The Moon Moth and Other Stories

by Jack Vance

  Ravelin regarded Iugenae critically. “I’m not so sure.”

  Ted patted Iugenae’s hand. “When do you have your own child, Lamster Ullward?” (Lamster: contraction of Landmaster—the polite form of address in current use.)

  “Still some time yet. I’m thirty-seven billion down the list.”

  “A pity,” said Ravelin Seehoe brightly, “when you could give a child so many advantages.”

  “Some day, some day, before I’m too old.”

  “A shame,” said Ravelin, “but it has to be. Another fifty billion people and we’d have no privacy whatever!” She looked admiringly around the room, which was used for the sole purpose of preparing food and dining.

  Ullward put his hands on the arms of his chair, hitched forward a little. “Perhaps you’d like to look around the ranch?” He spoke in a casual voice, glancing from one to the other.

  Iugenae clapped her hands; Ravelin beamed. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble!”

  “Oh, we’d love to, Lamster Ullward!” cried Iugenae.

  “I’ve always wanted to see your ranch,” said Ted. “I’ve heard so much about it.”

  “It’s an opportunity for Iugenae I wouldn’t want her to miss,” said Ravelin. She shook her finger at Iugenae. “Remember, Miss Puss, notice everything very carefully—and don’t touch!”

  “May I take pictures, Mother?”

  “You’ll have to ask Lamster Ullward.”

  “Of course, of course,” said Ullward. “Why in the world not?” He rose to his feet—a man of more than middle stature, more than middle pudginess, with straight sandy hair, round blue eyes, a prominent beak of a nose. Almost three hundred years old, he guarded his health with great zeal, and looked little more than two hundred.

  He stepped to the door, checked the time, touched a dial on the wall. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes, we’re quite ready,” said Ravelin.

  Ullward snapped back the wall, to reveal a view over a sylvan glade. A fine oak tree shaded a pond growing with rushes. A path led through a field toward a wooded valley a mile in the distance.

  “Magnificent,” said Ted. “Simply magnificent!”

  They stepped outdoors into the sunlight. Iugenae flung her arms out, twirled, danced in a circle. “Look! I’m all alone! I’m out here all by myself!”

  “Iugenae!” called Ravelin sharply. “Be careful! Stay on the path! That’s real grass and you mustn’t damage it.”

  Iugenae ran ahead to the pond. “Mother!” she called back. “Look at these funny little jumpy things! And look at the flowers!”

  “The animals are frogs,” said Ullward. “They have a very interesting life-history. You see the little fishlike things in the water?”

  “Aren’t they funny! Mother, do come here!”

  “Those are called tadpoles and they will presently become frogs, indistinguishable from the ones you see.”

  Ravelin and Ted advanced with more dignity, but were as interested as Iugenae in the frogs.

  “Smell the fresh air,” Ted told Ravelin. “You’d think you were back in the early times.”

  “It’s absolutely exquisite,” said Ravelin. She looked around her. “One has the feeling of being able to wander on and on and on.”

  “Come around over here,” called Ullward from beyond the pool. “This is the rock garden.”

  In awe, the guests stared at the ledge of rock, stained with red and yellow lichen, tufted with green moss. Ferns grew from a crevice; there were several fragile clusters of white flowers.

  “Smell the flowers, if you wish,” Ullward told Iugenae. “But please don’t touch them; they stain rather easily.”

  Iugenae sniffed. “Mmmm!”

  “Are they real?” asked Ted.

  “The moss, yes. That clump of ferns and these little succulents are real. The flowers were designed for me by a horticulturist and are exact replicas of certain ancient species. We’ve actually improved on the odor.”

  “Wonderful, wonderful,” said Ted.

  “Now come this way—no, don’t look back; I want you to get the total effect…” An expression of vexation crossed his face.

  “What’s the trouble?” asked Ted.

  “It’s a damned nuisance,” said Ullward. “Hear that sound?”

  Ted became aware of a faint rolling rumble, deep and almost unheard. “Yes. Sounds like some sort of factory.”

  “It is. On the floor below. A rug-works. One of the looms creates this terrible row. I’ve complained, but they pay no attention…Oh, well, ignore it. Now stand over here—and look around!”

