Ecce and Old Earth Read online

  Dame Larica Fergus responded sharply: “I oppose you, right enough, and I especially deplore Peefer hypocrisy!”

  Dame Clytie blinked in angry perplexity. “How then am I a hypocrite? Are not my feelings plain enough?”

  “Of course, and why not? The Peefers are already planning the great estates they will claim for themselves once the Charter is broken.”

  “That remark is irresponsible and tendentious!” cried Dame Clytie. “Further, it is calumny!”

  “Still, it is true! I have heard such talk myself! Julian Bohost, your nephew, has mentioned several areas he considers pleasant.”

  Julian said smoothly: “Truly, Dame Larica, you make much out of nothing – what is, at worst, idle talk.”

  Dame Clytie stated: “The point is not germane to the main issue, and should not be raised.”

  “Why not, when the Peefers intend to destroy the Conservancy? It is no wonder you side with the Yips.”

  Julian said: “Truly, Dame Fergus, you have it all wrong. Members of the LPF party – not ‘Peefers’, if you don’t mind – are practical idealists! We believe in first things first! Before we cook soup, we make sure we have a pot!”

  “Well spoken, Julian” declared Dame Clytie. “I have never heard such weird and wonderful accusations!”

  Julian performed an airy flourish of the wine glass. “In a world of infinite choices, anything is possible. All things flow, nothing is fixed.”

  Lewyn Barduys looked at Flitz. “Julian is talking high abstraction. Are you confused?”

  “No.”

  “Are you are acquainted with these ideas?”

  “I wasn’t listening. “

  Julian drew back in shock. “What a pity and what a loss. You have missed several of my most inspirational dictums!”

  “Perhaps you will repeat them another time.”

  Egon Tamm said: “I notice that Dame Cora has summoned us to lunch. She will prefer that we desist from politics during our meal.”

  The party trooped out upon the tree-shaded terrace: a structure of dark swamp-elm planks built out over the water of the lagoon. On a table laid with pale green cloth, settings of green and blue faience had been arranged, along with tall goblets of swirled dark red glass.

  Dame Cora seated her guests with amiable disregard for their antipathies, so that Glawen found himself beside Dame Clytie and across from Julian, with Dame Cora herself at his left.

  Conversation was initially tentative, touching on a variety of casual topics, although Dame Clytie for the most part maintained a glum silence. Julian inquired again in regard to Wayness. “When is she expected home?”

  “The girl is a total puzzle,” said Dame Cora. “She declares herself homesick, still she seems to have no schedule or timetable. Evidently her research is keeping her occupied.”

  Barduys asked: “Into what kind of research is she involved?”

  “I gather she is studying conservancies of the past, trying to learn why some were successful and others failed.”

  “Interesting,” said Barduys. “It would seem a large project.”

  “That is my feeling, “said Dame Cora.

  Egon Tamm said: “Still, it can do no harm, and she will learn a great deal. I feel that everyone who is able to do so should make a pilgrimage to Old Earth during his lifetime.”

  “Earth is the source of all true culture,” said Dame Cora.

  Dame Clytie sat in a bleak monotone: “I fear that Old Earth is tired, decadent, and morally bankrupt.”

  “I think you are overstating the case, “said Dame Cora. “I am acquainted with Pirie Tamm and he is neither decadent nor immoral, and if he is tired, it is because he is old.”

  Julian tapped his goblet with a spoon to command attention. “I have arrived at the opinion that anything said about Old Earth is both true and false at the same time. I would like to visit Old Earth myself.”

  Egon Tamm spoke to Barduys. “What is your opinion?”

  “I seldom form opinions about anything, or anyone, or anywhere,” said Barduys. “If nothing else, I reduce the risk of issuing absurd pronouncements.”

  Julian compressed his lips. “Still, experienced travelers know the difference between one place and another. That is known as ‘discrimination.’’’

  “Perhaps you are right. What do you say, Flitz?”

  “You may pour me some more wine.”

  “Sensible, though the message is latent.”

  Dame Cora asked Barduys: “I gather, then, that you have visited Earth?”

  “Yes indeed on many occasions.”

  Dame Cora gave her head a wondering shake. “I am surprised that you and, ah, ‘Flitz’ found your way out to this remote little backwater at the end of the Wisp.”

