Tschai-Planet of Adventure (omnibus) (2012)

by Jack Vance

  An hour before sunset a long low vessel appeared over the northeast horizon, faring on a course parallel to their own. With the sun low in the northwest Reith hoped to evade the attention of those aboard the ship, which held a sinister resemblance to the pirate galleys of the Draschade. Hoping to draw away, he altered course to the south. The ship likewise altered course, coincidentally or not Reith could not be sure. He swung the boat directly toward the shore, now about ten miles distant; the ship again seemed to alter course. With a sinking heart Reith saw that they must surely be overtaken. Zap 210 watched with sagging shoulders; Reith wondered what he should do if the galley in fact overtook them. She had no knowledge of what to expect: now was hardly the time to explain to her … Reith decided that he would kill her in the event that capture became certain. Then he changed his mind: they would plunge over the side of the boat and drown together … Equally impractical; while there was life there was hope.

  The sun settled upon the horizon; the wind as on the evening previous lessened. Sunset brought a dead calm with the boats rolling helplessly on the waves.

  Reith shipped the sweeps. As twilight settled over the ocean he pulled away from the becalmed pirate ship toward shore. He rowed on through the night. The pink moon rose and then the blue moon, to project tremulous trails across the water.

  Ahead one of the trails ended at a mass of dead black: the shore. Reith stopped his rowing. Far to the west he saw a flickering light; to sea all was dark. He threw out the anchor and lowered the sail. The two made a meal on berries and pilgrim-pod, then lay down to sleep on the sails in the bottom of the boat.

  With morning came a breeze from the east. The boat lay at anchor a hundred yards offshore, in water barely three feet deep. The pirate galley, if such it were, could no longer be seen. Reith pulled up the anchor and hoisted sail; the boat moved jauntily off through the water.

  Made cautious by the events of the previous afternoon Reith sailed only a quarter-mile offshore, until halfway through the afternoon the wind died. In the north a bank of clouds gave portent of a storm; taking up the sweeps, Reith worked the boat into a lagoon at the mouth of a sluggish river. To the side of the lagoon floated a raft of dried reeds, upon which two boys sat fishing. After an initial stir they watched the approach of the boat in attitudes of indifference.

  Reith paused in his rowing to consider the situation. The unconcern of the boys seemed unnatural. On Tschai unusual events almost always presaged danger. Reith cautiously rowed the boat to within conversational distance. A hundred feet distant on the bank sat three men, also fishing. They seemed to be Grays: a people short and stocky, with strongly-featured faces, sparse brownish hair and grayish skin. At least, thought Reith, they were not Khors, and not automatically hostile.

  Reith let the boat drift forward. He called out: “Is there a town nearby?”

  One of the boys pointed across the reeds to a grove of purple ouinga trees. “Yonder.”

  “What town is it?”

  “Zsafathra.”

  “Is there an inn or a tavern where we can find accommodation?”

  “Speak to the men ashore.”

  Reith urged the boat toward the bank. One of the men called out in irritation: “Easy with the tumult! You’ll drive off every gobbulch in the lagoon.”

  “Sorry,” said Reith. “Can we find accommodation in your town?”

  The men regarded him with impersonal curiosity. “What do you here, along this coast?”

  “We are travelers, from the south of Kislovan, now returning home.”

  “You have traveled a remarkable distance in so small a craft,” remarked one of the men in a mildly skeptical voice.

  “One which strongly resembles the craft of the Khors,” noted another.

  “For a fact,” Reith agreed, “it does look like a Khor boat. But all this aside, what of lodging?”

  “Anything is available to folk with sequins.”

  “We can pay reasonable charges.”

  The oldest of the men on the bank rose to his feet. “If nothing else,” he stated, “we are a reasonable people.” He signaled Reith to approach. As the boat nosed into the reeds he jumped aboard. “So then: you claim to be Khors?”

  “Quite the reverse. We claim not to be Khors.”

  “What of the boat, then?”

  Reith made an ambiguous gesture. “It is not so good as some, but better than others; it has brought us this far.”

