Ecce and Old Earth Page 5

  “I think so. No one has his ear pressed to the door. That’s a feature of glass walls. Any odd conduct makes you conspicuous.”

  “What about microphones?”

  Chilke swung around and turned knobs to bring a wild wailing music from a speaker. “That should jam any microphone within hearing range, so long as you don’t try to sing. Now what is it that is so secret?”

  “This is the copy of a letter Floreste wrote yesterday afternoon. He says that my father is still alive. He also mentions you.” Glawen gave the letter to Chilke. “Read it for yourself.”

  Chilke took the letter, leaned back in his chair and read. Halfway through he looked up. “Isn’t it amazing? Smonny still thinks I own a great hoard of Grandpa Swaner’s valuables!”

  “It’s only amazing if you don’t. And you don’t?”

  “I hardly think so.”

  “Have you ever made an inventory of the estate?”

  Chilke shook his head. “Why bother? It’s just refuse cluttering up the barn. Smonny knows this very well; she’s burgled the place four times.”

  “You’re sure it was Smonny”

  “No one else has showed any interest in the stuff. I wish she would take herself in hand. It makes me nervous to be the object of her avarice, or affection, or wrath - whatever it is.” Chilke returned to the letter. He finished, mused a moment, then tossed the letter back to Glawen. “Now you want to rush out and rescue your father.”

  “Something like that.”

  “And Bodwyn Wook is joining you on the mission?”

  “I doubt it. He is a bit over-cautious.”

  “I suspect for good reason.”

  Glawen shrugged. “He is convinced that Shattorak is defended and that an attack from the air would cost us five or six flyers and half of the staff.”

  “You call that over-caution? I call it common sense.”

  “A raid would not need to come down from above. We could land a force somewhere on the slope of Shattorak and attack from the side. He still sees difficulties.”

  “So do I,” said Chilke. “Where would the flyers land? In the jungle?”

  “There must be open areas.”

  “So it might be. First we would need to alter the landing gear of all our flyers, which would be duly noted by the spies”. They would also give notice of our departure and Smonny would have five hundred Yips waiting for us.”

  “I thought you had chased out all your spies?”

  Chilke held out his hands in a gesture of helpless and injured innocence. “What happens when I need to hire mechanics? I use what I find. I know I have spies, just like a dog knows it has fleas. I even know who they are. There’s one of my prime candidates yonder, working on the carry-all door: a magnificent specimen by the name of Benjamie.”

  Looking toward the carry-all, Glawen observed a tall young man of superb physique, flawless features, coal black hair and clear bronze skin. Glawen watched him a moment, then asked: “What makes you think he’s a spy?”

  “He works hard, obeys all orders, smiles more than necessary, and watches everything which is going on. That’s how I pick out all the spies: they work the hardest and give the least trouble - aside from their crimes, of course. If I were a deep-dyed cynic, I might try to hire all spies.”

  Glawen had been watching Benjamie. “He doesn’t look like a typical spy.”

  “Perhaps not. He looks even less like a typical worker. I’ve always felt in my bones it was Benjamie who laid the trap for your father.”

  “But you have no proof.”

  “If I had proof, Benjamie would not be grinning so cheerfully.”

  “Well, so long as Benjamie is not watching, this is what I have in mind.” Glawen explained his concept. Chilke listened dubiously. “At this end, the notion is feasible, but I can’t turn a tap without clearance from Bodwyn Wook.”

  Glawen gave a sour nod. “That is what I thought you’d say. Very well; I’ll go this very minute and put my case to him.”

  Glawen hurried up Wansey Way to the New Agency, only to be informed by Hilda, the vinegary office manager, that Bodwyn Wook had not yet put in an appearance. Hilda was suspicious and resentful of Glawen. She felt that he enjoyed too many perquisites. “You’ll have to wait, just like everybody else,” said Hilda.

  Glawen cooled his heels for an hour before Bodwyn Wook’s arrival. Ignoring Glawen, he stopped by Hilda’s desk to mutter a few terse words, then marched past Glawen looking neither to right nor to left.

