Nopalgarth

by Jack Vance

  Farr laughed shortly. "A tourist unlike myself. I don't care to be associated with the affair even indirectly."

  Zhde Patasz bowed politely. "A creditable attitude. But I am sure you are generous enough to understand our agitation. We must protect our investment; we are businessmen."

  "Not very good businessmen," said Farr.

  "An interesting opinion. Why not?"

  "You have a good product," said Farr, "but you market it uneconomically. Limited sale, high mark-up."

  Zhde Patasz brought out his viewer and waved it indulgently. "There are many theories."

  "I've studied several analyses of the house trade," said Farr. "They disagree only in detail."

  "What is the consensus?"

  "That your methods are inefficient. On each planet a single dealer has the monopoly. It's a system which pleases only the dealer. K. Penche is a hundred times a millionaire and he's the most hated man on Earth."

  Zhde Patasz swung his viewer thoughtfully. "K. Penche will be an unhappy man as well as a hated one."

  "Glad to hear it," said Farr. "Why?"

  "The raid destroyed a large number of his quota."

  "He won't get any houses?"

  "Not of the kind he ordered."

  "Well," said Farr, "it makes little difference. He sells everything you send him anyway."

  Zhde Patasz showed a trace of impatience. "He is an Earther—a mercantilist. We are Iszic and house-breeding is in our blood, a basic instinct. The line of planters began two hundred thousand years ago when Diun, the primordial anthrophib, crawled out of the ocean. With salt-water still draining from his gills he took refuge in a pod. He is my ancestor. We have gained mastery over houses; we shall not dissipate this accumulated lore, or permit ourselves to be plundered."

  "The knowledge eventually will be duplicated," said Farr, "whether you like it or not. There are too many homeless people in the universe."

  "No." Zhde Patasz snapped his viewer. "The craft cannot be induced rationally—an element of magic still exists."

  "Magic?"

  "Not literally. The trappings of magic. For instance, we sing incantations to sprouting seeds. The seeds sprout and prosper. Without incantations they fail. Why? Who knows? No one on Iszm. In every phase of growing, training and breaking the house for habitation, this special lore makes the difference between a house and a withered useless vine."

  "On Earth," said Farr, "we would begin with the elemental tree. We would sprout a million seeds, we would explore a million primary avenues."

  "After a thousand years," said the Iszic, "you might control the number of pods on a tree." He walked to the wall and stroked the green fiber. "This floss —we inject a liquid into an organ of the rudimentary pod. The liquid comprises substances such as powdered ammonite nerve, ash of the frunz bush, sodium isochromyl acetate, powder from the Phanodano meteorite. The liquid undergoes six critical operations, and must be injected through the proboscis of a sea-lympid. Tell me," he glanced at Farr through his viewer, "how long before your Earth researchers could grow green floss into a pod?"

  "Perhaps we'd never try. We might be satisfied with five or six-pod houses the owners could furnish as they liked."

  Zhde Patasz's eyes snapped. "But this is crudity! You understand, do you not? A dwelling must be all of a unit—the walls, the drainage, the decor grown in! What use is our vast lore, our two hundred thousand years of effort, otherwise? Any ignoramus can paste up green floss, only an Iszic can grow it!"

  "Yes," said Farr. "I believe you."

  Zhde Patasz continued, passionately waving his viewer. "And if you stole a female house, and if you managed to breed a five-pod house, that is only the beginning. It must be entered, mastered, trained. The webbings must be cut; the nerves of ejaculation must be located and paralyzed. The sphincters must open and close at a touch.

  "The art of house-breaking is almost as important as house-breeding. Without correct breaking a house is an unmanageable nuisance—a menace."

  "K. Penche breaks none of the houses you send to Earth."

  "Pahl Penche's houses are docile, spiritless. They are without interest. They lack beauty, grace." He paused. "I cannot speak. Your language has no words to tell what an Iszic feels for his house. He grows it, grows into it. His ashes are given it when he dies. He drinks its ichor; it breathes his breath. It protects him; it takes on the color of his thoughts. A spirited house will repel a stranger. An injured house will kill. And a Mad House—that is where we take our criminals."

