Araminta Station

by Jack Vance

  “Poor Glawen! But we need not worry today. How far is Ocean Island?”

  “Not far. We’ll sight it almost anytime . . . In fact, see that gray smudge on the horizon? That’s Ocean Island.”

  The sloop sailed on: up the blue slopes, down the wide wet swales. Ocean Island, the tip of a sea mountain, took on definite form: a low cone with a shattered irregular tip a mile in circumference, with coconut palms fringing the shore and a forest of native trees ranging up the slopes of the central crag.

  Glawen anchored in a sheltered cove, a hundred feet off a beach of white sand. He jumped overboard into four feet of water. “Come,” he told Wayness. “I’ll carry you ashore.”

  Wayness hesitated, then put her arms around his neck. He caught her under the knees, carried her to the beach, then returned to the boat for the lunch basket.

  In the shade of a massive clarensia tree Glawen built a fire over which they grilled skewers of meat, which were then dipped into pepper sauce, caught in a slice of bread and devoured, along with a bottle of mild white Clattuc wine.

  The two leaned back against the tree and looked along the curving beach, where coconut fronds moved in the breeze, and water eased up and down the sand. Glawen sighed. “Here there are no Bold Lions. There they are waiting for me. It seems foolish to go back. So why go back? when we could live in utter tranquillity here, at peace with the elements. There is much to be said for the idea.”

  “I’m not so sure,” said Wayness demurely. “There isn’t any more lunch. What would we eat?”

  “The bounty of nature. Fish, edible roots, seaweed, coconuts, rats and land crab. It is the ultimate dream of a million romantic poets.”

  “True, except for the cuisine which might become tiresome, night after night either rat or fish for supper. By the same reasoning, you might well become bored with me after ten or twenty years - especially if we ran out of soap.”

  “Soap is no problem. We can make it out of coconut oil and ashes,” said Glawen.

  “In that case there is only a single obstacle: my mother. She is quite conventional. A romantic sojourn on Ocean Island - or any other island, for that matter - would interfere with her plans for my marriage.”

  “Your marriage!” Glawen looked at her in astonishment. “You’re too young to be married!”

  “Don’t get excited, Glawen. Nothing is definite. My mother simply is thinking ahead. This person thinks he might like to marry me, at least so he’s told my mother. He has a private fortune and is already influential at Stroma. My mother thinks it would be an excellent match, even though he is totally LPF in all his views.”

  “Hmmf. And what do you think of all this?”

  “I haven’t given it much thought.”

  Glawen spoke casually. “And this LPFer - what’s his name?”

  “Julian Bohost. He was on Earth while we were there, and I saw quite a bit of him. He’s rather strong-minded and earnest, and Mother is probably quite right: Julian would surely prefer that his bride had not lived ten or twenty years during her youth on Ocean Island with another gentleman.”

  “Do you like him?”

  Again Wayness laughed. “Aren’t I allowed any secrets whatever?”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t ask such things.” Glawen rose to his feet and looked up at the sun. “Anyway it’s time the romantic idyll was ending for today. The breeze has backed around into the east which is good news, but it has a tendency to slack off in the late afternoon, and it’s probably a good time to be leaving.”

  Glawen carried the lunch basket to the boat. He turned to find Wayness at the water’s edge preparing to wade to the boat. He called: “I’ll carry you, if you will wait.”

  Wayness made an airy gesture. “I don’t mind getting my legs wet.” Nevertheless she waited until Glawen returned and made no protest when he lifted her.

  Halfway to the boat Glawen halted. Their faces were close together. Wayness asked in a husky whisper: “Am I too heavy? Are you going to drop me into the water?”

  Glawen sighed. “No . . . I see no real reason to do so.”

  He carried her to the boat and climbed aboard himself. While Glawen stowed the lunch basket and made ready for departure, Wayness sat on the coach roof combing her hair through her fingers and watching him with an enigmatic expression. She jumped up to help him hoist the sails and raise the anchor; the sloop departed Ocean Island and drove off across the blue afternoon sea on an easy starboard tack.

