Araminta Station

by Jack Vance

  “That will serve very well.”

  Upon climbing to the fourth floor, Glawen found his room at the end of the corridor: a pleasant cubicle with a small canal directly below, and, beyond, a wilderness of roofs. Mats covered the floor; the walls were formed of split bamboo, in several layers; from the ceiling hung a globular lume in a basket of black withe. Furnishings consisted of a bed cushion, now rolled against the wall, a table, a chair and a wardrobe. The bathroom and latrine were across the corridor, with an old woman in attendance to collect fees as specified on the schedule.

  Glawen read the placard affixed to the wall which listed services and entertainments available to the tourist, with the associated charges. The day was warm and humid; Glawen changed into light clothing and went down to the lobby. This was an expansive area with walls and ceiling of the ubiquitous bamboo, varnished honey brown. Along the back wall hung dozens of grotesque masks, carved from blocks of black johowood - irresistible souvenirs for the tourist. On the floor lay dramatic rugs woven in startling colors and odd patterns, which added an attractive vivacity to the atmosphere of the room. A line of doorways opened on the terrace, where hotel guests loitered over their lunch.

  Glawen seated himself on a wicker couch to the side of the lobby, despite himself fascinated by the ambience of Arkady Inn. Groups of tourists sat about the lobby, regaling newly arrived contingents with descriptions of their remarkable experiences along the byways and canals of Yipton. A dozen barefoot barboys wearing only white kirtles moved quietly back and forth serving rum punch, ling-lang toddy, smiler juice (mixed from secret ingredients) and green elixir (“salubrious, clarifying of the mental waylocks, conducive to merry diversities”).

  A group of Bold Lions descended the stairs: Arles, Cloyd, Dauncy and Kiper. Arles took note of Glawen from the corner of his eye, but ostentatiously turned away and led the group to a table across the room.

  Glawen brought out the chart supplied in the information pamphlet. The area of Bodwyn Wook’s interest, north and east of the hotel, was labeled: “Industrial and Warehousing: nontourist area.”

  Glawen sat back wondering how best to deal with Kirdy, who almost certainly had misrepresented the degree of authority extended him by Bodwyn Wook.

  Glawen considered what he felt to be his range of options and in the end decided that the lest attractive these, simple submission to Kirdy’s dictates, was by all odds the most practical. He must swallow dignity, exasperation and half a dozen other emotions and adapt himself to his new role as Kirdy’s assistant.

  Even as Glawen swallowed this bitter pill, Kirdy came down the stairs. He looked around the lobby, then came to sit beside Glawen. “Aren’t you going on the tour?”

  Glawen looked at him blankly. “What tour?”

  “It’s what the Yips call their Orientation Tour. The charge is four sols, which pays for a guide and canal transportation. We’ll be back for supper; then it’s off and away to Pussycat Palace.”

  “I haven’t been invited on the tour,” said Glawen. “As for Pussycat Palace, I’ll pass that up as well.”

  Kirdy stared at Glawen in wonder. “How so?”

  Glawen sighed; Kirdy was already about to become tiresome.

  “It’s no great matter. The girls are apathetic, which makes me feel foolish. Also, I’d be wondering who had just preceded me on the premises.”

  “That’s sheer tommyrot!” scoffed Kirdy. “I’m an old hand at it and I never feel foolish. It’s a treat for them; otherwise they’d be out tending sea lettuce. They’ll give you all kinds of action if you just hint that you’re displeased; in fact, sometimes they they’ll do it all over again, rather than be reported, which means a whipping for them.”

  “This is valuable information and I’ll keep it in mind,” said Glawen. “It’s clear that you know how to handle women. But for me the process still lacks appeal.”

  Kirdy’s face became set. “People in our line of work can’t afford such qualms and quirks; you’re too finicky by far. I want you to mingle with the Bold Lions in all situations; otherwise you call attention to yourself and arouse suspicion, which we don’t need.”

  Glawen scowled across the lobby. Uther and Shugart had just come downstairs to join the others. Arles stood poised with one foot raised to a low table; his black cloak hung to striking effect.

  He noticed Glawen’s attention and turned away. Glawen said: “Certain of the group clearly prefer not to associate with me.”