  His friends gasped in rapture. The view from this angle was of a rustic bungalow in an Alpine valley, the door being the opening into Ullward’s dining room.

  “What an illusion of distance!” exclaimed Ravelin. “A person would almost think he was alone.”

  “A beautiful piece of work,” said Ted. “I’d swear I was looking into ten miles—at least five miles—of distance.”

  “I’ve got a lot of space here,” said Ullward proudly. “Almost three-quarters of an acre. Would you like to see it by moonlight?”

  “Oh, could we?”

  Ullward went to a concealed switch-panel; the sun seemed to race across the sky. A fervent glow of sunset lit the valley; the sky burned peacock blue, gold, green, then came twilight—and the rising full moon came up behind the hill.

  “This is absolutely marvelous,” said Ravelin softly. “How can you bring yourself to leave it?”

  “It’s hard,” admitted Ullward. “But I’ve got to look after business too. More money, more space.”

  He turned a knob; the moon floated across the sky, sank. Stars appeared, forming the age-old patterns. Ullward pointed out the constellations and the first-magnitude stars by name, using a pencil-torch for a pointer. Then the sky flushed with lavender and lemon yellow and the sun appeared once more. Unseen ducts sent a current of cool air through the glade.

  “Right now I’m negotiating for an area behind this wall here.” He tapped at the depicted mountainside, an illusion given reality and three-dimensionality by laminations inside the pane. “It’s quite a large area—over a hundred square feet. The owner wants a fortune, naturally.”

  “I’m surprised he wants to sell,” said Ted. “A hundred square feet means real privacy.”

  “There’s been a death in the family,” explained Ullward. “The owner’s four-great-grandfather passed on and the space is temporarily surplus.”

  Ted nodded. “I hope you’re able to get it.”

  “I hope so too. I’ve got rather flamboyant ambitions—eventually I hope to own the entire quarterblock—but it takes time. People don’t like to sell their space and everyone is anxious to buy.”

  “Not we,” said Ravelin cheerfully. “We have our little home. We’re snug and cozy and we’re putting money aside for investment.”

  “Wise,” agreed Ullward. “A great many people are space-poor. Then when a chance to make real money comes up, they’re undercapitalized. Until I scored with the digestive pastilles, I lived in a single rented locker. I was cramped—but I don’t regret it today.”

  They returned through the glade toward Ullward’s house, stopping at the oak tree. “This is my special pride,” said Ullward. “A genuine oak tree!”

  “Genuine?” asked Ted in astonishment. “I assumed it was simulation.”

  “So many people do,” said Ullward. “No, it’s genuine.”

  “Take a picture of the tree, Iugenae, please. But don’t touch it. You might damage the bark.”

  “Perfectly all right to touch the bark,” assured Ullward. He looked up into the branches, then scanned the ground. He stooped, picked up a fallen leaf. “This grew on the tree,” he said. “Now, Iugenae, I want you to come with me.” He went to the rock garden, pulled a simulated rock aside, to reveal a cabinet with washbasin. “Watch carefully.” He showed her the leaf. “Notice? It’s dry and brittle and brown.”

  “Yes, Lamster Ullwa
rd.” Iugenae craned her neck.

  “First I dip it in this solution.” He took a beaker full of dark liquid from a shelf. “So. That restores the green color. We wash off the excess, then dry it. Now we rub this next fluid carefully into the surface. Notice, it’s flexible and strong now. One more solution—a plastic coating—and there we are, a true oak leaf, perfectly genuine. It’s yours.”

  “Oh, Lamster Ullward! Thank you ever so much!” She ran off to show her father and mother, who were standing by the pool, luxuriating in the feeling of space, watching the frogs. “See what Lamster Ullward gave me!”

  “You be very careful with it,” said Ravelin. “When we get home, we’ll find a nice little frame and you can hang it in your locker.”

  The simulated sun hung in the western sky. Ullward led the group to a sundial. “An antique, countless years old. Pure marble, carved by hand. It works too—entirely functional. Notice. Three-fifteen by the shadow on the dial…” He peered at his beltwatch, squinted at the sun. “Excuse me one moment.” He ran to the control board, made an adjustment. The sun lurched ten degrees across the sky. Ullward returned, checked the sundial. “That’s better. Notice. Three-fifty by the sundial, three-fifty by my watch. Isn’t that something now?”

