The Dogtown Tourist Agency Read online

  THE DOGTOWN TOURIST AGENCY

  Jack Vance

  www.sfgateway.com

  Enter the SF Gateway …

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  Contents

  Title Page

  Gateway Introduction

  Contents

  The Dogtown Tourist Agency

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter X

  Chapter XI

  Chapter XII

  Chapter XIII

  Chapter XIV

  Chapter XV

  Freitzke’s Turn

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter X

  Chapter XI

  Chapter XII

  Chapter XIII

  Chapter XIV

  Website

  Also By Jack Vance

  Author Bio

  Copyright

  The Dogtown Tourist Agency

  Chapter I

  Hetzel composed a letter, writing a crisp and angular hand in black ink, with a short-nibbed pen:

  Dear Madame X:

  Complying with those instructions transmitted to me by messenger, I traced the person known as Casimir Wuldfache to Twisselbane on Tamar in the Nova Celeste Sector, where he arrived Ianiaro 23 Gaean, of the current year.

  At Twisselbane, Vv. Wuldfache secured afternoon employment at the Fabrilankus Café as a waiter, using the name Carmine Daruble. Evenings he worked at the local Mirrograph when not otherwise occupied as a paid escort for ladies in need of such a service.

  About three months ago he departed Tamar in company with a young woman whom I have not been able to identify. At the spaceport I circulated Vv. Wuldfache’s photograph and received information that his destination was the planet Maz, unlikely as this may seem.

  I have exhausted your retainer, and will exert no further effort until further instruction reaches me.

  With sincere best wishes,

  Hetzel, Vv.

  Hetzel addressed the letter to ‘Subscriber, Box 434, Ferraunce’ and dropped it into an expedition slot. The case was now terminated or so he assumed. The turbulence of Madame X’s emotions would subside in due course; Casimir Wuldfache, or whatever his name, would no doubt exercise his austere blond beauty upon a succession of other impressionable ladies.

  The planet Maz? How could such a place draw a man like Casimir Wuldfache? Hetzel shook his head in perplexity, then gave his attention to other matters.

  Chapter II

  Sir Ivon Hacaway decided to conduct personally the interview with Hetzel; the matter was too important to be entrusted to the discretion of an underling. Nor were the company offices in Ferraunce suitable for the occasion; a thousand underlings observed his every act, and Hetzel was essentially an unknown quantity, no more than a name and a reputation in a field at the questionable brink of respectability. Rather than risk a compromise of his dignity, Sir Ivon elected to manage the business in privacy at Harth Manor.

  Hetzel arrived at the appointed hour, and was conducted out upon the terrace. Sir Ivon, who disliked surprises, frowned to see not the furtive ruffian he had expected but a personable dark-haired man of obvious competence and a certain calm elegance which might have done credit to a gentleman. His clothes, neutral and unobtrusive, by some trick of reversal suggested not a neutral personality but flamboyance held under careful control.

  Sir Ivon gave a perfunctory nod and gestured toward a chair. “Please be seated. Perhaps you will take a cup of tea?”

  “With pleasure.”

  Sir Ivon touched a button, then briskly addressed himself to business. “As you must know, I am chairman of the board at Palladian Micronics. We manufacture a variety of highly intricate mechanisms: robot brains, automatic translators, psychoeidetic analogues, and the like. These articles require a vast amount of hand labor; automatic assembly is impossible, and our products are generally quite expensive.

  “A most curious situation has arisen. We have our competitors, naturally; Subsikon Corporation, Pedro Gomayr Associates, Gaean Micronics are the most important. We all market comparable products at competitive prices, and coexist with no more than the usual skulduggery. We are now being afflicted by unusual skulduggery.” Sir Ivon glanced at Hetzel to gauge the effect of his exposition, but Hetzel merely nodded politely. “Continue.”

  Sir Ivon cleared his throat. “About six months ago a company known as Istagam began to market several high-cost items at prices we can’t hope to match. Naturally, my engineers have examined these products, looking for areas where economies have been made, without success. The articles are constructed at least to the standard of our own. Who is Istagam, you ask? Well, we’re asking ourselves the same question.”

  From the house, pushing a teacart, came a portly woman wearing a voluminous gown of pink and black silk. Hetzel rose gallantly to his feet. “The Lady Hacaway, I take it?”

  “Oh, no, sir, I’m Reinhold, the housekeeper. Please sit down; I’ll lay out the tea.”

  Hetzel bowed and resumed his seat. Sir Ivon eyed him sidewise, a rather grim smile on his lips. He said, “To you this may seem a footling business: a question of a few million SLU*. Rather more is at stake. If Istagam expands, then we—and by ‘we’ I mean the members of the legitimate micronics industry—are in serious trouble.”

