[Jan Darzek 02] - Watchers of the Dark

by Lloyd Biggle, Jr.

  Darzek stopped to talk with him. “Aren’t you feeling well?” he asked. “I haven’t heard you laugh all evening.”

  E-Wusk’s body heaved with an enormous sigh. “I see little cause for laughter, Gul Darr. I can only think that this excellent society is soon to pass forever.”

  “If this is true I share your sorrow.”

  “It is true,” E-Wusk said, and sighed again. “Had I known you contemplated acquiring a dwelling, I should have given you mine. I shall leave Yorlq before the end of the term.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Darzek said, and meant it. “But why this sudden decision? Have you given up defying the Dark?”

  “I have seen it come four times. I have been caught by it four times. Suddenly I find that I am not eager for it to happen again.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “There is no place to go,” E-Wusk said gloomily. He heaved himself to his feet. “If you care to come to my office, Gul Darr, I should like to show you something.”

  Darzek hesitated, uncertain of the propriety of the host running out on a symposium. “You will be back before anyone has missed you,” E-Wusk assured him. “They are all obsessed with this Gobing.”

  Darzek summoned an undertrader, and while E-Wusk methodically absorbed the contents of his tray, showing an amazing catholicity of taste, Darzek whispered a message for Miss Schlupe.

  “Splendid idea,” E-Wusk enthused, drawing the broad ribbon of an arm across his mouth. “I’m truly sorry that I must leave. Social life on Yorlq should be much more interesting with you giving symposiums. But there is so little time left—”

  “How much time?” Darzek asked, as they moved toward the transmitter.

  “So little that I do not dare remain to the end of the term. Only the Dark knows precisely how much.”

  They stepped through to E-Wusk’s office. Darzek seated himself, and E-Wusk bent over his desk and activated the ceiling screen. “This is what the Dark has taken,” he announced.

  Darzek nodded. He could have drawn that sinister black corridor from memory.

  “And this is what it will take.”

  The blackness leaped forward. It thickened hardly at all, but sent its awesome emptiness far into the galaxy. Darzek said incredulously, “So much?”

  “I, E-Wusk, predict it. I guarantee it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I have my factors,” E-Wusk said simply. “I have told them what to look for, and they have told me when they found it.”

  “I, too, have factors,” Darzek protested. “They have told me nothing.”

  “They do not comprehend what they see. Your factors are like everyone else, saying, ‘The winds blow as always, the factories produce, the people eat, the traders trade. All is well.’ But all is not well. The Dark is already here. One only need know where to look to see the marks of its presence, just as one sees the passing of the wind in the eddies it creates.”

  “The Dark is already here,” Darzek mused. “Here—on Yorlq?”

  “True.”

  “And yet I have seen no mark of its presence, not so much as a single eddy.”

  “I, E-Wusk, say it is here. I have seen the marks.”

  “I heard that you foretold when the Dark came to Quarm.”

  “Then hear well when I make this new foretelling.”

  “The Dark seems to take in area in a regularly accelerating progression,” Darzek said. “In your predicted move the width hardly changes, which is why it moves so far. Did you work it out mathematically?”

  “Not I. I merely recorded the reports that I received. Of course I do not have information from all of these worlds— that would be impossible—but I have enough, and I made a special effort to predict the new boundaries. And with those new boundaries the Dark will be poised—you did not say it, but I know you thought it—the Dark will be poised only one move from Primores, and from Supreme itself. Do you not see what that means? Supreme! When the Dark takes Supreme it will capture all the secrets of the galaxy and destroy every vestige of galactic organization. The galaxy as we know it cannot exist without Supreme and its Council. The galaxy is doomed!”

  Darzek wrested his gaze away from the ceiling, started to speak, and thought better of it. “Where will you go?” he asked finally.

  “I do not know. I hope to find myself a peaceful world on the remote perimeter, a world where there is little that the Dark could want. Perhaps I will be able to pass the remainder of my life there unmolested. And you—what will you do?”

  “I’ll fight,” Darzek said with a smile.

  “It would be well to prepare for every eventuality. I hear that the efa have purchased a ship. This is something you should consider. While I was waiting on Quarm for those clods to release me, I spent much time in wishing that I’d had a ship in point connection when they came for me.”

  “Thank you for the suggestion. By the way—are there any Quarmers here on Yorlq?”

  “I don’t know of any. Please convey my apologies to Gula Schlu. Delightful as it was, I’d rather not return to your symposium.”

  “I hope to see you again before you leave.”

  “Come any time,” E-Wusk said. “But come soon!”

  The symposium had degenerated into a crowd of fiercely concentrating bingo players. Darzek turned his back on them and went looking for Miss Schlupe, whom he found in the dark room talking with Rhinzl.

  “What was on E-Wusk’s mind?” she asked.

  “The Dark,” Darzek said bluntly. “He thinks the Dark is coming soon. He’s making plans to leave Yorlq before it gets here.”

  “That would seem to refute your previous conclusions about E-Wusk,” Rhinzl said politely.

  “What conclusions?”

  “That he has been trading with the Dark. If that were so, why would he want to run away from it?”