  “It’s wonderful,” said Ravelin earnestly.

  “It’s the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen,” chirped Iugenae.

  Ravelin looked around the ranch, sighed wistfully. “We hate to leave, but I think we must be returning home.”

  “It’s been a wonderful day, Lamster Ullward,” said Ted. “A wonderful lunch, and we enjoyed seeing your ranch.”

  “You’ll have to come out again,” invited Ullward. “I always enjoy company.”

  He led them into the dining room, through the living room-bedroom to the door. The Seehoe family took a last look across the spacious interior, pulled on their mantles, stepped into their run-shoes, made their farewells. Ullward slid back the door. The Seehoes looked out, waited till a gap appeared in the traffic. They waved good-bye, pulled the hoods over their heads, stepped out into the corridor.

  The run-shoes spun them toward their home, selecting the appropriate turnings, sliding automatically into the correct lift- and drop-pits. Deflection fields twisted them through the throngs. Like the Seehoes, everyone wore mantle and hood of filmy reflective stuff to safeguard privacy. The illusion-pane along the ceiling of the corridor presented a view of towers dwindling up into a cheerful blue sky, as if the pedestrian were moving along one of the windy upper passages.

  The Seehoes approached their home. Two hundred yards away, they angled over to the wall. If the flow of traffic carried them past, they would be forced to circle the block and make another attempt to enter. Their door slid open as they spun near; they ducked into the opening, swinging around on a metal grab-bar.

  They removed their mantles and run-shoes, sliding skillfully past each other. Iugenae pivoted into the bathroom and there was room for both Ted and Ravelin to sit down. The house was rather small for the three of them; they could well have used another twelve square feet, but rather than pay exorbitant rent, they preferred to save the money with an eye toward Iugenae’s future.

  Ted sighed in satisfaction, stretching his legs luxuriously under Ravelin’s chair. “Ullward’s ranch notwithstanding, it’s nice to be home.”

  Iugenae backed out of the bathroom.

  Ravelin looked up. “It’s time for your pill, dear.”

  Iugenae screwed up her face. “Oh, Mama! Why do I have to take pills? I feel perfectly well.”

  “They’re good for you, dear.”

  Iugenae sullenly took a pill from the dispenser. “Runy says you make us take pills to keep us from growing up.”

  Ted and Ravelin exchanged glances.

  “Just take your pill,” said Ravelin, “and never mind what Runy says.”

  “But how is it that I’m 38 and Ermara Burk’s only 32 and she’s got a figure and I’m like a slat?”

  “No arguments, dear. Take your pill.”

  Ted jumped to his feet. “Here, Babykin, sit down.”

  Iugenae protested, but Ted held up his hand. “I’ll sit in the niche. I’ve got a few calls that I have to make.”

  He sidled past Ravelin, seated himself in the niche in front of the communication screen. The illusion-pane behind him was custom-built—Ravelin, in fact, had designed it herself. It simulated a merry little bandit’s den, the walls draped in red and yellow silk, a bowl of fruit on the rustic table, a guitar on the bench, a copper teakettle simmering on the countertop stove. The pane had been rather expensive, but when anyone communicated with the Seehoes, it was the first thing they saw, and here the house-proud Ravelin had refused to stint.

  Before Ted could make his call, the signal light flashed. He answered; the screen opened to display his friend Loren Aigle, apparently sitting in an airy arched rotunda, against a background of fleecy clouds—an illusion which Ravelin had instantly recognized as an inexpensive stock effect.

  Loren and Elme, his wife, were anxious to hear of the Seehoes’ visit to the Ullward ranch. Ted described the afternoon in detail. “Space, space and more space! Isolation pure and simple! Absolute privacy! You can hardly imagine it! A fortune in illusion-panes.”

  “Nice,” said Loren Aigle. “I’ll tell you one you’ll find hard to believe. Today I registered a whole planet to a man.” Loren worked in the Certification Bureau of the Extraterrestrial Properties Agency.

  Ted was puzzled and uncomprehending. “A whole planet? How so?”

  Loren explained. “He’s a free-lance spaceman. Still a few left.”

