Demon princes 01 05 the.., p.19
Demon Princes 01-05 The Star Ki, page 19
“There were not many survivors of the raid on Mount Pleasant. My grandfather was one. I was another.”
“Indeed,” said Warweave. “The Mount Pleasant raid. So long ago.”
“This is a peculiar voyage,” said Kelle, whose attitude had become one of wry detachment. “At least we have achieved our ostensible purpose. The planet exists; it is as Mr. Gersen described it, and the money in escrow becomes his property.”
“Not until we return to Alphanor,” growled Detteras.
Gersen spoke to Warweave. “You have taken great pains to secure this world for yourself. I wonder why.”
Warweave shrugged noncommittally.
“A man might want to live here, or build himself a palace,” suggested Gersen. “A Star King wants none of these things.”
Warweave said presently, “You make a common mistake. Men are after all quite parochial. You forget that individual differences exist among folk other than yourselves. Some perhaps are denied the freedom of their own worlds. They become ‘renegade’: neither man nor their own kind. The folk of Ghnarumen”—he easily used the name which sounded like a cough—”are quite as orderly as the most law-abiding folk of the Oikumene. In short, the career of Malagate is not one which the folk of Ghnarumen would care to emulate. They may be right, they may be wrong. It is my prerogative to organize my own style of life. As you know, the Star Kings are strongly competitive. This world, to men, is beautiful. I find it pleasant enough. I plan to bring here folk of my race, to nurture them on a world more beautiful than Earth, to father a world and a people superior to both men and the people of Ghnarumen. This was my hope, which you will not understand, for there can be no such understanding between your race and mine.”
Detteras said between clenched teeth, “But you took advantage of our liberality to dishonor us. If Gersen doesn’t kill you, I will.”
“Neither of you will kill Malagate the Star King.” Two steps took him to the exit port. Detteras lunged after him, frustrating Gersen’s attempt to use his projac. Warweave turned, lashed out with his foot, kicked Detteras in the stomach, jumped to the ground, ran off down the slope.
Gersen stepped to the exit port, aimed, sent a bolt of energy unsuccessfully after the bounding figure. He descended the ladder, gave chase. Warweave reached the meadow, hesitated at the edge of the river, looked back at Gersen, continued down the valley. Gersen kept to the upper slopes where the ground was hard, and began to gain on Warweave, who had come to a marshy area. Warweave once more went to the riverbank, hesitated. If he plunged in, before he gained the opposite shore Gersen would be upon him. He looked back over his shoulder, and his face was no longer that of a man; Gersen wondered how he could have been fooled even for an instant. Warweave turned, uttered a cry in a slurred guttural language, went to his knees, disappeared.
Gersen, reaching the spot, found a hole in the riverbank almost two feet across. He bent, peered in, but saw nothing. Detteras and Kelle ran up, panting. “Where is he?”
Gersen pointed to the burrow. “According to Lugo Teehalt, large white grubs live under the marsh.”
“Hmf,” said Detteras. “His ancestors evolved in the swamps, in just such holes. He probably couldn’t want a better haven.”
Kelle said dubiously, “He’ll have to come out—to eat, to drink.”
“I’m not so sure. The Star Kings dislike human food; men find the Star King diet equally repellent. We cultivate plants and domesticate animals, they do similarly for worms and insects, such things as that. Warweave should do quite well on what he finds underground.”
Gersen looked up the valley where Hildemar Dasce had fled. “I’ve lost them both. I was willing to sacrifice Dasce to get Malagate—but both ...”
The three stood on the riverbank. A breeze rippled the surface of the water, moved the branches of the great dark trees which grew at the base of the hills. A tribe of dryads wandering along the opposite shore turned their purple-green eye smudges on the men.
Gersen said, “Perhaps it’s just as bad, leaving them together on this planet, as killing them.”
“Worse,” said Detteras devoutly. “Worse by far.”
They returned slowly to the ship. Pallis Atwrode, sitting on the turf, rose to her feet as Gersen approached. She seemed not so much oblivious to the events of the past few minutes as uninterested, unconcerned. She came over to him, took his arm, smiled up into his face. Her own face was once again vital and fresh.
“Kirth, I like it here, don’t you?”
“Yes, Pallis, very much.”
“Imagine!” said Pallis in a hushed voice. “A pretty house up there on the hill. Old Sir Morton Hodenfroe had a beautiful house up along Blackstone Edge. Wouldn’t that be nice, Kirth21 wonder. I wonder ....”
“First we must return to Alphanor, Pallis. Then we’ll talk about coming back.”
“Very well, Kirth.” She hesitated, then put her arms up to his shoulders, wistfully searched his face. “Do you still.. are you still—interested in me? After what happened?”
“Of course.” Gersen’s eyes felt moist. “What fault was it of yours?”
“None .... But at home, in Lantango, men are very jealous.”
Gersen could think of nothing to say. He kissed her forehead, patted her shoulders.
Detteras said gruffly, “Well, Gersen, you’ve made use of Kelle and myself in a most cavalier fashion. I can’t say that I enjoyed it, but I can’t bring myself to resent it, either.”
Robin Rampold approached slowly, keeping to the shadow of the ship. “Hildemar ran away,” he said mournfully. “Now he will make over the mountains to town and I will never see him again.”
“He can make over the mountains,” said Gersen, “but he won’t find any towns.”
