Throy Page 12

  “Be so good as to look for the names ‘Catterline’ and ‘Selious.’”

  Jorne entered the names. “Sorry, sir. Those persons are not listed.”

  * * *

  Chapter 4, Part III

  The Fortunatus turned away from the Perseus sector and slid off across the Shimwald Gulf. Gilbert’s Green Star melted into the Wisp, which in turn disappeared against the luminous background of the Lower Perseid Arm and presently could be seen no more.

  Ahead appeared the stars of Pegasus and Cassiopeia, among them the white star Pegasus KE58, commonly known as Tyr Gog, which in due course dominated the sky ahead.

  Six of Tyr Gog’s nine planets were small worlds of no great consequence. Of the three remaining, one was a gas giant, another a ball of ammoniacal ice; the last, Rhea, exhibited a dozen anomalies, ranging from a canted orbit to a backwards rotation and asymmetric shape. The constituent materials were even more extraordinary. In the end Rhea was adjudged not the usual result of planetary condensation but, rather, a juncture of numerous large pieces including asteroids and fragments of an exploded dead star.

  The original locator, David Evans, recognized the strange and wonderful quality of Rhea’s minerals, which were like none he had ever seen before. Some of the substances had been created in the stellar interior, in processes which transmuted the standard sub-atomic particles and rearranged their constituents into new patterns, to create theoretically impossible stuffs, so that the eventual yield of Rhea’s mines generated an entirely new field of chemistry.

  David Evans sold licenses and leases to a syndicate of mining enterprises - the ‘Twelve Families’ - upon terms which would ultimately make him one of the wealthiest men in the Gaean Reach.

  Rhea, small and dense, exhibited a diverse topography and landscapes of dramatic contrasts. The two principal continents Wreke and Myrdal, confronted each other across the equator, with the Straits of Scaime between. The unique minerals of Rhea were most readily accessible on Wreke, which became the site for the industrial complex, and the residential zone for working personnel at the city Tenwy. The softer scenery of Myrdal to the south was reserved for the estates of the ‘Twelve Families,’ a caste commanding wealth beyond the dreams of avarice.

  The continents Wreke and Myrdal approached each other closely; for about a hundred miles the Scaime ran only forty miles wide. The tides and currents joining the two great oceans coursed along the channel sometimes at twenty or thirty knots.

  Five years previously the gentry had decided to bridge the Scaime, in order to facilitate transit between Tenwy on Wreke and Myrdal; the contract was let to L-B Construction. Concrete pontoons were floated, towed into place and anchored at quarter-mile intervals. From pontoon to pontoon long flat arches carried the causeway across the Scaime, at a height of two hundred feet above the rushing currents. The bridge was a magnificent engineering feat and the gentry could now ride back and forth between Wreke and Myrdal aboard swift magnetic rail cars in total comfort.

  At the north end of the bridge was the city Tenwy and the planet’s principal spaceport. The Fortunatus descended and landed; Glawen and Chilke submitted to typical arrival routines, and were passed into the terminal’s main lobby. A sign, ‘VISITOR’S INFORMATION SERVICE,’ hung over a counter; here, on a cushioned stool was perched a plump little woman with a careful coif of brown ringlets, sagging cheeks and a small red mouth. She observed the approach of Glawen and Chilke under languid eyelids. “Yes, gentlemen?”

  “We have just arrived,” said Glawen. “We need some information, which of course is why we are here.”

  “That goes without saying,” said the woman with a sniff. “Mind you, I am not required to furnish econometric data, nor genealogical information relative to the Twelve Families, and I will inform you before you ask that no guided tours of Myrdal or the Great Residences are offered.”

  “We will keep this in mind,” said Glawen. “May I ask about the bridge?”

  The woman pointed to the kiosk of a news agent. “You will find yonder a dozen sources of such information, which you may assimilate at your leisure.”

  “You do not have such information here?”

  “Only if I jump down and grope here and there and waste time. Surely everyone is better served by using a bit of their own initiative, and, after all, Madame Kay at the kiosk deserves to make a living as well.”