  “A trader might do business with the Dark, and still not want to live with it,” Darzek said dryly. “There is also the question of why he is so certain that the Dark is coming. Have you seen any portents that point to its imminent arrival?”

  “No,” Rhinzl said after a brief silence. “What sort of portents would one look for?”

  “E-Wusk knows, or thinks he does.”

  “E-Wusk is an astute trader, and a student of the customs of many worlds. I would not disparage his conclusions. And yet—I have seen no portents.”

  “You have experienced the Dark,” Darzek said, peering narrowly at Rhinzl’s dim hulk. “It’s coming here should be no surprise to you.”

  “No. But I was not expecting it soon. It rested much longer between its last moves. I must discuss this with E-Wusk.”

  “You’d better see him tomorrow, then. I have the impression that day after tomorrow may be too late. Have you ever heard of a world called Quarm?”

  “That was my last headquarters. Why do you ask?”

  “I have acquired something that is purported to be Quarmer art. I wondered if there were any Quarmers here on Yorlq who could authenticate it.”

  “I don’t recall having seen any.”

  Darzek excused himself and moved off to play host. All of the bingo prizes had been distributed; many of the guests found the game fascinating enough to play without prizes, but the others drifted away to other diversions. The water dancing had started up again, and Darzek sat down to watch it. A short time later Kxon came to deliver a negative report. The undertraders had overheard nothing of interest.

  When Miss Schlupe joined him she added her own succinct appraisal of the evening. “It’s a total flop.”

  “Not quite,” Darzek said. “E-Wusk told me something that I find extremely interesting. Fascinating, in fact. But the party is a flop. We can’t work spies into their offices, and when we corner th
em away from their offices they keep their mouths shut. It’s downright discouraging.”

  “If only that Quarmer hadn’t caught the blight,” Miss Schlupe said sadly. “We should have sprayed him.”

  “There’s Gul Halvr. Excuse me—I want to see what he thinks of E-Wusk’s prognosticating.”

  Gul Halvr thought very little of it and said so. He also knew nothing about Quarmers on Yorlq. Darzek moved on to talk to Gul Kaln, who dismissed E-Wusk’s prediction with a shrug.

  “Sitting around worrying about the Dark won’t keep it away. If it’s going to come here it will come. I think all of us have learned, by now, to record our solvency in safe places and keep our inventories low.”

  Solvency . . . inventories . . . trade. Darzek listened politely to Gul Kaln’s latest exploit with rucb hemp, expressed his regrets that he could not relieve him of an unfortunate surplus in dlk sugar, and escaped on the pretext of looking after his other guests. They were enjoying themselves, which meant that they would stay late.

  Quietly he slipped away to his garden. Yorlq’s three small moons hung one above the other like saucers in a juggling act. The night was strangely silent—insectlike life on Yorlq was either mute or vocalized beyond the range of human hearing—and laced with pungent odors from plants Miss Schlupe had obtained from Rhinzl on the remote chance that some of them might have Earth-like characteristics.

  The garden was restful, and the dwellings that loomed nearby had no windows from which curious or malicious stares could be directed; but Darzek quickly found that he could think no more easily there than he could surrounded by the hubbub of his symposium. Not that thought would be of any use to him; every turning he had taken had been wrong, every opening he had discovered led only into a blind alley. He knew little more about the Dark than he had learned in the one thorough briefing from EIGHT.

  “But it seems that the Dark itself is about to advance my education,” he told himself. “All I have to do is wait.”

  The door ripped open. Kxon cried shrilly, “Is that you, Gul Darr? Come quickly!”

  Darzek sprinted. In the reception room he came upon several guests, Gul Ceyh among them, writhing on the floor and vomiting.

  “Get a doctor!” he snapped.

  “Gud Baxak has gone for them,” Kxon said.

  “Them?” Darzek whirled and ran toward the aquaroom, fearing the worst.

  He found it. His guests had been felled as if by sorcery, and they lay twisting in agony, retching, moaning. Miss Schlupe fluttered about helplessly, wringing her hands, and when Darzek spoke to her she answered with inarticulate babble.

  Then Gud Baxak’s corps of doctors marched in, and the crisis passsed as mysteriously as it had arrived. As each guest voided whatever had offended his stomach he got unsteadily to his feet, wounded in dignity, shaken, sometimes disgustingly soiled, but—to Darzek’s amazement—apologetic rather than angry, as though the fault were entirely his own.

  The symposium ended abruptly. As soon as a guest could shakily negotiate the distance to the transmitter he went home. The doctors made puzzled rounds, shrugged, and departed, apparently convinced that the sick were in nature’s competent hands. Darzek started up a robot cleaner and sent Kxon to bring others from the Trans-Star office and the investigation headquarters. Obviously there was more cleaning to be done than one could handle in a night.

  Miss Schlupe, calm at last, faced Darzek like a small child expecting a whipping.

  “What happened to the food?” he demanded.

  “It wasn’t the food,” she confessed timorously.

  “Then what was it?”

  “Well, none of them would talk, so I thought I’d try something to loosen them up a bit. So I had each of them served—”

  “Served what?”

