Nopalgarth

by Jack Vance

  The feet rested in a dark yellow sediment at the bottom of the sac, the head was close up under the trunk, the arms were raised shoulder high and terminated, not in hands, but in tangled balls of gray fiber, which then became ropes rising into the trunk. The top of the scalp was removed, revealing the mass of orange spherules which comprised the Thord brain. About the exposed brain hung a nimbus which Farr, moving closer, saw to be a mesh of near-invisible threads, likewise knotting into a rope and disappearing into the trunk. The eyes were covered by the shutter of a dark brown membrane which served the Thord for eyelids.

  Farr took a deep breath, fighting to control intense revulsion mingled with pity and a peculiar urgency he could not define… He became aware of the attention of the Iszics and turned sharply. The double-segmented eyes of all three were riveted upon him.

  Farr suppressed his emotions as best he could. Whatever the Iszics expected, he would make certain to disappoint them. "This must be the Thord with whom I was locked up."

  Zhde Patasz came slowly forward, his lips twisting in and out. "You recognize him?"

  Farr shook his head. "I hardly saw him. He is an alien, and looks to me much like any other of his race." He peered more closely into the sac of amber gum. "Is he alive?"

  "To a certain degree."

  "Why do you bring me here?"

  Zhde Patasz was almost certainly disturbed, perhaps even angry. Farr wondered what sort of complex plan had gone awry. He stared into the sac. The Thord—had it moved? Omon Bozhd, standing at his left, apparently had noticed the same almost imperceptible twitch of muscle. "The Thord have great psychic resources," said Omon Bozhd, moving forward.

  Farr turned to Zhde Patasz. "It was my understanding that he had died."

  "So he has," said Zhde Patasz, "for all practical purposes. He is no longer Chayen, Fourteenth of Tente, Baron of Binicristi Castle. His personality is departed, he is now an organ, or a nodule, attached to a tree."

  Farr looked back to the Thord. The eyes had opened, and the face had taken on an odd expression. Farr wondered if the Thord could hear words, could understand. In Omon Bozhd beside him, there was a tension, a straining of perplexity. A quick glance showed the same rigidity now in Zhde Patasz and Uder Che. All stared in wonder at the Thord. Uder Che uttered a sudden staccato burst of Iszic, pointed to the foliage. Farr looked up to find that the leaves were shivering. There were no draughts, no currents of air within the dome. Farr looked back to the Thord, to find the eyes fixed on his own. The face strained, the muscles around the mouth had corded. Farr could not tear his gaze away. Now the mouth drooped, the lips quivered. Overhead the heavy branches creaked and groaned.

  "Impossible!" croaked Omon Bozhd. "This is not a correct reaction!"

  The branches swayed and lurched. There was a terrifying crack and down swept a whistling mass of foliage, to fall upon Zhde Patasz and Uder Che. There was another groaning of tortured wood; the trunk split, the entire tree wavered and toppled. The sac burst, and the Thord sprawled out upon the floor, half-supported by the fiber bundles into which his arms terminated. His head lolled back and his mouth split into a ghastly grin. "I am no tree," he croaked in a throaty, gurgling voice. "I am Chayen of Tente." Trickles of yellow lymph oozed from his mouth. He coughed convulsively and fixed his gaze upon Farr. "Get hence, get hence. Leave these cursed tree-dwellers. Go, do what you must."

  Omon Bozhd had leaped to assist Zhde Patasz from under the toppled tree; Farr looked toward them uncertainly. The Thord sank back. "Now I die," he said in a guttural whisper. "I die not as a tree of Iszm, but as a Thord, as Chayen of Tente."

  Farr turned away, and gave assistance to Omon Bozhd and Zhde Patasz, who were trying to extricate Uder Che from under the foliage. But to no avail. A broken branch had driven through the architect's neck. Zhde Patasz gave a cry of despair. "The creature has wounded me in death as he troubled me in life. He has killed the most accomplished of architects." Zhde Patasz turned away and strode from the dome. Omon Bozhd and Farr followed.

  The party returned to Tjiere Town, in gloom and silence. Zhde Patasz conducted himself toward Farr with no more than bare civility. When the glide-car slid into the central avenue, Farr said, "Zhde Patasz Sainh, the events of this afternoon have troubled you deeply, and I think it best that I no longer trespass on your hospitality."