  “But what’s he planning to do with an entire planet?”

  “Live there, he claims.”

  “Alone?”

  Loren nodded. “I had quite a chat with him. Earth is all very well, he says, but he prefers the privacy of his own planet. Can you imagine that?”

  “Frankly, no! I can’t imagine the fourth dimension either. What a marvel, though!”

  The conversation ended and the screen faded. Ted swung around to his wife. “Did you hear that?”

  Ravelin nodded; she had heard but not heeded. She was reading the menu supplied by the catering firm to which they subscribed. “We won’t want anything heavy after that lunch. They’ve got simulated synthetic algae again.”

  Ted grunted. “It’s never as good as the genuine synthetic.”

  “But it’s cheaper and we’ve all had an enormous lunch.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Mom!” sang Iugenae. “I’m going out with Runy.”

  “Oh, you are, are you? And where are you going, may I ask?”

  “A ride around the world. We’re catching the seven o’clock shuttle, so I’ve got to hurry.”

  “Come right home afterward,” said Ravelin severely. “Don’t go anywhere else.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Mother, you’d think I was going to elope or something.”

  “Mind what I say, Miss Puss. I was a girl once myself. Have you taken your medicine?”

  “Yes, I’ve taken my medicine.”

  Iugenae departed; Ted slipped back into the niche. “Who are you calling now?” asked Ravelin.

  “Lamster Ullward. I want to thank him for going to so much trouble for us.”

  Ravelin agreed that an algae-and-margarine call was no more than polite.

  Ted called, expressed his thanks, then—almost as an afterthought—chanced to mention the man who owned a planet.

  “An entire planet?” inquired Ullward. “It must be inhabited.”

  “No, I understand not, Lamster Ullward. Think of it! Think of the privacy!”

  “Privacy!” exclaimed Ullward bluffly. “My dear fellow, what do you call this?”

  “Oh, naturally, Lamster Ullward—you have a real showplace.”

  “The planet must be very primitive,” Ullward reflected. “An engaging idea, of course—if you like that kind of thing. Who is this man?”

  “I don’t know, Lamst
er Ullward. I could find out, if you like.”

  “No, no, don’t bother. I’m not particularly interested. Just an idle thought.” Ullward laughed his hearty laugh. “Poor man. Probably lives in a dome.”

  “That’s possible, of course, Lamster Ullward. Well, thanks again, and good night.”

  The spaceman’s name was Kennes Mail. He was short and thin, tough as synthetic herring, brown as toasted yeast. He had a close-cropped pad of gray hair, a keen, if ingenuous, blue gaze. He showed a courteous interest in Ullward’s ranch, but Ullward thought his recurrent use of the word ‘clever’ rather tactless.

  As they returned to the house, Ullward paused to admire his oak tree.

  “It’s absolutely genuine, Lamster Mail! A living tree, survival of past ages! Do you have trees as fine as that on your planet?”

  Kennes Mail smiled. “Lamster Ullward, that’s just a shrub. Let’s sit somewhere and I’ll show you photographs.”

  Ullward had already mentioned his interest in acquiring extraterrestrial property; Mail, admitting that he needed money, had given him to understand that some sort of deal might be arranged. They sat at a table; Mail opened his case. Ullward switched on the wall-screen.

  “First I’ll show you a map,” said Mail. He selected a rod, dropped it into the table socket. On the wall appeared a world projection: oceans; an enormous equatorial landmass named Gaea; the smaller subcontinents Atalanta, Persephone, Alcyone. A box of descriptive information read:

  MAIL’S PLANET

  Claim registered and endorsed at Extraterrestrial

  Properties Agency

  Surface area:

  .87 Earth normal

  Gravity:

  .93 Earth normal

  Diurnal rotation:

  22.15 Earth hours

  Annual revolution:

  2.97 Earth years

  Atmosphere:

  Invigorating

  Climate:

  Salubrious

  Noxious conditions and influences:

  None

  Population:

  1

  Mail pointed to a spot on the eastern shore of Gaea. “I live here. Just got a rough camp at present. I need money to do a bit better for myself. I’m willing to lease off one of the smaller continents, or, if you prefer, a section of Gaea, say from Murky Mountains west to the ocean.”