  Glawen waited another ten minutes, then told Hilda: “You may announce to the Superintendent that captain Glawen Clattuc has arrived and wishes a word with him.”

  “He knows you’re here.”

  “I can’t wait much longer.”

  “Oh?” demanded Hilda sarcastically. “You have an important engagement elsewhere?”

  “The Conservator has invited me to lunch at Riverview House.”

  Hilda grimaced. She spoke into the mesh of the transceiver.

  “Glawen is becoming restive.”

  Bodwyn Wook’s voice came as a harsh mumble. Hilda turned to Glawen. “You can go on in.”

  Glawen marched with dignity into the inner office. Bodwyn Wook looked up from his desk and jerked his thumb toward a chair. Be seated, please. What is all this about you and the Conservator?”

  “I had to tell that woman something; otherwise she would keep me sitting bolt upright all day. It’s clear that she dislikes me intensely. “

  “Wrong!” declared Bodwyn Wook. “She adores you but is afraid to show it.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” said Glawen.

  “No matter let us not waste time discussing Hilda and her megrims. Why are you here? Do you have something new to tell me? If not, go away.”

  Glawen spoke in a controlled voice. “I would like to ask your plans in regard to Shattorak.”

  Bodwyn Wook said briskly. “The matter has been taken under advisement. As of this instant, no decisions have been made.”

  Glawen raised his eyebrows as if in surprise. “I should think haste would be a priority.”

  “We have a dozen priorities. Among other incidentals, I would very much like to destroy Titus Pompo’s space yacht – or, even better, capture it.’’

  “But you are planning no immediate action to rescue my father?”

  Bodwyn Wook flung his lank arms into the air. “Do I plan a hell-roaring swoop upon Shattorak in full force? Not today and not tomorrow.”

  ‘‘What is your thinking?”

  “Have I not explained? We want to survey the ground with stealth and caution. That is how we do it at Bureau B, where intellect dominates hysteria! Some of the time, at least.”

  “I have an idea which seems to accord with your plans.”

  “Ha hah!” If it entails a private assault, replete with Clattuc flair and insolence, save your breath. We can spare no flyers for any such madcap excursion.’’

  “I intend nothing so rash, sir, and I would not use one of the Bureau flyers.”

  “You plan to walk and swim?”

  “No, sir. There is an old Skyrie utility flyer at the back of the airport. The superstructure is cut away; in fact it is no more than a flying platform. Chilke sometimes uses it to carry freight down to Cape Journal. It is suitable for what I have in mind.”

  “Which is, specifically what?”

  “I would approach Ecce at sea level, fly up the Vertes River to the foot of Shattorak, secure the Skyrie and proceed up the slope to the prison. There I would reconnoiter.”

  “My dear Glawen, your proposal is as like to horrid suicide as two peas in a pod.”

  Glawen smilingly shook his head, “I hope not.”

  “How can you avoid it? The beasts are savage.”

  “Chilke will help me equip the Skyrie.”

  “Aha! So you have taken Chilke into your confidence.”

  “Necessarily. We will install floats and a canopy over the front section, also a pair of G-ZR guns, on swiv
els.”

  “And after you set down the Skyrie, what then? Do you think you can simply saunter up the hill? The jungle is as evil as the swamp.”

  “According to the references, the creatures become torpid during the afternoon.”

  “Because of the heat. You will go torpid, as well.”

  “I’ll load the small swamp crawler on the afterdeck of the Skyrie. It might make the climb up Shattorak easier, perhaps safer.”

  “Words like ‘easy’ and ‘safe’ don’t apply on Ecce.”

  Glawen looked off out the window. “I hope to survive.”

  “I hope so too,” said Bodwyn Wook.

  “Then you will approve the plan?”

  “Not so fast. Assume you are able to climb Shattorak, what then?”

  “I’ll arrive at the prison strip outside the stockade. With luck, I’ll find my father at once, and we will return down the hill with as little commotion as possible. If his absence is noticed, it will be assumed that he tried to escape across the jungle.”

  Bodwyn Wook gave a disparaging grunt. “That is the optimum case. You might be detected, or trip some kind of alarm.”

  “The same would be true of any attempt at reconnaissance.”