  Neither Glawen nor Wayness had much to say on the voyage home; each seemed absorbed in thought, though they sat close together on the port cockpit seat.

  With the breeze starting to fail and the sun declining into the west, Glawen drove into the mouth of the River Wan and upstream to Clattuc boathouse. Securing the sloop, Glawen conducted Wayness to Riverview House on the Clattuc power wagon. She hesitated a moment, as if thinking; then, turning to Glawen, said: “In regard to Julian Bohost, Father is dubious. He considers Julian something of a demagogue.”

  “I’m more interested in your opinions,” said Glawen.

  Wayness tilted her head and pursed her lips as if holding back a smile. “He’s noble; he’s high-minded; he’s strong! What more could a girl want? Something more like Glawen Clattuc? Who knows?” Bending, she kissed Glawen’s cheek. “Thank you for a lovely day.”

  “Wait!” cried Glawen. “Come back!”

  “I think not,” said Wayness, and ran off up the path to Riverview House.

  * * *

  Chapter III, Part 4

  Bodwyn Wook summoned Glawen to his office and waved him to a seat. Glawen settled himself and waited patiently while Bodwyn Wook straightened papers on his desk, rubbed his bald pate, and finally, leaning back into his massive leather-upholstered chair, fixed a sharp gaze upon Glawen. “So! Here’s our bully new Bold Lion!”

  “Not yet,” said Glawen. “If ever.”

  “If ever, eh? And what am I supposed to understand by that?”

  “It’s not likely that I’ll be allowed into the group,” said Glawen.

  “Indeed. You will find that I am right and you are wrong. You will be elected a Bold Lion with facility.”

  “Just as you say, sir, although I don’t understand the reason for any of this.”

  Bodwyn Wook laced his fingers together, tucked them under his bony chin and gazed toward the ceiling. “In a month or so the group will visit Yipton, so I am told, for several days of social studies. You will be included in this junket. That should be a pleasant prospect.”

  “Not really, sir. I’m not good at conviviality, or group frolics.”

  “Hm. Very much the loner, aren’t you, Glawen?”

  “I suppose that’s the way of it.”

  “Well, you shall go to Yipton and frolic and make merry and be as convivial as the others. Dissimulation is the necessary camouflage of the spy.”

  “But what am I spying for?”

  “All this will be made clear in due course. Until then: become a good Bold Lion! Learn to carouse and frolic, since at Yipton you must participate in all the fun if you are not to compromise your cover.”

  Glawen gave a somber nod. “If I must, I must. The expenses will certainly be considerable –”

  Bodwyn Wook jerked upright in his chair, became suddenly wary. “Quite so. Money spent on pleasure is money well-spent; look at it that way.”

  “- but no doubt you will supply me with Agency funds.”

  Bodwyn Wook sighed. “Glawen, I have misjudged you. You are truly a rascal after all, despite that look of pensive innocence which no doubt drives the girls wild. Please do not hoodwink me again.”

  “Sir –”

  Bodwyn Wook rose to his feet. “I have heard enough. I no longer have doubts as to your role as a Bold Lion. It may well be that you are the most feckless of the lot. That is all for now.”

  Glawen, with a hundred questions pressing at his lips, departed the office for his morning classes at the lyceum.

  At noon Glawen sat a
t a table to the side of the terrace, pretending to read a book but in fact waiting for Wayness to appear. The minutes passed by, but no Wayness. He became edgy. Either his imagination was playing him tricks or she was purposely avoiding him. It was illogical; why should it be? Caprice? Second thoughts in regard to Julian Bohost? Impossible to guess what might be going on in her mind . . . Here she came now, with two of her friends. Glawen rose to his feet but she appeared not to see him and went to a table across the terrace. As she sat down, she turned a quick side glance in his direction and gave him a quick little flicker of the fingers. She had seen him after all!

  In a dark mood Glawen crouched over his book, while watching her through his eyelashes. Something was different; something was changed. What could it be? Her hair? The same loose dark curls. Her face? Fascination, the stuff of magic: as before. Her clothes - ah! Instead of the knee-length dark skirts and jackets which she had brought from Earth, she wore pale blue Araminta-style trousers, tight at the hips, loose under the knees and gathered at the ankles, with a short-sleeved gray-tan shirt open at the neck: a costume which admirably showed off her slim figure.