  “We will restrict our questions,” said Glawen. “With luck you need not jump down from your stool.”

  The woman sniffed. “What do you want to know?”

  “First, in regard to the dedication ceremonies. Are they in progress now? If not, when do they start?”

  “They are over and done with. The bridge has officially been declared operational. “

  “Too bad,” said Glawen. “We must bear with the disappointment. Where are the offices of L-B Construction Company?”

  “You will find these offices at 3, Silurian Circus.”

  “And how should we best go from here to there?”

  “You could hire a cab, or you could walk. Personally, I would ride aboard the ‘A’ street car, which is free. But then, I know where I am going.”

  Glawen and Chilke, leaving the terminal, found a cab rank and were carried first through a district of foundries, machine shops and supply houses, into an area of office buildings. These were uniform blocks of glass and concrete faced with a black opal veneer which shimmered and swam with a hundred colors. The hills behind were traversed by orderly rows of residences, gray with pink roofs. Some were small, others large, but all conformed to a standard architecture, ordained by someone with a taste for the rococo and capricious, so that arcades, colonnades and bulbous domes were everywhere to be seen, and each house was surrounded by at least two and as many as six tall pencil-cypress trees.

  The cab veered toward the Scaime and the wonderful new bridge came into view. Turning into a circular plaza, the cab halted before Number 3. Glawen and Chilke alighted, paid the fare with only a pro forma protest, since the overcharge seemed not excessive. They entered the foyer and went to a receptionist’s desk. Here sat a woman, thin and blonde and resolute, with a long thin nose, black eyes, darting and alert. She wore a severe expression, which hinted that whoever approached her had better conduct himself with propriety since she was in no mood for nonsense.

  Glawen spoke in a meek manner: “Excuse me, Miss, I wonder if you can help us.”

  The response was crisp. “That depends entirely upon what you want.”

  “We have only just arrived on Rhea -”

  ‘We are no longer hiring; in fact, we are either discharging or transferring crews. If you want further information, apply to the Employment Office at the construction yard.”

  “That is where we will find Lewyn Barduys?”

  The receptionist stared stonily. “What gives you such a foolish idea?”

  Glawen grinned. “I assume you know whom I am talking about.”

  “Naturally: Mr. Lewyn Barduys.”

  “We want a few words with him. Where might we find him?”

  “In this regard, at least, I can offer no assistance.”

  “Is he still here on Rhea?”

  “I have no current information. He was here during the dedication ceremonies; that is all I can tell you.”

  “Then please refer us to someone who will know the facts.”

  The receptionist thought a moment, then spoke into a mesh. “Sir, there are two gentlemen here who wish to speak with Mr. Barduys. I am somewhat at a loss as to what to tell them.” She listened to her ear clip, then said: “But they are not convinced! They insist upon definite information.” She listened, then: “Very well, sir.” Turning back to Glawen and Chilke, she indicated a door. “If you will step into the conference room, Mr. Yoder will join you.” She added as if by afterthought: “He is Office Manager, his status is Category 3b; no doubt you will recognize this and conduct yourselves with decorum.”

  Glawen and Chilke, obeying the instr
uctions, entered a long room panelled in textured white plaster, with a black ceiling and a floor checkered with yellow and brown tiles. The furnishings, a table and a half dozen chairs, were simple if elegant constructions of hand-fitted wood. On one wall hung a large photograph of the bridge, with a group of men and women, evidently high-ranking personnel, standing somberly in the foreground.

  A tall gaunt man of early-middle age entered the room, his keen features and corded cheeks at striking odds with his debonair white suit and pale blue cravat. He spoke in a flat metallic voice: “I am Oshman Yoder; may I inquire your identities and your business?”

  “I am Commander Glawen Clattuc, and this is Commander Eustace Chilke, of the Cadwal Constabulary. Our

  status, needless to say is high.”

  Yoder seemed unimpressed by the statement. “‘Cadwal’? I have never heard of the place.”