  Kirdy chuckled. “A pity that your feelings are so vulnerable. Don’t go grieving to Bodwyn Wook; he’ll only laugh at you.”

  Glawen said mildly: “You quite misunderstand my remarks.”

  “Be that as it may. I am as of now inviting you on the tour, and no more need be said. As for Pussycat Palace, it would be better for tomorrow, but I was outvoted. Cloyd, Dauncy, Kiper, Jardine - they’re in a state of ferment.”

  A thought arose from the back of Glawen’s mind. “No doubt Arles is also pawing the ground?”

  “For a fact Arles has been almost subdued,” said Kirdy. “We had a party last night and he’s probably still under the weather.”

  He arose. “We’d better join the others. Give me four sols; that’s the fee for the tour.”

  Glawen paid over the money; the two crossed the lobby. The full complement of Bold Lions was now on hand: a group brash and bumptious, exchanging banter in overloud voices. Kirdy asked: “Who is handling the tour money?”

  “I am,” said Shugart. “Surely you can’t be afraid I’ll abscond?”

  “Not while you’re in plain sight. Here’s another four sols. Glawen is going with us.”

  Shugart took the money, and turned a dubious glance toward Arles, who had stepped over to the wall to examine the array of grotesque masks. “I suppose there’s no reason why not,” said Shugart.

  “None whatever,” said Kirdy.

  Arles, returning to the group, noted the presence of Glawen and stopped short. He turned to Shugart: “This is a club affair, for members only! I thought that had been made clear!”

  Shugart spoke in a placatory voice: “Glawen’s an ex-Bold Lion, which is close. He’s paid his four sols; there’s no reason why he shouldn’t come.”

  “I should think that he could take a hint. He knows how everyone feels about him!”

  Glawen ignored the remarks. Kirdy spoke sharply to Arles: “I invited him! He is my guest and I’ll thank you to show him ordinary courtesy, if nothing else.”

  Arles could think of nothing to say and turned away. Meanwhile their guide had entered the lobby: a young man three or four years older than Kirdy or Shugart, with the clever vivacious features of a faun, a superb physique, a cap of bronzed curls. He wore a short white kirtle and a pale blue vest which barely covered his shoulders. His manner was polite and he spoke carefully, as if he were addressing a class of young children. “I am your guide. My name is Fader Campasarus Uiskil. We shall have a good time, but remember! you must stay with the group! Do not straggle; do not stray. If you wander off by yourself, you might encounter inconvenience. Is this clear to all? Stay with the group, where you will be safe.” He paused to eye Arles up and down, then said: “Sir, you will not be comfortable in that cloak, and it may well become soiled. Give it to the floor boy; he will take it to your room.”

  With poor grace Arles followed the suggestion.

  Fader continued his remarks: “This is an introductory tour. It includes passage along the canals in a boat, a visit to the Caglioro, the bazaar and other destinations as listed in the brochure. Options will be explained along the way, or they may be the theme of a new excursion tomorrow. Which of you is captain of the group?”

  Arles cleared his throat, but Kirdy said: “That would seem to be Shugart, who controls all our money. Step forward there, Shugart! Exert your lionship!”

  “Very well,” said the portly Shugart. “If I must lead this unruly pride, so be it. You spoke of options; should we discuss them now?”

  “They will be
explained along the way, since we are a minute or two behind schedule. Come along; follow me, if you please. We will start out by boat, up the Hybel Canal.”

  The group descended a ramp to the hotel basement, where a landing ran parallel to a narrow canal. Here they found a canoelike craft, high at bow and stern, with a crew of four paddlers. The Bold Lions clambered aboard and seated themselves on cushioned thwarts. Fader went to stand aft by the steering wheel.

  As soon as all were seated, the boat slid away from the landing, through an opening and out into sunlight and the canal proper.

  The Bold Lions found themselves crossing the harbor, with the hotel terrace above them. Almost immediately the boat turned off into the Hybel Canal.