  Farr listened in fascination. "That's all very well—for an Iszic. An Earther isn't so particular—at least, a low income Earther. Or as you would put it, a low-caste Earther. He just wants a house to live in."

  "You may obtain houses," said Zhde Patasz. "We are glad to provide them. But you must use the accredited distributors."

  "K. Penche?"

  "Yes. He is our representative."

  "I think I will go to bed," said Farr. "I am tired and my head hurts."

  "A pity. But rest well, and tomorrow, should you choose, we will inspect my plantation. In the meantime, my house is yours."

  The young woman in the black turban conducted Farr to his chambers. She ceremoniously bathed his face, his hands, his feet, and sprayed the air with an aromatic scent.

  Farr fell into a fitful slumber. He dreamt of the Thord. He saw the blunt brown face, heard the heavy voice. The abrasion on his scalp stung like fire, and Farr twisted and turned.

  The brown man's face disappeared like an extinguished light. Farr slept in peace.

  V

  THE FOLLOWING DAY Farr awoke to the sighing whispering sounds of Iszic music. Fresh clothing hung close at hand, which he donned and then went out on the balcony. The scene was one of magnificent eerie beauty. The sun, Xi Aurigae, had not yet risen. The sky was an electric blue and the sea a plum-colored mirror, darkening to a tarnished black at the horizon. To right and left stood the vast and intricate houses of the Tjiere aristocrats, the foliage in silhouette against the sky, and the pods showing traces of muted colors: dark blue, maroon, deep green, like old velvet. Along the canal dozens of gondolas drifted. Beyond spread the Tjiere bazaar where goods and implements from the industrial systems of South Continent and a few off-world items were distributed by some apparently casual means of exchange not completely clear to Farr.

  From within the apartment came the sound of a plucked string. Farr turned to find two attendants carrying in a tall compartmented buffet laden with food. Farr ate wafers, fruits, marine tubers and pastes while Xi Aurigae bulged gradually over the horizon.

  When he finished, the attendants reappeared with a promptness that caused Farr a twinge of wry amusement. They removed the buffet, and the Iszic woman who had greeted Farr the previous evening now entered. Today her normal costume of black ribbons was augmented by a complicated headdress of the same black ribbons which concealed the knobs and ridges of her scalp and gave her an unexpectedly attractive semblance. After performing an elaborate ceremonial salute she announced that Zhde Patasz awaited Farr Sainh's pleasure.

  Farr accompanied her to the lobby at the base of the great trunk. Here Zhde Patasz waited in the company of an Iszic whom he introduced as Omon Bozhd, a general agent for the house-growers' cooperative. Omon Bozhd was taller than Zhde Patasz, his face was rather broader and less keen, and his manner was almost imperceptibly brisker and more direct. He wore bands of blue and black, with black cheek disks, a costume Farr vaguely understood to indicate one of the upper castes. Zhde Patasz's manner toward Omon Bozhd seemed a peculiar mixture of condescension and respect, insofar as Farr could define it. Farr ascribed Zhde Patasz's attitude to the discord between Omon Bozhd's caste and his pallid white skin which was that of a man from one of the southern archipelagoes, or even South Continent, and which lacked the pale blue tinge distinguishing the aristocratic planters of the Pheadh. Farr, sufficiently perplexed by the extraordinary attention he was receiving, gave him no great attention.

  Zhde
Patasz conducted his guests to a charabanc with padded benches, supported by a hundred near-silent whorls of air. There was no attempt at embellishment or decoration, but the pale shell of the structure, grown in one piece along with the curved and buttressed railings, the arched seats and the dangling fringe of dark brown fiber, were sufficiently striking in themselves. A servant in red and brown bands straddled a prong protruding forward and worked the controls. On a low bench to the rear sat two other servants who carried the various instruments, emblems and accoutrements of Zhde Patasz, serving purposes which Farr for the most part could not guess.

  At the last minute a fourth Iszic joined the group, a man in blue and gray bands whom Zhde Patasz introduced as Uder Che, his "chief architect."