  “A shot of my rhubarb beer.”

  “You couldn’t!” Darzek protested. “We drank the last of it when we left Smith!”

  “I just made some more.”

  “Where’d you get the rhubarb?”

  “From Rhinzl.”

  “You couldn’t!”

  “Well, it looked like rhubarb. And it tasted like rhubarb—a little. And the beer is good.”

  “Is there any left? Let me try the stuff.”

  She produced a flask. Darzek tasted, spat hurriedly. “Schluppy! That stuff is at least fifty proof!”

  “I thought it had a rather nice kick to it.”

  “It loosened them up, all right. We’ll be airing out the house for a week, and we may never live it down.”

  “I’m sorry. All I wanted to do was make them talk.”

  “They will. They’ll talk about it for periods, but I’ll be surprised if they ever speak to us again.”

  “I thought they were very nice about it. They all apologized. They didn’t seem in the least offended. Gula Azfel even thanked me for a pleasant evening.”

  “She’s probably delighted. This fiasco is proof positive that I need a wife to look after my entertaining. Well, it served one good purpose. It got them out of here. I was afraid they’d stay all night.”

  The last guest had teetered homeward; the cleaners were humming busily. Darzek started for his room, and was flagged down by Gud Baxak. “Gul Rhinzl wishes to speak with you, Sire.”

  “Rhinzl? Still here?”

  “In the dark room.”

  “Great Scott! The doctors wouldn’t think to look there. He may be dying!”

  But Rhinzl was still seated in his dim corner, apparently in good health. “Are you all right?” Darzek demanded.

  “Quite all right.”

  “You see, everyone else got sick, and I was afraid—”

  Rhinzl laughed softly. “It was rude of me, of course, but I didn’t drink. I only pretended. I offer my apologies.”

  “Please don’t. I’m immensely relieved that you didn’t drink the stuff.”

  “I waited because I wanted to ask your advice. My dwelling is of ample size. You are familiar with my business reputation. I have lived alone for many periods, and it makes it difficult for me to maintain any social position. I wondered if you would have any objection to my marrying.”

  “Why should I object?” Darzek exclaimed in amazement.

  “I thought it best to obtain your approval. You see, it is Gula Schlu that I wish to marry.”

  “Gula Schlu!”

  “She is a charming person. I have long admired her—ever since we first met. She will make an excellent hostess, and she shares my interest in plants and flowers. I am uncertain as to the customs of your kind, so I need your advice. How should I proceed with a proposal of marriage?”

  “I am sure that Gula Schlu would feel honored—”

  “Thank you. In that case I’ll make the necessary legal arrangements immediately.”

  “But she could not possibly accept,” Darzek added quickly. “As my kind ages, she is beyond the age for marriage.”

  Rhinzl pondered this and pronounced it exceedingly strange. “I have heard of minimum ages for marriage,” he mused, “but never a maximum age. Both in appearance and in actions Gula Schlu seems commendably, even invigoratingly, young.”

  “That will please her very much. I have no right to give you an answer for her. My kind considers marriage a personal matter that one must decide for oneself. I’ll gladly tell her of your proposal and send you her answer tomorrow. I feel certain, though, that she will not accept. As I said, she is beyond the age for marriage.”

  “This would not matter to me if she did not find it an obstacle. But I’m sure that you understand your kind better than I.”

  Darzek dimmed the reception room and bowed Rhinzl to the transmitter, murmuring regrets and condolences.

  “My first proposal of marriage,” Miss Schlupe said tearfully, a f
ew minutes later. “He’s such a nice person, too. You could have at least let me decline it myself!”

  Chapter 12

  The vault of stars above the Yorlq transfer station palled beside Darzek’s recollection of the awe-inspiring view he had seen at Primores. The Primores stations had looked out upon the glowing majesty of the heaviest concentration of stars in the galaxy, but Darzek dourly wondered if the apparent difference might not also be due to his sense of awe becoming jaded.

  He said, “They’re loading nothing but Iwip nuts? You’re certain of that?”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  “What are Iwip nuts?”

  “I don’t know, Sire,” Kxon said apologetically.

  Darzek abandoned the stars to regard Kxon with amazement. “A native product, and you don’t know what it is?”

  Kxon blushed white to the remote ridge of his ears and sputtered confusedly.

  “Never mind. Send someone to ask Gud Baxak. Let’s concentrate on finding a way to get aboard.”

  A short time later Gud Baxak delivered his reply personally. He was mystified and anxious to forestall a business gaffe. “There is no market for Iwip nuts,” he said.

  “Of course there’s a market,” Darzek told him. “Someone has sold a shipload. The trader who bought them is no fool and wouldn’t be shipping a load of nuts as ballast. That wasn’t my question. What are the damned things?”

  “There has never been any trade in them,” Gud Baxak protested. “There was a market, a very good market, but the efa had a monopoly of it. Then the Dark took it. The nuts continue to grow, so there are probably mountainous surpluses and no bids.”

  “Where was the market for Iwip nuts?”

  “A world called Quarm.”

  Darzek nodded sagely. Quarm seemed to be running through his personal saga like a thread—a dark thread.