  A wintry grin crossed the man’s face. “Proceed through the channel yonder. Bear to the right.”

  For half an hour Reith rowed this way and that through a maze of channels with the ouinga trees always behind islands of black reeds. Reith presently understood that the Zsafathran either was having a joke or sought to confuse him. He said, “I am tired; you row the rest of the way.”

  “No, no,” declared the old man. “We are now there, just left through yonder channel, and toward the ouingas.”

  “Odd,” said Reith. “We have gone back and forth past that channel a dozen times.”

  “One channel looks much like another. And here we are.”

  The boat floated into a placid pond, surrounded by reed-thatched cottages on stilts under the ouinga trees. At the far end of the pond stood a larger, more elaborate structure. The poles were purple ouinga wood; the thatch was woven in a complicated pattern of black, brown and gray.

  “Our community free-house,” explained the Zsafathran. “We are not so isolated as you might think. Thangs come by with their troupes and carts, or Bihasu peddlers, or wandering dignitaries like yourselves. All these we entertain at our free-house.”

  “Thangs? We must be close upon Cape Braise!”

  “Is three hundred miles close? The Thangs are as pervasive as sand-flies; they appear everywhere, more often than not when they are not wanted. Not too far is the great Thang town Urmank … You and your woman both are of a race strange to me. If the concept were not inherently ludicrous — but no, to postulate nonsense is to lose my dignity; I will hazard nothing.”

  “We are from a remote place,” said Reith. “You have never heard of it.”

  The old man made a sign of indifference. “Whatever you like; provided that you observe the ceremonies, and pay your score.”

  “Two questions,” said Reith. “What are the ‘ceremonies’ and how much must we expect to pay as a daily charge?”

  “The ceremonies are simple,” said the Zsafathran. “An exchange of pleasantries, so to speak. The charges will be perhaps four or five sequins a day. Go ashore at the dock, if you will; then we must take your boat away, to discourage speculation should a Thang or a Bihasu pass by.”

  Reith decided to make no objection. He worked the boat to the dock: a construction of withe and reeds lashed to piles of ouinga-wood. The Zsafathran jumped from the boat, and gallantly helped Zap 210 to the dock, inspecting her closely as he did so.

  Reith jumped ashore with a mooring line, which the Zsafathran took and passed on to a lad with a set of muttered instructions. He led Reith and Zap 210 through the withe pavilion and into the great free-house. “So here you are, take your ease. The cubicle yonder is at your service. Food and wine will be served in due course.”

  “We want to bathe,” said Reith, “and we would appreciate a change of clothes if any such are available.”

  “The bathhouse is yonder. Fresh garments after the Zsafathran style can be furnished at a price.”

  “And the price?”

  “Ordinary suits of gray furze for withe-cutting or tillage are ten sequins each. Since your present garments are little better than rags, I recommend the expense.”

  “Under-linen is included in this price?”

  “Upon a surcharge of two sequins apiece under-linen is furnished, and should you wish new sandals, each must pay five sequins additionally.”

  “Very well,” said Reith. “Bring everything. We’ll go first-class while the sequins last.”

  Chapter VI

  Wearing the simple gray smoc
k and trousers of the Zsafathrans, Zap 210 looked somewhat less peculiar and conspicuous. Her black hair had begun to curl; exposure to wind and sun had darkened her skin; only her perfectly regular features and her brooding absorption with secret ideas now set her apart. Reith doubted, however, if a stranger would notice in her conduct anything more unusual than shyness.

  But Cauch the old Zsafathran noticed. Taking Reith aside, he muttered in a confidential voice, “Your woman: perhaps she is ill? If you require herbs, sweat-baths or homœopathy, these are available, at no great cost.”

  “Everything at Zsafathra is a bargain,” said Reith. “Before we leave we might owe more sequins than we carry. In this case, what would be your attitude?”

  “Sorrowful resignation, nothing more. We know ourselves for a destiny-blasted race, doomed to a succession of disappointments. But I trust this is not to be the case?”

  “Not unless we enjoy your hospitality longer than I presently plan.”