  For half an hour the boat followed the swings and swerves of the canal, with dark and oily water below. To right and left rickety structures rose four and five stories, each supporting its sagging neighbor. The visual effect was a microscopic intricacy of windows, balconies hung with bits of cloth, green foliage trailing from brick-red pots, peering faces, braziers exuding small wisps of smoke. At odd intervals tufts of bamboo found a few square feet of soil to anchor their roots. The Big Chife pressed down as always.

  The canoe proceeded at no great speed and the paddlers seemed to exert themselves very little, as if they too were enjoying the cruise. Glawen spoke to Kirdy: “See that boat with the red rag dangling from the stern? I’ve noticed that at least twice before. These rascals are taking us in a circle and laughing at us.”

  “By Balthasar’s goat! I think you’re right!” Kirdy indignantly called back to Fader: “What kind of games are you playing? You’ve circled us so many times we’re getting dizzy! Can’t you do better than that?”

  Jardine echoed the complaint. “You must take us for ninnies! We’ve just been drifting back and forth through heat and stink!”

  Fader replied with smiling candor: “The canal scenery is much the same everywhere; we were just making it easy on ourselves.”

  Shugart cried out: “That’s not how the tour is described! The brochure speaks of ‘picturesque environs’ and ‘glimpses of secret Yipton’ and ‘naked girls bathing.’“

  “Quite right!” called Cloyd. “Where are the girls? I’ve seen nothing but old women chewing on fish heads.”

  Fader responded in a flat voice, evidently reciting a statement he had made many times before. “There is a reason for everything. Ours is a very practical society, of many tiers and levels which we understand, but which I will not even try to explain. We waste nothing; everything is planned. The tour you have selected, Number 111, provides a thought-provoking study of mature living. It documents the victory of patience and abnegation: qualities so important in the modern world. The message of the tour is truly inspiring! If you are interested in other phases of Yipton, Tour 109 provides a visit to the crèches where you may examine the infants of Yipton at your leisure. Tour 154 demonstrates the techniques of fish cleaning and fish scaling and the efficient use of fish by-products. Tour 105 takes you first through the sick-house, then out for an inspection of the death raft, where at sunset you may listen to traditional songs, which are said to be of high quality; and you may request your favorite upon payment of a small fee. You also may visit the girls’ area now, if you choose to do so, at an extra charge of five sols for the group.”

  Shugart stared in astonishment. He spoke in a severe voice: “This sounds suspiciously as if we are starting upon the death of a thousand cuts. Please understand, Fader, that your gratuity will help defray the cost of all extras, and now, as I think of it, the specifications for this tour stipulated a visit to the girls’ quarters.”

  “That is Basic Tour 112. This is Basic Tour 111.”

  “So what? The prices are the same. Tour 111, according to the brochure, caters to folk whose religion - and now I read from the brochure - ‘forbids them the sight of naked women or members of the female sex.’ We are not all that easily offended. You have jumped to conclusions.”

  “Not so. The booking clerk at the hotel apparently misunderstood you. Tours cannot be pieced together, a bit of this with some of that. You must apply to the booking clerk for your refund.”

  Shugart gave a snort of derision. “Do you really take us for fools? This was Tour 112 from the start, and please don’t try any more tricks on us.”

  Fader tendered a sheet of paper. “How is that possible, sir? Tour 112, you will notice, is limited to eight persons. There are nine aboard the boat.”

  “What’s all this?” demanded Arles.

  Kirdy made an irritated gesture. “Arles, be good enough to control yourself! You are like a mad dog!”

  Shugart demanded of Fader: “Let me see the brochure.”

  “I cannot do that, sir. This is my only copy.”

  “Then hold it where I can read it.”

  Reluctantly Fader complied with the request. Shugart read aloud: “‘Tours 111, 112 and 113 are similar: 111 is for folk who may be offended by nudity; 112 passes through the female residences; 113, which is slightly longer, avoids the female residences and visits the sanitary rotundas. The charge for all tours will be thirty-two sols, for up to a total of eight persons. Extra persons may be accommodated at the discretion of the tour captain, but each must pay a charge of four sols. A ten percent gratuity will be expected.’ Just so. We have paid thirty-six sols, and here is the receipt to prove it!”

  Fader said without accent: “You should have shown this in the first place; it would have saved trouble. Nevertheless, in my opinion, the boat is overloaded for Tour 112.”

