldiers made poor emissaries of good will. His nerves tautened as he walked. The atmosphere was hardly one of welcome. The tension, he noticed, gripped everyone. Elfane moved as if her legs were rigid. Erru Kametin's jaw shone bright yellow along the bone line.
At the rear Joe noticed Hableyat speaking urgently with the two Druid missionaries. They seemed reluctant. Hableyat raised his voice. Joe heard him say, "What's the difference? This way you at least have a chance, whether you distrust my motives or not." The Druids at last appeared to acquiesce. Hableyat marched briskly ahead and said in a loud voice, "Halt! This impudence must not go on!"