  “No doubt you will carefully gauge your resources. But again, what of the woman’s condition?” He subjected Zap 210 to a critical scrutiny. “I have had some experience in these matters; I deem her peaked and listless, and somewhat morose. Beyond this, I am puzzled.”

  “She is an unfathomable person,” Reith agreed.

  “The description, if I may say so, applies to you both,” said Cauch. He turned his owlish gaze upon Reith. “Well, the woman’s morbidity is your affair, of course … A collation has been served on the pavilion, which you are invited to join.”

  “At a small charge, presumably?”

  “How can it be otherwise? In this exacting world only the air we breathe is free. Are you the sort to go hungry because you begrudge the outlay of a few bice? I think not. Come.” And Cauch, urging them out upon the pavilion, seated them in withe chairs before a wicker table, then went off to instruct the girls who served from the buffet.

  Cool tea, spice-cakes, stalks of a crisp red water-vegetable were set before them as a first course. The food was palatable, the chairs were comfortable; after the vicissitudes of the previous weeks the situation seemed unreal, and Reith was unable to subdue a nervous mannerism of looking warily this way and that. Gradually he relaxed. The pavilion seemed an idyll of peace. Gauzy fronds of the purple ouinga trailed low, exhaling an aromatic scent. Carina 4269 sprinkled dancing spots of dark gold light across the water. From somewhere beyond the free-house came the music of water-gongs. Zap 210 gazed across the pond in a reverie, nibbling at the food as if it lacked flavor. Becoming aware of Reith’s attention she straightened primly in the chair.

  “Shall I serve more of this tea?” asked Reith.

  “If you like.”

  Reith poured from the bubble-glass jug. “You don’t seem particularly hungry,” he observed.

  “I suppose not. I wonder if they have any diko.”

  “I’m sure that they have no diko,” said Reith.

  Zap 210 gave her fingers a petulant twitch.

  Reith asked, “Do you like this place?”

  “It is better than the vastness of the sea.”

  For a period Reith sipped his tea in silence. The table was cleared; new dishes were set before them: croquettes in sweet jelly; toasted sticks of white pith; nubbins of gray sea-flesh. As before Zap 210 showed no great appetite. Reith said politely, “You’ve seen something of the surface now. Is it different from your expectations?”

  Zap 210 reflected. “I never thought to see so many mother-women,” she murmured, as if talking to herself.

  “‘Mother-women’? Do you mean women with children?”

  She flushed. “I mean the women with prominent breasts and hips. There are so many! Some of them seem very young: no more than girls.”

  “It’s quite normal,” said Reith. “As girls grow out of childhood, they develop breasts and hips.”

  “I am not a child,” Zap 210 declared in an unusually haughty voice. “And I …” Her voice dwindled away.

  Reith poured another mug of tea and settled back into his chair. “It’s time,” he said, “that I explained certain matters to you. I suppose I should have done so before. All women are ‘mother-women’.”

  Zap 210 stared at him incredulously. “This isn’t the case at all!”

  “Yes it is,” said Reith. “The Pnume fed you drugs to keep you immature: the diko, or so I imagine. You aren’t drugged now and you’re becoming normal — more or less. Haven’t you noticed changes in yourself?”

  Zap 210 sank back in her chair, dumbfounded by his knowledge of her embarrassing secret. “Such things are not to be talked about.”

  “So long as you know what’s happening.”

  Zap 210 sat looking out over the water. In a diffident voice she asked, “You have noticed changes in me?”

  “Well, yes. First of all, you no longer look like the ghost of a sick boy.”

  Zap 210 whispered, “I don’t want to be a fat animal, wallowing in the dark. Must I be a mother?”

  “All mothers are women,” Reith explained, “but not all women are mothers. Not all mothers become fat animals.”

  “Strange, strange! Why are some women mothers and not others? Is it evil destiny?”

  “Men are involved in the process,” said Reith. “Look yonder, on the deck of that cottage: two children, a woman, a man. The woman is a mother. She is young and looks healthy. The man is the father. Without fathers, there are no children.”

  Before Reith could proceed with his explanation, old Cauch returned to the table and seated himself.