  Bodwyn Wook shook his head. “Scharde is a lucky man. If I were captured, I wonder who would come for me.”

  “I would, sir.”

  “Very well, Glawen. I see that you are determined to have your way. Use prudence. Do not challenge unfavorable odds. Clattuc élan is useless on Mount Shattorak. Secondly, if you cannot rescue your father, bring away another person who can supply us with information.”

  “Very well, sir. What of radio communication?”

  “We don’t have peepers1. There has never before been any need for such things. You must do without. Now then, what else?”

  “You might call Chilke and mention that he is to proceed on the Skyrie.”

  “Very well. Anything more?”

  “You should know that Egon Tamm has invited me to Riverview House. He wants me to read Floreste’s letter to Dame Clytie Vergence and some of the other LPFers.”

  “Hmf. You have become quite the society man. I suppose you want a copy of the letter.”

  “I already have one, sir.”

  “That is all, Glawen! Be off with you!”

  * * *

  Chapter I, Part 5

  Shortly before noon Glawen arrived at Riverview House, where he was admitted into the shadowy front hall by Egon Tamm himself. In the last few months, so it seemed to Glawen, Egon had aged perceptibly. Gray dusted the dark hair at his temples; his clear olive complexion had taken on an ivory pallor. He greeted Glawen in more than ordinary cordiality. “In all candor, Glawen, I am not enjoying my present company. I find it difficult to maintain my official detachment.”

  “Dame Clytie is evidently in good form.”

  “The best! She is at it now, pacing up and down the parlor, exposing criminals, issuing manifestos, and generally expounding her new pantology. Julian calls out, ‘Hear, hear!’ from time to time and tries one debonair attitude after another, so that Flitz will notice him. Lewyn Barduys listens with half an ear. I cannot guess what he is thinking; his mind is opaque. Warden Fergus and Dame Larica are both staid and proper, and sit in dignified silence. I am not anxious to draw Dame Clytie’s fire, so I too am discreet.”

  “Warden Ballinder is not on hand, then?”

  “Unfortunately not. Dame Clytie ranges the field unchallenged.”

  “Hmf,” said Glawen. “Maybe my appearance will distract her.”

  Egon Tamm smiled. “Floreste’s letter will distract her. You brought the letter, I hope?”

  “It is in my pocket.”

  “Come along then. It is almost time for lunch.”

  The two passed through an arched passage into a large airy parlor with tall windows to south and west overlooking a wide expanse of lagoon. The walls were enameled white, as was the celling save for the ceiling beams which retained their natural age-darkened color. Three rugs patterned in green, black, white and russet lay on the floor; couches and chairs were upholstered in dull green twill. On the back wall shelves and cabinets displayed a marvelous variety of curios, oddments and artifacts representing the collections of a hundred previous Conservators. At the western end of the room a table – against which Julian Bohost leaned in a carefully debonair posture – supported books, periodicals and a bouquet of pink flowers in a bowl glazed pale blue-green celadon.

  Six persons occupied the room. Dame Clytie paced the floor, hands clasped behind her back, and Julian leaned against the table. By the window sat a young woman with smooth silver hair and flawless features, absorbed in her own thoughts and paying Julian not the slightest attention. She wore skintight silver trousers, a short loose black shirt and black sandals on bare feet. Beside her stood a man of middle stature or a trifle less, short-necked and compact of physique, with narrow pale gray eyes and a short blunt nose on a small bald bony head. Warden Fergus and Dame Larica Fergus sat stiffly on a couch, watching Dame Clytie with the expressions of birds watching a snake. Both were middle-aged, and wore the somber garments of Stroma.

  Dame Clytie marched back and forth, head lowered. “– inevitable and necessary! Not everyone will be pleased, but what of that? We have already discounted their emotions. The progressive tide –” She halted in mid-stride to stare at Glawen. “Halloo! What have we here?”

  Julian Bohost, leaning against the table, a goblet of wine to his lips, lofted his eyebrows high. “By the nine gods and the seventeen devils! It is Glawen, the brave Clattuc who guards us from the Yips!”