  Zhde Patasz responded curtly. "Farr Sainh must do as he thinks best."

  "I will carry with me forever the memory of my stay on Tjiere Atoll," said Farr fulsomely. "You have given me an insight into the problems of the Iszic planter, and for this I thank you."

  Zhde Patasz bowed. "Farr Sainh may rest assured that we, on our part, will keep him ever fresh in our minds."

  The glide-car stopped at the plaza beside which grew the three hotels and Farr alighted. After a moment's hesitation Omon Bozhd did likewise. There was a final exchange of formal thanks and equally formal disclaimers, and then the glide-car moved on.

  Omon Bozhd went up to Farr. "And what are your plans now?" he inquired gravely.

  "I will rent a room at the hotel," said Farr.

  Omon Bozhd nodded, as if Farr had uttered a truth of great profundity. "And then?"

  "My boat is still under charter," said Farr. He frowned. He had little desire to investigate the plantations of other atolls. "I'll probably return to Jhespiano. And then…"

  "And then?"

  Farr shrugged fretfully. "I'm not sure."

  "In any event, I wish you a pleasant voyage."

  "Thank you."

  Farr crossed the plaza, registered at the largest of the hotels, and was shown to a suite of pods similar to those which he had occupied at the house of Zhde Patasz.

  When he came down to the restaurant for his evening meal, the Szecr were once more in evidence, and Farr felt stifled. After the meal, a typical Iszic repast of marine and vegetable pastes, Farr walked down the avenue to the waterfront, where he ordered the Lhaiz made ready for immediate sailing. The captain was not aboard; the boatswain protested that dawn of the following day was the earliest possible time of departure, and Farr had to be content. To pass the evening he went to walk along the beach. The surf, the warm wind, the sand were like those of Earth, but the silhouettes of the alien trees and the two Szecr padding behind threw everything into a different context, and Farr felt a pang of homesickness. He had journeyed enough. It was time to return to Earth.

  VI

  FARR BOARDED the Lhaiz before Xi Aurigae had fully cleared the horizon, and with the freedom of the Pheadh before him his spirits lifted. The crew was at work, reeving halyards, unfolding sails; there was about the Lhaiz the electric sense of immediacy of a ship about to sail. Farr tossed his meager luggage into the after cabin, looked about for the captain, and gave orders to sail. The captain bowed, then called various orders to the crew. Half an hour passed, but the Lhaiz had not yet cast off. Farr went to the captain, who stood far forward. "Why the delay?"

  The captain pointed below, to where a seaman in a punt worked on the hull. "A leak is being repaired, Farr Sainh. We will soon be underway."

  Farr, returning to the elevated fan-tail, seated himself in the shade of an awning. Another fifteen minutes went by. Farr relaxed and began to take pleasure in the surroundings, the activity of the waterfront, the passers-by in their stripes and bands of various colors… Three Szecr approached the Lhaiz and came aboard. They spoke to the captain, who turned and gave orders to the crew.

  Sails bellied to the wind, mooring lines were cast off, rigging creaked. Farr jumped from his chair, suddenly furious. He started forward to order the Szecr ashore, then restrained himself. It would be an exercise in pure futility. Fuming with repressed rage, Farr returned to his chair. Bubbling, breasting through the blue water, the Lhaiz put out to sea. Tjiere Atoll dwindled, became a shadow on the horizon, then vanished. The Lhaiz scudded west, with the wind astern. Farr frowned. To the best of his recollection he had given no instructions as to their destination. He summoned the captain.

&n
bsp; "I have given you no orders. Why do you sail west?"

  The captain shifted the gaze of one segment of his eyes. "Our destination is Jhespiano. Is this not Farr Sainh's desire?"

  "No," said Farr from sheer perversity. "We will head south, toward Vhejanh."

  "But, Farr Sainh, should we not make directly for Jhespiano, you may well miss the departure of the spaceship!"

  Farr could hardly speak for astonishment. "What is this to you?" he said at last. "Have I expressed a desire to board the spaceship?"

  "No, Farr Sainh. Not to my hearing."

  "Then kindly make no further assumptions regarding my wishes. We will sail for Vhejanh."