  Shugart spoke crisply: “Enough of your pettifogging! Take us either on Tour 112, or back to the hotel at once, where we will make a furious complaint!”

  Fader shrugged wearily. “Everyone wants something for nothing, and we must comply to maintain goodwill. So let it be. Give us our gratuities now and we shall once again bend our backs to the task.”

  “In no mode, manner, way, shape, intimation, hint or form! You will pine for your lost gratuities forever, unless you instantly mend your ways!”

  “Ah, you rich Araminta workers are hard to deal with. Tour 112 it is, by your insistence.” He called to the paddlers. “We are in luck! They want to take the shortcut past the dormitories rather than through the bathing rotundas.”

  Jardine called out: “Bathing rotundas! The brochure said something about sanitation!”

  “It is all one,” said Fader. “The die is cast.”

  The Bold Lions fell glumly silent. The boat threaded a set of canals, under built-over areas, beside a strip of land densely planted with bamboo and salpiceta, and tended, so it seemed, by almost as many workers as there were plants. Beyond, the canal turned sharply seaward, and passed between a pair of tall structures. Seven levels of balconies overlooked the canal, with plaited frond doors opening into cubicles. As the Bold Lions scrutinized the balconies, they occasionally glimpsed a Yip girl as she came out to hang a bit of cloth to dry or tend a potted plant, but these were few; the residences seemed almost comatose: Kiper’s disappointment was extreme. He spoke to Fader in bewilderment: “This is truly rather dull. Where are all the girls?”

  “Many are bathing in the rotundas,” said Fader. “Others are out on the water tending mussel racks and beds of sea lettuce. Here, however, are the residences. The morning girls are sleeping. At midnight they will be off about their duties and the afternoon girls will sleep. Each habitancy by this means serves two people. Eventually we will move to the land and there will be space for all; this is our destiny, and it cannot come too soon. In any case, you have now seen the residences. Some folk find it more amusing to watch the girls as they bathe; I prefer it myself.”

  “Yes, Fader,” muttered Shugart. “You are the clever one, no doubt about it, and you can bid your gratuity a tearful goodbye.”

  “I beg your pardon?” inquired Fader. “Were you addressing me?”

  “No matter. Let us get on with the tour.”

  “Just so. We will go asho
re at yonder dock.”

  The boat eased up to the dock and the Bold Lions alighted, with Fader assisting them so that they would not fall. As Shugart climbed ashore, Fader’s attention was distracted; he looked away just as the boat gave a sudden lurch and Shugart fell with a great splash into the canal.

  Fader and others helped Shugart to the dock. “You should have been more careful,” said Fader.

  “I realize this,” said Shugart. “I spoke a trifle too loudly.”

  “One learns by his mistakes. Well, no doubt you will dry off soon. We cannot waste time in commiseration. This way, then. Stay together and do not get lost, as a substantial fee is charged if we must find a missing person.”

  The Bold Lions walked along a trestle, climbed steps, passed through a narrow doorway into a corridor which after ten yards gave upon a balcony overlooking a murmurous murk so large that the far wall could only be sensed. A dozen dingy skylights provided illumination; as their eyes adapted to the gloom, the Bold Lions saw below a multitude of Yips. They stood in small groups, or squatted around tiny fire pots where they toasted morsels of skewered fish. Some sat spraddle-legged in circles playing at cards, or dice, other games; some cut hair or clipped toenails; others played soft breathy music on bamboo pipes, evidently for their private amusement, since no one troubled to listen. Others stood alone, lost in their thoughts, or lay supine staring at nothing. The sound of so many folk came to the balcony as a great soft whisper with no definable source.

  Glawen unobtrusively studied the faces of the Bold Lions. Each, predictably, wore a different expression. The brash Kiper would have given voice to facetious jokes, had he dared. Arles maintained a supercilious impassivity, while Kirdy seemed awed and thoughtful. Shugart, still damp from his immersion, clearly found the conditions deplorable. Later he described the Caglioro to his friends: “- ten billion pale eels! The nightmare of a diseased mind! A human miasma!”

  Similarly, Uther Offaw would later describe the circumstances, a trifle less trenchantly, as “psychic soup.”