  “We are essentially tourists. Cadwal is not without a reputation for the quaint and unique.”

  “And what sort of business do you generally pursue?”

  “In the main, I am an old-fashioned entrepreneur, assisted to a large extent by Flitz. She is highly astute.”

  Everyone turned to look at Flitz, who laughed, showing beautiful white teeth.

  Dame Cora asked: “And ‘Flitz’, for a fact, is the only name you use?”

  Flitz nodded. “That is all.”

  Barduys explained: “Flitz has discovered that a single name meets her needs and sees no reason to burden herself with a set of redundant and unnecessary syllables.”

  “‘Flitz’ is an unusual name,” said Dame Cora. “I wonder as to its derivation.”

  Julian asked Flitz: “Was your name originally ‘Fittzenpoof’ or something of the sort?”

  Flitz slid a brief sidelong stare toward Julian. “No.” She returned to the contemplation of her goblet.

  Dame Cora addressed Barduys. “Do you have some special area of business in which you are most interested?”

  “To some extent,” said Barduys. “For a time I was occupied with the logic of public transport, and I became involved in the construction of submarine transit-tubes. Recently I have taken a fancy to what I call ‘theme’ inns and hostelries.”

  “We have several of these here and there around Deucas,” said Egon Tamm. “We call them ‘wilderness lodges.’’’

  “If time permits I will visit some of these,” said Barduys.

  “I have already examined the Araminta Hotel. Sad to say, it lacks interest, and is even a bit archaic.”

  “Like everything else at Araminta Station,” sniffed Dame Clytie.

  Glawen said: “The hotel, for a fact, is something of an outrage. It was put together in bits and pieces, an annex at a time. Eventually, we’ll build another, but I expect that the new Orpheum will come first, if only because Floreste collected a good part of the financing.”

  Egon Tamm said to Glawen: “Perhaps now is as good a time as any to read Floreste’s letter.”

  “Certainly, if anyone is interested.”

  “I am interested,” said Dame Clytie.

  “I also.” said Julian.

  “Just as you like.” Glawen brought out the letter. “Some of the material I will omit, for one reason or another, but I think you will find the balance interesting.”

  Dame Clytie instantly bristled. “Read the letter in its entirety if you please. I see no reason for truncations. We are all either public officials or persons of the highest integrity.”

  Julian said gently: “Dear Aunt Clytie, I hope it is not a case of either one or the other.”

  Glawen said: “I will read as much of the letter as possible.” He opened the envelope, removed the letter, and began to read, omitting the sections dealing with Shattorak and all mention of Chilke. Julian listened with a lofty half-smile; Dame Clytie made occasional clicking sounds between her teeth. Barduys listened with polite interest, while Flitz stared off across the lagoon. Warden Fergus and Dame Larica gave occasional small exclamations of shock.

  Glawen finished the letter. He folded it and replaced it in his pocket. Warden Fergus turned to Dame Cl
ytie. “And these abominable folk are your allies? You and the other Peefers are fools!”

  “LPFers, if you don’t mind.” murmured Julian.

  Dame Clytie said heavily: “I am seldom mistaken in my appraisals of the human condition! Floreste evidently recorded events incorrectly, or wrote to the order of Bureau B. The letter may well be a bare-faced forgery.”

  Egon Tamm said: “Dame Clytie, you should not utter such charges without substantiation. In effect, you are slandering Captain Clattuc.”

  “Hmf. Forgery to the side, the fact remains that the statements in this letter fail to accord with my view of the case.”

  Glawen asked innocently: “Are you acquainted with either Titus Zigonie or his wife Simonetta – born, I am sorry to say, a Clattuc?”

  “I know neither of them personally. Their gallant conduct provides me all the evidence I require. They are clearly fighting the strong and good fight for justice and democracy.”

  Glawen turned to Egon Tamm, “Sir, if you will excuse me, I must now be returning to the Station. Thank you, Dame Cora, for lunch.” Glawen bowed to the others in the parlor and departed.