  Glawen paid no heed. Egon Tamm introduced first the middle-aged couple. “The Warden Wilder Fergus and Dame Larica Fergus.” Glawen bowed politely. Egon Tamm proceeded. “Yonder is Flitz, glistening in the sunlight.” Flitz glanced aside from the corner of her eye, then returned to a contemplation of her black sandals.

  Egon Tamm continued. “Beside Flitz stands her close friend and business associate Lewyn Barduys. They are currently the guests of Dame Clytie at Stroma.”

  Barduys gave Glawen a courteous salute. Glawen saw that Barduys was not, after all, bald; that a short fine stubble of flaxen hair covered his scalp. His movements were deft and decisive; he seemed antiseptically clean.

  After her first startled comment, Dame Clytie had gone to look stonily from the window. Egon Tamm asked gently: “Dame Clytie, I wonder if you remember Captain Clattuc? You met once before, I believe.”

  “Of course I remember him. He is a member of the local constabulary, or whatever it is called.”

  Glawen smiled politely. “Usually it is known as Bureau B. Actually, we are an IPCC affiliate.”

  “Indeed Julian, is this your understanding”

  “I have heard something to this effect.”

  “Odd. It was my understanding that the IPCC imposed stringent standards upon its personnel.”

  “Your information is correct,” said Glawen. “You will be relieved to learn that Bureau B operatives, if anything, are over-qualified.”

  Julian laughed. “My dear Aunt Clytie, I do believe that you blundered into a trap.”

  Dame Clytie grunted. “I am singularly indifferent.” She turned away.

  Julian called out “What brings you here, Glawen? The main attraction is missing – somewhere on Earth, so we are told. Do you know where?”

  “I came to visit the Conservator and Dame Cora,” said Glawen. “Finding you and Dame Clytie here is a pleasant surprise.”

  “Nicely spoken! But you evaded my question.”

  “In regard to Wayness? So far as I know, she is visiting her uncle Pirie Tamm at Yssinges.”

  “I see.” Julian sipped from his goblet. “Cora Tamm tells me that you too have been junketing off-world on a holiday.”

  “I traveled off-world: yes, on official business.”

  Julian laughed. “Certainly that is how it will be on the expense vouchers.”

  “I hope so
. I would be outraged if I were asked to pay for what went on.”

  “Then the trip was not a success?”

  “I accomplished my mission and escaped with my life. I discovered that the impresario Floreste had been involved in horrid crimes. Floreste is now dead. My mission was a success.”

  Dame Clytie demanded: “You killed Floreste, your most noteworthy artist?”

  “I did not kill him personally. A lethal vapor was admitted into his cell. As a matter of fact, Floreste made me the trustee of his estate.”

  “I find that most remarkable.”

  Glawen nodded. “He explains himself in a letter – which also discusses Titus Pompo in some detail. The two were acquainted.”

  “Really! I would like to see this letter.”

  “I have it with me, as a matter of fact. After lunch I will read it.”

  Dame Clytie held out her hand. “I will glance at it now, you please.”

  Glawen smiled and shook his head. “Certain parts are confidential.”

  Dame Clytie turned away and once again started to pace. “The letter can tell us nothing we do not already know. Titus Pompo is a patient man, but his patience has limits. A great tragedy is in the offing, unless we take action!”

  “Quite right,” said Glawen.

  Dame Clytie darted him a suspicious glance. “For this I will propose a trial or pilot resettlement program at the next full plenum.”

  “It would be premature,” said Glawen. “Several practical matters stand in the way.”

  “And these are?”

  “First of all, we can’t resettle the Yips until we find a world able to accept and absorb them. Transport is also a problem.”

  Dame Clytie stared incredulously. “You cannot be serious.”

  “Of course I am serious. For the Yips it will be a dislocation, but there is no alternative.”

  “The alternative is settlement along the Marmion Foreshore, to be followed by a system of universal Democracy.”

  She turned to Egon Tamm. “Do you not agree?”

  Warden Fergus spoke indignantly: “You are aware that the Conservator must uphold the Charter!”

  “We must deal with the facts of life,” snapped Dame Clytie. “The LPF insists upon democratic reform; no one of good will can oppose us!”