  Glawen became resolute. If she would not join him at his table, he would go sit with her. . . On the other hand, that might be exactly the wrong procedure. What would his father do in like circumstances? Glawen pictured Scharde’s face, grim and whimsical all at once. Scharde, he decided, would simply laugh and read his book and let Wayness straighten things out for herself.

  Kirdy Wook dropped into the chair opposite him. “I’m told that you want to become a Bold Lion.”

  Glawen gave his head a slow shake. “Quite wrong.”

  “Eh? What’s this? I had it straight from Old Birdcage.”

  “It’s his idea, not mine.”

  Kirdy’s ruddy features twisted in puzzlement. “What does he have in mind?”

  “Ask him yourself.”

  Kirdy grimaced. “There’s no talking to the old codger. Things go his way or not at all. Someday I expect I’ll go in and find him sitting in the chandelier, scratching his arse with one hand and eating a banana with the other.”

  Glawen grinned, but made no comment.

  Kirdy looked gloomily off across the terrace. “There’s only one way to deal with him. It’s simple and practical: I obey orders to the exact iota and keep my ideas to myself. He’ll find out what he’s been losing one of these days but then it will be too late, and it will serve him right.”

  “Yes, no doubt. What’s involved in joining the Bold Lions?”

  “Nothing much.” Kirdy tossed a packet of papers down on the table. “Memorize the Roars and Growls; that’s important. Then study the bylaws well, in case someone gets officious and tries to put you through the Tail March.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Just an exercise where you demonstrate your extreme leoninity.”

  Glawen glanced through the papers. “What’s this mean: ‘Agrolio, agrolio, agrolio’?”

  “That’s just one of the formal roars.”

  Glawen threw down the paper. “This is foolishness.”

  Kirdy grinned widely. “Of course it is! But out on the beach, with a keg of beer, it becomes quite the thing! Be sure to memorize everything correctly.”

  “Why bother? I’ll never get by Arles.”

  “Don’t worry about Arles; tomorrow night he goes to his makeup class at the lyceum. The Grand Pouncer - that’s Uther - will call an emergency meeting and we’ll run you through. It’s as simple as that.”

  “Arles will be upset.”

  Kirdy said ponderously: “I know this. I don’t like it but we’ve had our orders. Arles must learn how to cope with small adversities.” Rising to his feet, Kirdy said: “Tomorrow evening, then, in the Den.”

  Kirdy went off about his affairs. Glawen looked to where Wayness had been sitting but discovered that she had departed the terrace.

  During the evening Glawen tried to concentrate on serious matters but at last he jumped to his feet and telephoned Wayness at Riverview House. “It’s Glawen.”

  Wayness’ voice seemed cautiously friendly. “The instant I heard the chime I knew it was you! A clear case of telepathy!”

  “Or anxiety?”

  “Oh, perhaps a bit of anxiety,” said Wayness carelessly. “But please don’t be stern with me.”

  “Are you busy?”

  “No more than usual. Why do you ask?”

  “May I come to see you?”

  “Here? At Riverview House?”

  “Certainly; where else?”

  There was a pause of three seconds, then a somewhat dubious response: “That would be nice. However. . .”

  Glawen waited, but the silence persisted. Finally, in a flat voice, he said: “Very well. I won’t come.”

  Wayness said: “I don’t quite know how to explain. . . Except simply state the facts. You can come if you like. But after you leave, I’ll have to participate in another earnest discussion with my mother.”

  “Another?”

  “After we came home from sailing I made the mistake of telling her that it was a beautiful day and that I liked you.”

  “She disapproves of me?”