  “It is well known to educated persons, including Lewyn Barduys. We wish to ask him a few questions. You have indicated that he is still on Rhea.”

  Yoder appraised them coldly. “I recall saying nothing to this effect.”

  “True, but if he were gone, you would have notified us at once. “

  Yoder gave a curt nod and had the grace to smile. “Be seated, if you will.” He himself settled into a chair beside the conference table. “Lewyn Barduys is a private man. He does not enjoy dealings with the public and he hires persons like myself to conduct these dealings in his behalf. Am I clear on this?”

  “Of course,” said Glawen. “However, we are not the public, but instruments of the law. Our business is official.”

  “I wish to examine your credentials.”

  Glawen and Chilke displayed their documents, which Yoder scanned, then returned. “The situation is not all so easy.”

  “How so?”

  Yoder leaned back in his chair. “I don’t know where Mr. Barduys has gone.”

  Glawen controlled his vexation. “Then why -”

  Yoder paid no heed. “We will consult Mr. Nominy. He acts as coordinator between L-B and the Twelve Families. If there is anything which should be known, he knows it, and no doubt much which should not be known, as well.” He turned his head. “Didas Nominy!”

  A section of the wall slid aside, revealing a large screen which presently displayed the head and shoulders of a round-faced man, cherubically cheerful, or so it seemed. Chestnut curls hung over his forehead and dangling past his ears became mutton-chop whiskers. His nose was a stub, between round pink cheeks; his pale blue eyes were small and narrow, and to some extent diminished his expression of rubicund joviality. “At your service!” called Nominy. “Who is it? Yoder? What is the news?”

  Yoder introduced Glawen and Chilke and explained the reason for their presence. “So then: where is Lewyn Barduys?”

  “I cannot tell you precisely. He was to inspect three sites, with an eye to further construction, but that was to be done from the air yesterday. Today he had in mind a rather peculiar notion. He wanted to visit a village a hundred miles down the coast.”

  “Odd,” said Yoder. “Which village is this?”

  “It’s quite primitive; I doubt if it has a name.”

  From-behind him came the voice of a person off-screen. “They call it Yipton.”

  Glawen and Chilke reacted with surprise. “‘Yipton’?”

  Nominy spoke on, in a mellow and cultured voice. “From the first we have used teams of workmen with different skills, and some with no skills whatever, from all corners of the Reach. For a period Mr. Barduys experimented with a folk known as ‘Yips.’ They were strong, with easy dispositions, and quite cooperative, unless they were asked to work: an occupation they found uncongenial. From a gang of three hundred we suffered an attrition rate of about thirty percent a month, until all the Yips were gone and the experiment was pronounced a failure.”

  Chilke asked: “So what happened to the lazy rascals?”

  “They melted away into the hinterlands and nothing more was heard of them until a few months ago. It was discovered that they had drifted a hundred miles down the coast, had taken up with women from the countryside, and now lived in a village of sorts. When Mr. Barduys heard of this village, he in effect delayed his departure a day. The village, so he said, interested him more than the bridge.” Yoder looked from Glawen to Chilke. “Odd, don’t you think?”

  “Most odd,” said Glawen. “So where is Barduys now?”

  “The time is midday. He is either at this miserable village or in space.”

  “What is his next destination?”

  Nominy shrugged his plump shoulders. “There has been no announcement, and I expected none.”

  “What sort of ship is Barduys using?”

  “It is a Flecanpraun Mark Six, named Elyssoi. It is a fine ship, and whatever his destination he will make a fast passage. But there may still be time to catch him at the Yip village. You can hire a flitter or, if you like, I will fly you there myself.”

  “That is very kind of you. Can we leave at once?”

  “A good idea. Time is short.”

  * * *

  Chapter 4, Part IV

  The flitter flew east beside the Scaime. To the left rose a wild tumble of vitreous crags and polyhedral hulks rearing high into the sky: a repository of exotic minerals which provided the Twelve Families more wealth than they could conveniently spend.