  The captain hesitated. "Your orders, Farr Sainh, of course must be weighed carefully. There are also the commands of the Szecr to be considered. They desire that the Lhaiz proceed to Jhespiano."

  "In that case," said Farr, "the Szecr can pay the charter fee. You will collect nothing from me."

  The captain turned slowly away and went to consult the Szecr. There was a brief discussion, during which the captain and the Szecr turned to examine Farr who sat aloof on the fan-tail. At last the Lhaiz swung south on a reach, and the Szecr went angrily forward.

  The voyage proceeded. Farr's relaxation soon vanished. The crew was as vigilant as ever, and less punctilious. The Szecr watched his every move and searched his cabin with an insolent casualness. Farr felt more like a prisoner than a tourist. It was almost as if he were being subjected to deliberate provocation, as if the aim were to make him disgusted with Iszm. "No difficulty in that case," Farr told himself grimly. "The day I leave this planet will be the happiest day of my life."

  Vhejanh Atoll rose above the horizon, a group of islands which might have been the twin of Tjiere. Farr forced himself to go ashore but found nothing more interesting to do than sit on the terrace of the hotel with a goblet of narciz, a sharp, faintly salty beverage derived from seaweed, consumed in quantities by the Iszics of the Pheadh. As he departed he noticed a placard displaying a photograph of a spaceship, and a schedule of arrivals and departures. The SS Andrei Simic was scheduled to leave Jhespiano in three days. There were no other scheduled departures for four months. Farr considered the placard with great interest. He then returned to the dock, resigned his charter of the Lhaiz, after which he took air passage to Jhespiano.

  He arrived the same evening, and at once booked passage aboard the SS Andrei Simic to Earth, whereupon he felt great comfort and peace of mind. "Ridiculous situation," he told himself in half-humorous self-contempt. "Six months ago I could think of nothing but travel to strange planets; now all I want is to go home to Earth."

  The Spaceport Hotel at Jhespiano was an enormous rambling growth of a dozen interlinked trees. Farr was assigned a pleasant pod overlooking the canal leading from the lagoon into the heart of Jhespiano Town. With the time of his departure established Farr once more began to enjoy himself. His meals at the restaurant, prepackaged and imported, were again palatable. The guests were a varied group, with representatives of most of the anthropoid races, including a dozen Earthers.

  The sole annoyance was the continued surveillance by the Szecr, which became so pervasive that Farr complained first to the hotel management, then to the Szecr lieutenant, in both cases receiving only bland shrugs for his trouble. He finally marched across the compound to the little concrete bungalow which housed the office of the District Treaty Administrator, one of the few nonorganic buildings on Iszm. The Administrator was a pudgy little Earther with a beak nose, a ruff of black hair and a fussy manner, to whom Farr took an immediate aversion. Nevertheless he explained his grievance in a reasonable measured manner and the Administrator promised to make inquiries.

  Farr called the next day at the Administrative Mansion, a massive and dignified house overhanging the central canal. On this second visit the Administrator was only formally cordial, although he grudgingly asked Farr to lunch. They ate on a balcony, with boat-pods laden with fruit and flowers passing along the canal below.

  "I called the Szecr Central about your case," the Administrator told Farr. "They're ambiguous, which is unusual. Usually they say bluntly, so-and-so is objectionable; he has been spying."

  "I still don't understand why they should persecute me so intensely."

  "Apparently you were present when a company of Arcturians—"

  "Thord."

  The Administrator acknowledged the correction. "… when the Thord made a massive raid on Tjiere plantation."

  "I was there, certainly."

  The Administrator fiddled with his coffee cup. "This has been enough, evidently, to arouse their suspicions. They believe that one or more spies in the guise of tourists have planned and controlled the raid, and apparently have selected you as one of the responsible parties."

  Farr leaned back in his chair. "That's incredible. The Szecr dosed me with hypnotics, questioned me. They know everything I know. And afterwards the head planter at Tjiere had me as his house-guest. They can't believe that I'm involved! It's unreasonable!"

  The Administrator gave a wry, noncommittal shrug. "This may be. The Szecr admit they have no special charge to bring against you. But, in some way or another you've managed to make yourself an object of suspicion."