  "The actual Iszic word," said Zhde Patasz, "of course is different, and includes an array of other meanings or resonants: biochemist, instructor, poet, precursor, one who lovingly nurtures, much else. The end effect, nonetheless, is the same, and describes one who creates new sorts of houses."

  Behind, as a matter of course, came a trio of the ubiquitous Szecr riding another smaller platform. Farr thought he recognized one of the group as his escort at the time of the Thord raid, the author of the various indignities to which he had been subjected. But he could not be certain. To his alien eye all Iszic looked alike. He toyed with the idea of denouncing the man to Zhde Patasz, who had sworn to have him drowned. Farr restrained the urge; Zhde Patasz might feel impelled to make good his word.

  The platform glided off under the massive tree-dwellings at the center of town, out along a road which led beside a series of small fields. Here grew the gray-green shoots Farr recognized as infant houses. "Class AAA and AABR houses for the work-supervisors of South Continent," explained Zhde Patasz with a rather patronizing air. "Yonder are four- and five-pod trees for the artisans. Each district has its unique requirements, the description of which I will not burden you. Our off-world exports of course are not of such critical concern, since we only sell a few standard and easily grown structures."

  Farr frowned. It seemed that Zhde Patasz's patronizing manner had become more pronounced. "You could increase your off-world sales tremendously if you chose to diversify."

  Zhde Patasz and Omon Bozhd both exhibited signs of amusement. "We sell as many trees off-world as we choose. Why strive further? Who appreciates the unique and exceptional qualities of our houses? You yourself tell us that the Earther regards his house as hardly more than a cubicle to ward off the weather."

  "You misunderstood me—or perhaps I expressed myself poorly. But even if this were wholly true—which it isn't—the need still exists for a whole variety of houses, on Earth, as well as on the other planets to which you sell houses."

  Omon Bozhd spoke. "You really are irrational, Farr Sainh, if I may invest the word with its least offensive aura of meaning. Let me expatiate. On Earth you claim that a need exists for housing. On Earth there is also a surplus of wealth—a surplus so great that vast projects are generated by the impounded energy. This wealth could solve the problem of deficient housing in the twinkling of an eye—if those who controlled the wealth so desired. Since you understand this course of events to be unlikely, you turn your eye speculatively upon us relatively poor Iszics, hoping that we will prove less obdurate than the men of your own planet. When you find that we are absorbed in our own interests, you become resentful—and herein lies the irrationality of your position."

  Farr laughed. "This is a distorted reflection of reality. We are wealthy, true enough. Why? Because we constantly try to maximize production and minimize effort. The Iszic houses represent this minimizing of effort."

  "Interesting," murmured Zhde Patasz. Omon Bozhd nodded sagely. The glide-car turned and rose to drift above a tangle of spiky gray bushes overgrown with black spheres. Beyond, across a fringe of beach, lay the calm blue world-ocean, the Pheadh. The glide-car nosed out over the low surf and slid out toward an off-shore islet.

  Zhde Patasz spoke in a solemn, almost sepulchral, voice. "You are now to be shown what very few are permitted to see: an experimental station where we conceive and develop new houses."

  Farr tried to make a suitable reply, expressing interest and appreciation, but Zhde Patasz had withdrawn his attention and Farr became silent.

  The platform heaved across the water, the whorls of air creating a seethe of white spume astern. Light from Xi Aurigae glittered on the blue water and Farr thought what an Earthly scene this might have been—but for the oddly-shaped glide-car, the tall milky-white men in stripes beside him, and the peculiar aspect of the trees on the island ahead. Those visible were of a type he had not seen previously: heavy, low, with densely matted black branches. The foliage, fleshy strips of brown tissue, seemed in constant motion.

  The glide-car slowed, coasted toward the beach, and halted twenty feet offshore. Uder Che, the architect, jumped into the knee-deep water and cautiously walked ashore, carrying a black box. The trees reacted to his presence, at first leaning toward him, then recoiling and unlacing their branches. After a moment there was a gap wide enough for the glide-car, which now proceeded across the beach and through the gap. Uder Che followed and boarded the car; the trees once more joined branches to create an impenetrable tangle.