  As the flitter flew to the east, the Scaime widened and the continent Myrdal faded over the horizon. Below appeared a meadow. In a multitude of small garden plots women wearing gray smocks and pale blue turbans were at work. From a cliff north of the meadow a waterfall plunged a thousand feet into a pool, then became a stream meandering across the meadow, past a huddle of rude huts.

  Nominy landed the flitter close beside the village; the three men jumped to the ground and looked about.

  The huts showed a striking variation in quality. Some were little more than piles of reeds and sticks; others had been fashioned with planks cut from punk-wood, and thatched with palm fronds. About a third had been built with care and even skill, on stone foundations with posts and beams of timbers, sheathed with punk-wood planks and roofed with tiles of metamorphosed biotite.

  The village was quiet except for pounding and rasping sounds from what appeared to be a communal workshop. Children playing in the dirt paused a few moments to inspect the strangers, then proceeded with their play. A few men and women peered from the doorways, but finding nothing of interest, disappeared back into the dim interiors. The women stalwart, rather squat, with coarse black hair, heavy features and large eyes, lacked the supple beauty of the typical Yip woman, but compensated for the lack through the vigor and efficiency of their work. The fields and garden plots were cultivated by women, though a few, by one means or another, had enlisted the unenthusiastic help of a man, presumably her spouse.

  Chilke spoke to Nominy: “I think you mentioned that the women are all local stock?”

  “None of them are Yips, at any rate. A few might be from off-world, brought here by bridge personnel. Why do you ask?”

  “Because of the children.”

  Nominy looked them over. “They seem quite ordinary, except for dirt.”

  “On Cadwal the union of Yip and non-Yip produces no issue1.”

  “That is not the case here.”

  “One thing is clear,” said Glawen. “There is no sign of Barduys.”

  “I expected none,” said Nominy cheerfully. “But perhaps we shall learn the source of his interest. Such facts are often of utility.” He settled his hat and fluffed out his mutton-chop whiskers. “Allow me to conduct the interview; I have had some experience with these chaps and know how to handle them.”

  Glawen demurred. “Chilke and I are both well acquainted with the Yips. They are more sensitive than you suppose. It will be better if you stay in the background.”

  “As you wish,” said Nominy curtly. “But don’t blame me for your mistakes.”

  The three approached one of t
he more imposing huts: a structure of two rooms, with walls of stone and a roof tiled with irregular-plates of pale grey schist. The shadows of the interior stirred; a man stepped out into the pale light of Tyr Gog. He was tall, with good physique, dark golden hair, golden-bronze skin and well-shaped features.

  Glawen spoke. “We are trying to catch up with the ship that landed here this morning.”

  “You are too late. It is gone.”

  “Were you here when the ship landed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Were the folk in the ship polite?”

  “Yes; suitably so.”

  “I’m glad to hear this, since they are our friends and we are trying to find them. Did they say where they were going?”

  “They failed to explain their plans.”

  “But, as an observant man, you notice many things.”

  “True. I am constantly amazed by the number of small details which present themselves, to be observed or ignored, as one chooses.”

  “Can you tell us what you noticed in connection with the folk of the ship?”

  “Certainly, if you care to pay me for my trouble.”

  “That is a reasonable request. Commander Chilke, please pay this gentleman five sols.”

  “With pleasure, so long as I get it back.”

  “You may reimburse yourself from the petty cash.”

  Chilke paid over the money, which the Yip accepted with somber dignity.

  “So then,” said Glawen. “What happened this morning?”

  “The ship landed. Several persons came out. One was the captain; another was a woman of haughty demeanor, or so I interpreted it. In any case, I was unconcerned. The two, captain and woman, came to talk with me. They admired my house, and said that the roof was especially fine. I told them that my woman had become weary of sleeping in the rain and had insisted upon proper shelter. She advised me that stone was a good material, and would save me toil in the end, and I believe she is correct in this, since some of the other huts have already blown down several times in the storm, and now everyone is considering the wisdom of building in stone. One of the ship’s crew said something about ‘social evolution,’ but I do not know what was meant.”