  “An urgent affair, no doubt,” said Hetzel. “However, I must explain that I undertake no industrial espionage, unless the fee were truly astronomical, and even then—”

  Sir Ivon held up his hand. “Hear me out,” he said testily. “The situation is extraordinary; otherwise I would simply turn the matter over to one of the large agencies. And I must remark in passing that your fee, while adequate, will be something less than astronomical. Otherwise I would do the work myself.”

  Hetzel sipped tea. “I’ll certainly listen to you with
out prejudice.”

  In a measured voice Sir Ivon continued his exposition. “Istagam distributes its products from at least three or four depots—all out to the north of Jack Chandler’s Gulf. One of these is a warehouse at an inconsequential little town known as Ultimo, on the planet Glamfyre. I don’t suppose that you’re acquainted with the place?”

  “Not even superficially.”

  “Well, Glamfyre is a rather bleak place, just about at the edge of the Reach. I communicated with our own district factor and asked him to make a few inquiries.” Sir Ivon brought forth a sheet of paper, which he passed across the table to Hetzel. “This is his report.”

  The letter had been indited at Estance Uno, Glamfyre, a month previously by a certain Urvix Lamboros.

  Hetzel read:

  Sir Ivon Hacaway

  Harth Manor on the Meadows

  Harth, Delta Rasalhague

  Esteemed Sir:

  In response to your request I journeyed to Ultimo, where I made local inquiry to this effect. Shipments were received at the Istagam warehouse on these dates, Gaean Standard Time: March 19, May 4, July 6. I thereupon made inquiries at the Ultimo spaceport, which is served by the Krugh Line, the Red Griffin Line, and occasionally the Osiris Line. Proximately before the dates mentioned above the following ships discharged cargo at Ultimo:

  I was unable to determine the previous ports of call of these vessels.

  With utmost respect and with hopes for your continued patronage, I am,

  Urvix Lamboros, Vv.

  Hetzel returned the letter. Sir Ivon said, “I communicated with officials of the Krugh Line and learned that these three ships had taken on cargo at only one port in common.” He paused to heighten the drama of his disclosure. “That port was Axistil, on the planet Maz.”

  Hetzel sat up in his chair. “Maz?”

  “You seem startled,” said Sir Ivon.

  “Hardly startled,” said Hetzel. “‘Surprised’ or ‘perplexed’ would be better words. Who on Maz manufactures micronic components?”

  Sir Ivon sat back in his chair. “Exactly. Who indeed? The Gomaz? Absurd. The Liss? The Olefract? Incredible. We have here a mystery of fascinating implications.”

  Hetzel agreed. “The case certainly exceeds the ordinary.”

  Out upon the terrace stepped a tall woman of striking appearance wearing a modish afternoon gown of brown, red, and gold pleats, with a panache of black feathers in a forehead band of black velvet. Her manner was rather imperious, and she quite ignored Hetzel, who had again risen to his feet, as, somewhat more slowly, did Sir Ivon.

  “Ivon, I implore you to exert yourself. Something must be done! Felicia has not yet returned from Graythorpe, and you will recall that I gave her most explicit instructions.”

  “Yes, my dear,” said Sir Ivon. “I’ll deal with the matter in due course, but at this moment I am occupied with business, as you see.” He glanced toward Hetzel, hesitated, then performed a rather grudging introduction. “This is Vv.* Miro Hetzel, an effectuator. He will be conducting certain investigations for the consortium. Vv. Hetzel, I present the Lady Bonvenuta Hacaway.”

  “I am honored to make your acquaintance,” said Hetzel.

  “It is a pleasure,” said Lady Bonvenuta in a frigid voice. To Sir Ivon she said, “I insist that you have a serious talk with Felicia. There are often questionable people at Graythorpe, as you well know.”

  “I’ll certainly deal with the matter,” said Sir Ivon. “In the meantime, you might call Graythorpe and make your feelings known to Felicia.”

  “I shall do so.” Lady Bonvenuta favored Hetzel with an inclination of the head and returned into the manor. Sir Ivon and Hetzel resumed their seats. Sir Ivon continued his exposition. “So, then—the Istagam shipments appear to derive from Maz, which seems most remarkable.”

  “No question as to this. Exactly, then, what do you want me to do?”

  Sir Ivon darted Hetzel a puzzled side glance, as if wondering at his naïveté. “Our first objective is information. Are the Liss or the Olefract attempting a commercial penetration of the Gaean Reach? If so, will they allow a counterflow? If not, who or what is Istagam? How does it contrive such remarkable economies?”

  “This appears straightforward.”

  Sir Ivon folded his hands across his belly and looked off across the vista. “I need hardly point out that Istagam represents a nuisance which ultimately must be abated. Naturally, I don’t advocate sabotage or assassination; that goes without saying. Still, your methods are your own, and they have won you an enviable reputation.”

  Hetzel knit his brows. “You would seem to be saying that I have earned a reputation for murder and destruction, which you envy.”