  “All is satisfactory?”

  “Very much so,” said Reith. “We will regret leaving your village.”

  Cauch nodded complacently. “In a few poor ways we are a fortunate folk, neither rigorous like the Khors, nor obsessively flexible like the Thangs to the west. What of yourselves? I admit to curiosity regarding your provenance and your destination, for I regard you as unusual folk.”

  Reith ruminated a moment or two, then said: “I don’t mind satisfying your curiosity if you are willing to pay my not-unreasonable fee. In fact I can offer you various grades of enlightenment. For a hundred sequins I guarantee amazement and awe.”

  Cauch drew back, hands raised in protest. “Tell me nothing upon which you place a value! But any oddments of small talk you can spare at no charge will find in me an attentive listener.”

  Reith laughed. “Triviality is a luxury I can’t afford. Tomorrow we depart Zsafathra. Our few sequins must take us to Sivishe — in what fashion I don’t know.”

  “As to this I can’t advise you,” said Cauch, “not even for a fee. My experience extends only so far as Urmank. Here you must go carefully. The Thangs will take all your sequins without a qualm. Useless to feel anger or injury! This is the Thang temperament. Rather than work they prefer to connive; Zsafathrans are very much on their guard when they visit Urmank, as you will see should you choose to go in our company to the Urmank bazaar.”

  “Hmm.” Reith rubbed his chin. “What of our boat, in this case?”

  Cauch shrugged, somewhat too casually or so it seemed to Reith. “What is a boat? A floating shell of wood.”

  “We had planned to sell this valuable boat at Urmank,” said Reith. “Still, to save myself the effort of navigation, I will let it go here for less than its full value.”

  With a quiet laugh Cauch shook his head. “I have no need for so clumsy and awkward a craft. The rigging is frayed, the sails are by no means the best; there is only a poor assortment of gear and rope in the forward caddy.”

  After an hour and a half of proposals and counter-proposals Reith disposed of the boat for forty-two sequins, together with all costs of accommodation at Zsafathra, and transportation to Urmank on the morrow. As they bargained they consumed quantities of the pepper tea, a mild intoxicant. Reith’s mood became loose and easy. The present seemed none too bad. The future? It would be met on its own terms. At the moment the failing afternoon light seeped through the enormous ouinga trees, pervading the air
with dusty violet, and the pond mirrored the sky.

  Cauch went off about his affairs; Reith leaned back in his chair. He considered Zap 210 who also had drunk a considerable quantity of the pepper tea. Some alteration of his mood caused him to see her not as a Pnumekin and a freak but as a personable young woman sitting quietly in the dusk. Her attention was fixed on something across the pavilion; what she saw astonished her and she turned to Reith in wonder. Reith noticed how large and dark were her eyes. She spoke in a shocked whisper. “Did you see … that?”

  “What?”

  “A young man and a young woman — they stood close and put their faces together!”

  “Really!”

  “Yes!”

  “I can’t believe it. Just what did they do?”

  “Well — I can’t quite describe it.”

  “Was it like this?” Reith put his hands on her shoulders, looked deep into the startled eyes.

  “No … not quite. They were closer.”

  “Like this?”

  Reith put his arms around her. He remembered the cold water of the Pagaz lake, the desperate animal vitality of her body as she had clung to him. “Was it like this?”

  She pushed back at his shoulders. “Yes … Let me go; someone might think us boisterous.”

  “Did they do this?” Reith kissed her; she looked at him in astonishment and alarm, and put her hand to her mouth. “No … Why did you do that?”

  “Did you mind?”

  “Well — no. I don’t think so. But please don’t do it again; it makes me feel very strangely.”

  “That,” said Reith, “is the effects of the diko wearing off.” He drew back and sat with his head spinning. She looked at him uncertainly. “I can’t understand why you did that.”

  Reith took a deep breath. “It’s natural for men and women to be attracted to each other. This is called the reproductive instinct, and sometimes it results in children.”

  Zap 210 became alarmed. “Will I now be a mother-woman?”

  “No,” said Reith. “We’d have to become far friendlier.”