  "And so, guilty or innocent, I have to be molested by their attentions? This isn't either the letter or the spirit of the Treaty."

  "That may well be." The Administrator was annoyed. "I fancy that I am as familiar with the provisions of the Treaty as you are." He passed Farr a second cup of coffee, darting a curious glance at him as he did so. "I assume you're not guilty… But perhaps there's something you know. Did you communicate with anyone they might suspect?"

  Farr made an impatient motion. "They threw me into a cell with one of the Thord. I hardly spoke to him."

  The Administrator was obviously unconvinced. "There must be something you've done to bother them. The Iszics, no matter what you care to say, have no interest in harassing you or anyone else from sheer caprice."

  Farr lost his temper. "Who are you representing? Me? Or the Szecr?"

  The Administrator said coldly, "Try to see the situation from my viewpoint. After all it's not impossible that you are what they seem to think you are."

  "First they have to prove it. And even then you are my legal representative. What else are you here for?"

  The Administrator evaded the question. "I only know what you've told me. I spoke to the Iszic Commandant. He is noncommittal. Perhaps they regard you as a dupe, a decoy, a messenger. They may be waiting for you to make a false move or lead them to someone who will."

  "They'll have a long wait. In fact, I'm the aggrieved party, not the Iszics."

  "In what sense?"

  "After the raid, they dropped me into a cell. I mentioned that they imprisoned me—threw me down a hollow root into an underground cell. I banged my head rather badly. In fact I'm still wearing scabs." He felt his scalp, where hair at last was beginning to grow, and sighed. It was evident that the Administrator would take no action. He looked around the balcony. "This place must be tapped for sound."

  "I have nothing to conceal," said the Administrator stiffly. "They can listen night and day. They probably do." He rose to his feet. "When does your ship leave?"

  "In two or three days, depending on cargo."

  "My advice is to tolerate the surveillance, make the best of it."

  Farr extended perfunctory thanks and departed. The Szecr were waiting. They bowed politely as Farr stepped out into the street. Farr drew a deep breath of resignation. Since there would evidently be no amelioration to the situation, he might as well make the best of it.

  He returned to the hotel and showered in the translucent nodule attached to his pod. The liquid was a cool fresh-scented sap, issuing from a nozzle disturbingly like a cow's udder. After dressing in fresh garments provided by the hotel, Farr descended to the terrace. Bored with his own company he looked around the tables. He had formed some slight acquaintance with the ot
her guests: Mr. and Mrs. Anderview, a pair of peripatetic missionaries; Jonas Ralf, and Wilfred Willeran, engineers returning to Earth from Capella XII's great Equatorial Highway and now sitting with a group of touring school teachers only just arrived on Iszm; three round Monagi commercial travelers, Earth stock, but after a hundred and fifty years, already modified by the environment of Monago, or Taurus 61 III, to a characteristic somatic type. To their right were three Nenes, tall slender near-men, agile, voluble and clairvoyant, then a pair of young Earthers Farr understood to be students, then a group of Great Arcturians, the stock from which after a million years on a different planet the Thord had evolved. To the other side of the Monagis sat four Iszic in red and purple stripes, the significance of which Farr was ignorant, and not far distant, drinking a goblet of narciz with an air of intense preoccupation, another Iszic in blue, black and white. Farr stared. He could not be sure—all Iszic seemed much alike—but this individual almost certainly was Omon Bozhd.

  Seeming to sense Farr's attention the man turned his head, nodded politely to Farr, then rose to his feet and came across the terrace. "May I join you?"

  Farr indicated a chair. "I had not expected the pleasure of renewing our acquaintance so soon," he said dryly.

  Omon Bozhd performed one of the bland Iszic gestures the significance of which was beyond Farr's understanding. "You did not know of my plans to visit Earth?"

  "No, certainly not."

  "Curious."

  Farr said nothing.

  "Our friend Zhde Patasz Sainh has asked me to convey to you a message," said Omon Bozhd. "First he transmits through me a correct Type 8 salute and the sense of his shame that disturbance marred your last day at Tjiere. That the Thord had psychic force sufficient for such an act is still almost incredible to us. Secondly, he counsels you to choose your associates with great caution during the next few months, and thirdly, he commends me to your care and hospitality on Earth, where I will be a stranger."