  Zhde Patasz explained that, "The trees will kill anyone who attempts to pass without manifesting the proper safe-signal, which is radiated from the box. In the past, planters often mounted expeditions against each other—no longer the case, of course—and the sentry trees are perhaps not strictly necessary. But we are a conservative lot and maintain our old customs."

  Farr looked around him, making no attempt to conceal his interest. Zhde Patasz watched him with patient amusement. "When I came to Iszm," said Farr at last, "I hoped for an opportunity like this, but never expected it. I admit that I'm puzzled. Why do you show me these things?" He searched the pale ridged face, but inevitably could read nothing from the Iszic's expression.

  Zhde Patasz reflected a moment before he answered. "Conceivably you demand reasons where none exist, beyond the normal solicitude of a host for an honored guest."

  "This is a possibility," admitted Farr. He smiled politely. "But perhaps other motivations also exist?"

  "Conceivably. The raid of the Thords still troubles us and we are anxious for more information. But let us not concern ourselves with such matters today. As a botanist, I believe you will be interested in the contrivances of myself and Uder Che."

  "Oh indeed." And for the next two hours Farr examined houses with buttressed pods for the high-gravity worlds of Cleo 8 and Martinon's Fort and loose complex houses with pods like balloons for Fei, where gravity was only half that of Iszm. There were trees comprised of a central columnar trunk and four vast leaves, arching out and over to the ground to form four domed halls illuminated by the pale green transmitted light. There was a tough-trunked tree supporting a single turretlike pod, with lanceolate foliage spiking outward at the base: a watch-tower for the feuding tribesmen of Eta Scorpionis. In a walled enclosure were trees with varying degrees of motility and awareness. "A new and adventurous area of research," Zhde Patasz told Farr. "We play with the idea of growing trees to perform special tasks, such as sentry duty, garden supervision, mineral exploration, simple machine tending. As I say, we are merely amusing ourselves at the moment. I understand that on Duroc Atoll, the master planter in residence has created a tree which first produces colored fibers, and from these weaves rugs of characteristic pattern. We ourselves have performed our share of bizarre feats. For instance, in yonder cupola, we have achieved a conjunction which might be thought impossible, if one did not understand the basis of the adaptation."

  Farr made a polite sound of wonder and admiration. He noted that both Omon Bozhd and Uder Che were giving particularly respectful attention to the planter's words, as if they signified something portentous. And suddenly Farr realized that whatever the motive for Zhde Patasz's elaborate hospitality, it was now about to be made clear to him.

&
nbsp; Zhde Patasz continued in the harsh, crisp accent of the aristocratic Iszic. "The mechanism, if I may call it that, of this conjoining is in theory not difficult. The animal corpus depends upon food and oxygen, plus a few subsidiary compounds. The vegetable system, of course, produces these substances, and recycles the waste products of the animal. It is tempting to try for a closed system, requiring only energy from an external source. Our achievements, while I think you will find them dramatic, still fall far short of elegance. There is no little real mingling of tissue: all interchange is done across semi-permeable membranes which isolate plant fluids and animal fluids. Nevertheless a start has been made." As Zhde Patasz spoke he moved toward a pale yellow-green hemisphere above which tall yellow fronds swung and fluttered. Zhde Patasz gestured toward an arched opening. Omon Bozhd and Uder Che stayed discreetly to the rear. Farr looked at them, dubiously.

  Zhde Patasz bowed once more. "As a botanist I am sure you will be fascinated by our achievement."

  Farr studied the opening, trying to assess its implications. Within was something which the Iszics intended him to see, some stimulus which they intended him to experience… Danger? They had no need to trick him; he was in any case at their mercy. Zhde Patasz moreover was bound by the universal laws of hospitality, as firmly as any Bedouin sheik. Danger there would be none. Farr stepped forward and passed into the interior of the dome. At the center was a slightly raised bed of rich soil, on which rested a large bubble, a sac of yellow gum. The surface of this sac was veined with glistening white strings and tubes of membrane which at the apex merged to form a pale gray trunk, which in turn supported a symmetrical crown of branches and wide heart-shaped black-green leaves. So much Farr glimpsed in an instant, though from the moment of his entry his attention was fixed on that which was contained in the capsule of gum: a naked Thord body.