  * * *

  Chapter II

  * * *

  Chapter II, Part 1

  Midnight was two hours gone. Araminta Station was quiet and dark, save for a few yellow lamps along Wansey Way along the beach road. Lorca and Sing were gone behind the western hills; across the black sky streamed the coruscating sparkling flow of Mircea’s Wisp.

  In the shadows to the sled of the airport hangar there was furtive movement. A door opened; Glawen and Chilke slid out the modified Skyrie. The frame had been fitted with floats and a cabin; the swamp crawler had been strapped to the cargo deck; fairings had been attached wherever possible.

  Glawen walked around the vehicle and saw nothing to alter his mood. Chilke said: “One last word, Glawen. I have in the office a bottle of very fine, very expensive Damar Amber, which we will drink on your return.’’

  “That seems a good idea.”

  “On second thought, perhaps we should break into it now, just to make sure of it, so to speak.”

  “I prefer to think that I will be returning.’’

  “That is a more positive approach,” said Chilke. “You might as well get going. The way is long and the Skyrie is slow. I’ll keep Benjamie hard at it in the warehouse taking inventory so you should be safe from that direction.”

  Glawen climbed into the control cabin. He waved his hand at Chilke and took the Skyrie aloft.

  The lights of Araminta Station dwindled below. Glawen set off on a westward course which would take him to the side of the high Muldoon Mountains at minimal attitude, across the continent of Deucas, across the great Western Ocean to the shores of Ecce.

  The lights became faint and glimmered away in the east; the Skyrie drifted through the night sky at its best speed. With nothing better to do, Glawen stretched out on the seat, wrapped himself in his cloak and tried to sleep. The lightening sky of dawn aroused him. He glanced from the window to find forested hills below: the Syndics, according to his charts, with Mount Pam Pameijer looming high to the south.

  Late in the afternoon Glawen passed the western coast of Deucas: a line of low cliffs with lazy blue swells crumpling into ribbons of white spume at their feet. Cape Tierney Thys jutted west; beyond lay the ocean. Glawen reduced altitude; the Skyrie flew onward, southwest by west, fifty yards above the long blue swells of the Western Ocean. The course should bring him to the east coast of Ecce where the Great Vertes River entered the ocean.

  The afternoon passed; Syrene dropped below a clear horizon, leaving dainty white Lorca and pompous red Sing to rule the western sky; two hours later they too sidled down and out of sight and the night became dark.

  Glawen checked his instruments, verified his position on the pre-plotted course and again tried to sleep.

  An hour before noon of the following day Glawen noted distant clouds rearing into the western sky. An hour later a low dark line appeared at the horizon: the coast of Ecce. Glawen re-verified his position on the chart and was assured that directly ahead lay the mouth of the great Vertes River, at this point perhaps ten miles wide. Exact measurements were impossible, by reason of the vagueness of distinction between water and land of the surrounding swamp.

  As Glawen approached the water below changed color, talking on an oily olive-green luster. Ahead the Vertes estuary became evident; Glawen swung somewhat to the north so that he might skirt the northern shore. Dead trees, logs, snags, tangles of brush and reeds floated on the current. Below appeared a bank of slime grown over with reeds; he had arrived at the continent Ecce.

  The river flowed through a miasma of swamps, floats of water-logged vegetation, dull blue, green and liver-colored; occasionally fingers of soggy marshland supported a growth of sprawling trees, holding foliage of every shape up toward the sky. Through the air a hundred sorts of flying organisms wheeled and darted, sometimes diving down into the mud to emerge with a writhing white eel, and sometimes into the water, or occasionally one pouncing down upon another. Upstream on the river floated a dead tree. Perched in one of the branches was a disconsolate mud-walker a gangling half-simian andoril eight feet tall, all bony arms and legs and tall narrow head. Tufts of white hair surrounded a visage formed of twisted cartilage and plaques of horn, with a pair of ocular stalks and a proboscis on its spindly chest. Beside the drifting tree the river surged; a heavy head on a long thick neck rose above the surface. The mud-walker squealed in horror; the proboscis on its chest squirted fluids toward the head, but to no avail. The head showed a gaping yellow maw; it jerked forward, engulfed the mud-walker and sank beneath the surface. Glawen thoughtfully raised the Skyrie so that it flew somewhat higher above the river.