  Sir Ivon turned Hetzel a sharp look, and chose to ignore the tactless jocularity. “Another matter, which may or may not be connected with Istagam. At times I keep certain important documents here at Harth for a day or two, or as long as a week, in order to study them at my leisure. About three months ago a portfolio containing valuable marketing information was stolen from the premises. These papers would considerably benefit my competitors; to Istagam they would be invaluable. The theft was accomplished with finesse; no one saw the criminal; he left no traces, and I discovered the loss only when I opened the portfolio. I mention this matter if only to put you on your guard against Istagam. The people involved are evidently unscrupulous.”

  “I will certainly take your warning to heart,” said Hetzel, “assuming that you decide to entrust this dangerous and difficult matter to me.”

  Sir Ivon raised his eyes toward the sky as if in search of divine proscription against Hetzel’s avarice. He reached into his pocket and brought forth a pamphlet which he handed to Hetzel. “I have here a map of Axistil, published on Maz by the local tourist association. Axistil, as you see, is a very small community. The plaza and Triskelion are under Triarchic jurisdiction. The Gaean sector is tinted green and includes the Gaean spaceport, the Beyranion Hotel, where you will be staying, and part of the settlement known as Dogtown. Far Dogtown, on Gomaz territory, lies beyond Gaean authority and is a refuge for criminals and riffraff. The Liss sector is indicated by purple shading and includes the Liss spaceport. The Olefract sector is shown in orange stipple.” Sir Ivon became earnest and affable. “A fascinating city, so I am told. A place possibly unique in the galaxy: the juncture of three interstellar empires! Fancy that!”

  “This well may be,” said Hetzel. “Now, as to my fee—”

  Sir Ivon held up his hand. “Let me recapitulate. Istagam ships its products through the Gaean spaceport. Where do they originate? There would seem three possibilities. In the Liss Empire, or in the Olefract Empire, or on the planet Maz itself. In the implausible event that the Liss or the Olefract are producing trade goods and attempting to sell them across the Reach, the matter is vastly important. Both Liss and Olefract are xenophobic; they would tolerate no retaliation in kind. So then—Maz. Implausible again. The Gomaz, for all their remarkable qualities, lack discipline; it is difficult to imagine a group of Gomaz warriors occupied at an assembly line.” Sir Ivon spread out his hands. “So there you have it: a fascinating puzzle.”

  “Quite so. And now, a matter of considerable importance—”

  “Your fee.” Sir Ivon cleared his throat. “I am authorized to pay what I consider a most generous sum—thirty SLU per diem, plus adequate expenses, and a bonus should your work prove highly satisfactory, that is to say, should our maximum objectives be achieved.”

  Hetzel sat frozen with wonder. “Surely you are joking!”

  “Let us not bore each other with spurious histrionics,” said Sir Ivon. “Your circumstances are known to me: you are a clever man, with the soul of a nomad and pretensions beyond your class. You are currently living at a rather disreputable inn, which suggests—”

  Hetzel said: “You have not achieved eminence through tact or flattery, so much is clear. But your attitude clears the air, in that I can now freely state my opinion of the comm
ercial mentality—”

  “My time is too valuable to be spent on impudence or psychoanalysis,” said Sir Ivon. “Now then, let us—”

  “A moment,” said Hetzel. “I am normally too proud to haggle, but I must meet you on your own ground. You put forward a ridiculous figure. I could counter with another as unreal, but I prefer to state my minimum requirements at the beginning.”

  “Such as what?”

  “You have come to me because you know my reputation for subtlety, resource, and competence; you want to derive the beneficial use of these qualities. They do not come cheap. You may write your contract to the tune of a hundred SLU per standard Gaean day, plus a cash advance of five thousand SLU for necessary expenses and an open draft upon the bank at Axistil should additional sums be required, plus a bonus of five thousand SLU should the investigation be completed to your satisfaction within the month, with the clear understanding that ‘investigation’ does not include murder, theft, destruction, or suicide, unless necessary.”

  Sir Ivon’s face became pink. “I never conceived demands so capricious as these! Certain of your remarks have merit, and I might be willing to adjust my preliminary figure—”

  The conversation continued an hour before a final understanding was reached; and Hetzel agreed to depart at once for Maz, at the edge of the Gaean Reach.

  Sir Ivon, once more composed, gave Hetzel final instructions. “The Gaean representative at the Triarchy is Sir Estevan Tristo. I suggest that you immediately introduce yourself and explain your purposes; there is no reason why he should not give you all aid possible.”

  “In cases such as this,” said Hetzel, “the obvious and reasonable courses of action are usually the least productive. However, I must start somewhere; why not with Sir Estevan Tristo?”

  Chapter III

  Maz, a small world submerged under a heavy atmosphere, swung around the white dwarf sun Khis, in company with a large frigid moon. A nimbus of smoky orange, unique in Hetzel’s experience, surrounded Maz, nor had he ever seen a moon so bland, blank, and featureless: a globe of frosted silver.