  “No, but that’s not the point. She’s convinced that it’s impractical for me to see you, except on a very polite and impersonal basis. She says that anything else can’t possibly lead anywhere, and she wonders why I am not sufficiently clearheaded to see this for myself. I can only say that I, too, am perplexed. Then she becomes analytical. She asks a rhetorical question: suppose the relationship proceeded and we were even foolish enough to marry? To save me the exertion of thinking, she answers the question herself. It would turn out to be a tragedy, says Mother. Where would we live? On Stroma? Not feasible. You would be a fish out of water. At Clattuc House? The same applies to me.” Wayness gave a soft laugh. “Of course she’s right; I can’t argue with her. Then she asks the question I keep asking myself, what am I going to do with my life? Unlike me, she has an answer.”

  “And his first name is Julian.”

  “I learn that it’s an opportunity which comes only once in a lifetime. I tell her that I don’t want to worry about such things just yet. She explains that time has a way of sliding past, and before you know it, you’re stringy and gaunt and your back hurts, and where are the opportunities now? Gone. This leaves me depressed and tired. Tonight I’m not up to it, and I think that you’d better not come.”

  “Does that mean tomorrow night too, and all the other nights?”

  Wayness laughed again: a rather desperate sound. “It does sound like that, doesn’t it? I’ll have to ponder on this. I’m not meek, but I want no more dreary discussions with Mother, especially when she may be right.”

  “Just as you like.”

  “Glawen! Now you’re angry with me!”

  “I don’t know what to think. On top of all else, I now must become a Bold Lion, and I sorely wish that Bodwyn Wook were learning the roars and growls instead of me.”

  Wayness tried to maintain a tone of sober sympathy, without total success. “You’re probably being prepared for an important mission; when you learn the details you’ll no doubt think better of the program, despite the yelps and howls.”

  “Roars and growls, to be exact.”

  “In either case it’s a recondite skill, totally unknown to Julian Bohost - who, incidentally, is coming to visit Riverview House before too long. Perhaps you’ll want to meet him.”

  “It will be a pleasure.”

  “Goodnight, Glawen.”

  “Goodnight.”

  * * *

  Chapter III, Part 5

  At the appointed hour, Glawen arrived at the Old Arbor. He made his way to that corner preempted by the Bold Lions for their Den, and took a seat, somewhat apart, in the shadows.

  Three of the members, Kirdy Wook, Croyd Diffin and Jardine Laverty, were already on hand, and a moment later Shugart Veder and the two Offaws, Uther and Kiper, appeared.

  Gr
and Pouncer Uther Offaw addressed the group. “This meeting was called tonight by reason of an alarming development requiring our instant attention. As we know, there has been chronic trouble with the Yips and it seems to be getting worse – so bad in fact that the authorities were canceling all excursions, including the Rip-roar! However, I am happy to report that Kirdy today made forceful representations in high places. He pointed out that we had already made our preparations, and in short, exerted full lion power. As a result he managed to get the order rescinded. For this we owe Kirdy three rousing growls: let’s hear them loud and clear! Hurrah, Kirdy!”

  Dutifully the Lions voiced three growls of approval.

  “Very good! Happily the disaster is averted! Kirdy, do you have anything to say?”

  “Well, yes. Tardy Diffin’s resignation leaves an opening in the group, for which place I’d like to nominate a fine long-tailed creature with a resplendent mane: Glawen Clattuc! He will bring agility and clever new tactics to our pride!”

  Uther Offaw cried out: “A great choice! I’ll second that nomination myself! Is there any discussion? Any objection? In that case, I declare Glawen Clattuc unanimously elected a full-fledged Bold Lion. Three growls of acclamation for Glawen Clattuc, and let them ring loud!”

  The growls were rendered with gusto and Glawen thereby became a Bold Lion.

  On the following day Arles waited by the portal which opened between Wansey Way and the lyceum terrace. Presently Uther Offaw came past. Arles stepped forward. “Uther, just a minute, if you please!”

  Uther paused. “Make it quick, like a good fellow; I can spare just a minute.”

  “What I have to say is important,” declared Arles. “It may take more than a minute.”

  “Well, one way or another, get on with it! What do you want: the assignment sheet? Here it is; you’ll have to work the problems yourself; I haven’t got to them yet.”

  Arles pushed the sheet aside. “I’ve just heard about last night’s meeting. To my utter shock, I find that Glawen has been taken into the Bold Lions.”