  Now was that time of day when the heat reached its oppressive maximum, so that the denizens of Ecce tended to become inactive. Glawen himself grew uncomfortable, as heat penetrated the cabin, taxing the competence of the cooling unit Chilke had installed. Glawen tried to ignore the sweltering conditions and concentrate on what must be done. Shattorak still lay a thousand miles to the west; Glawen could not hope to reach the base before dark, and nighttime would not be optimum for his arrival. He slowed the Skyrie to a hundred-mile-an-hour drift along the river, which allowed him opportunity to survey the unfolding panorama.

  For a time the landscape consisted of olive-green river to his left hand and swamps to his right. On the slime, families of flat gray animals slid about on flaps attached to their six legs. They browsed on young reeds, moving sluggishly until a heavy tentacle with an eye at the tip thrust up from the mud, at which they darted away at astonishing speed, so that the tentacle struck down into the mud defeated.

  The river embarked on a series of meandering loops, first far to the south, then back an equal distance to the north. Glawen, consulting his charts, struck off across the intervening tongues of land: for the most part dense jungle choked over with trees. Occasionally a rounded hummock rose to an elevation of as much as fifty feet. Sometimes the summits lacked vegetation, in which case each was inhabited by a heavy-headed beast with a lithe slate-gray body: a creature similar to the bardicant of Deucas, thought Glawen. As the Skyrie drifted past he noticed that the summit was cropped clean of vegetation by a band of waddling russet rodents, bristling with short heavy spines. The stone-tiger surveyed the troop with a lofty detachment, and turned itself away, evidently without appetite for the creatures: a surprise to Glawen; on Deucas the bardicant devoured anything which came its way with undiscriminating voracity.

  From the west drifted heavy gray banks of clouds, trailing curtains of rain across the landscape. A sudden squall struck the Skyrie and buffeted it sidewise, rocking and sliding, followed a moment later by a freshet of rain, so that Glawen could no longer see so much as the river below.

  For an hour the rain streamed down upon the land, then drifted away to the east, leaving open sky overhead. Syrene floated low toward a tumble of angry black cl
ouds; Lorca and Sing pursued their own erratic dance off to the side. To the west and slightly north, Glawen made out the silhouette of Shattorak: a dim brooding shadow on the horizon. Glawen took the Skyrie down at a slant to the river to fly close beside the right bank, almost grazing the surface, to make the Skyrie as inconspicuous as possible to any detectors which might be active on the summit of Shattorak.

  Glawen flew on while Syrene sank into a welter of clouds. The river channel, at this point, was two miles wide. Tremulous fields of gray slime to either side supported tufts of black reeds tipped with pompons of blue silk, spongy dendrons holding aloft a pair of enormous black leaves. Along the surface ran multiple-legged skimmers in search of insects and mud worms. Beneath the slime another sort waited, invisible save for a periscopic eye barely protruding above the surface, or sometimes concealed among the reeds. When an unwary skimmer ventured near, the tentacle lifted high and darted down to seize the victim and then drag it below the surface. The torpid interval had passed; the inhabitants of Ecce were out in full force: feeding, attacking, fighting or fleeing, each to its particular habit.

  Troops of mud-walkers climbed through the trees, or strode across the slime on feathery feet, prodding the muck with long lances in order to gaff and retrieve a mud worm or some other morsel. Such creatures were representative of a more or less andromorphic genus prevalent everywhere, in many aspects and species, across Cadwal. These ‘mud-walkers’ stood seven feet tall on spindly double-jointed legs. Their high narrow heads were surmounted with caste-markers of colored fronds; black fur grew in tufts and blotches from hard hides which shone with a luster sometimes lavender, sometimes golden-brown. Despite a seeming contempt for discipline, they went with vigilance, inspecting the terrain before venturing in any direction. When they noticed a periscopic eye they chittered in outrage and pelted the organ with mud-balls and sticks or squirted it with repellant fluids from their chest proboscis, until the eye sullenly retreated into the mud. Coming upon large predators they showed what seemed reckless audacity, throwing branches, prodding the creature with their lances, then darting aside from its lunges on great high-legged jumps, sometimes even running up and down a massive back, shrilling and chittering in glee, until the beleaguered creature submerged in the river or the slime, or fled pounding into the jungle.