“I have been watching up along the hillside, and through the forest,” said Rampold. “I think he is somewhere nearby.”
“Very likely,” said Gersen.
“It is distressing,” said Rampold. “It is enough to sadden a man.”
Gersen laughed. “You would prefer to be back in the cage?”
“No, of course not. But then I had my dreams. Of what I would do when I won free. Seventeen years of hopes and dreams. But now I am free and Hildemar is beyond my reach.” He moved disconsolately away.
After a pause Kelle said, “As a scientist I find this planet a place of fascination. As a man I find it entrancing. As Kagge Kelle, erstwhile colleague of Gyle Warweave—I find it extremely depressing. I am prepared to leave at any time.”
“Yes,” said Detteras in a gruff voice “Why not?”
Gersen looked up the valley to where Hildemar Dasce, wearing only soiled white pantaloons, lurked in the forest like a raging, desperate beast. He looked down the valley, far down over the hazy plain, then back to the swampy meadow, under which crawled Malagate the Woe. He looked down into the face of Pallis Atwrode.
She took a deep breath “I can’t believe this is real.”
“It’s real. But it’s also a dream.”
“All the rest seems a dream too. A terrible dream.”
“It’s over now. As if it had never happened.”
“I’ve been..” She hesitated, frowned “I don’t remember too much.”
“Just as well.”
Pallis pointed across the meadow “Look, Kirth, what are those beautiful creatures?”
“Dryads.”
“What are they doing out there?”
“I don’t know. Looking for something to eat, I suppose Lugo Teehalt says they suck up nourishment from big grubs which burrow under the meadow. Or perhaps they lay eggs in the soil.”
The dryads, wandering up the shore, nourished their gorgeous fronds, swaying slowly like branches in the wind. On the swamp they moved more slowly, a step at a time. One of them stopped, stood stock still. Under its foot showed a glint of white, as the concealed proboscis plunged down into the soft ground. A few seconds passed. The ground heaved, erupted the dryad toppled over backward. Up from a crater staggered Warweave, the proboscis still thrust through his back. His face was stained with dirt, his eyes stared from his head, from his mouth issued a series of appalling cries. He shook himself, fell to his knees, rolled over, disengaged himself from the fluttering dryad, jumped erect, ran crazily up the hillside. His steps flagged. He fell to his knees, clutched at the ground, kicked and lay still.
Gyle Warweave was buried on the hillside. The group returned to the ship. Robin Rampold now diffidently approached Gersen.
“I now have made up my mind to stay here.”
In one part of his brain Gersen was shocked and astonished. In another part there was only confirmation of a previous expectation “So,” said Gersen heavily, “you expect to live on this planet with Hildemar Dasce.”
“Yes.”
“Do you know what will happen? He will make you his slave. Or he will kill you for the food which I shall be bound to leave you.”
Rampold’s face was bleak and drawn. “It may be as you say. But I cannot leave Hildemar Dasce.”
“Think,” said Gersen “You will be here alone. He will be more savage than ever before.”
“I hope that you will leave me certain articles: a weapon, a shovel, a few tools to build a shelter, some food.”
“And what will you do when the food runs out?”
“I will look for natural food seeds, fish, nuts, roots. These may be poisonous, but I will test them carefully. And what else is left for me?”
Gersen shook his head. “Far better that you return with us to Alphanor. Hildemar Dasce will take revenge on you.”
Robin Rampold said, “It is a chance I must take.”
“As you wish.”
The ship lifted from the meadow, leaving Rampold standing beside his meager stack of supplies.
The horizons spread out, the planet became a green and blue ball and fell astern Gersen turned to Kelle and Detteras “Well, gentlemen, you have visited Teehalt’s planet.”
“Yes,” said Kelle tonelessly “By a roundabout method you have fulfilled the terms of your agreement, the money is yours.”
Gersen shook his head “I don’t want the money. I suggest that we keep the existence of this planet secret, to preserve it from what could only be desecration.”
“Very well,” said Kelle “I’m agreed.”
“I agree,” said Detteras, “provided that I may return another time, under more relaxing circumstances.”
“One further condition,” said Gersen “A third of the funds in escrow were deposited by Attel Malagate I suggest that they be transferred to Miss Atwrode’s account, as some measure of compensation for the wrongs done her at Malagate’s orders.”
Neither Kelle nor Detteras made objection. Pallis protested half-heartedly, then acquiesced, and presently became very cheerful.
And astern the yellow-white star became one with the multitude, and presently vanished.
A year later Kirth Gersen returned alone to Teehalt’s planet in his old Model 9B spaceboat.
Hanging in space, he examined the valley by macroscope, but discovered no signs of life. There was now a projac on the planet and it might well be in the hands of Hildemar Dasce. He waited till nightfall and landed the boat on a shelf in the mountains above the river valley.
The long quiet night came to an end. At dawn Gersen started down the valley, keeping always to the shelter of the trees.
From far off he heard the sound of an ax. With great care he approached the sound.
On the edge of the forest Robin Rampold chopped at a fallen tree. Gersen stealthily moved closer. Rampold’s face had filled out. He looked bronzed and strong and fit. Gersen called his name. Rampold looked up, startled, searched the dark shadows. “Who is there?”
“Kirth Gersen.”
“Come forth, come forth. No need to steal up so furtively.”
Gersen moved to the edge of the forest, looked carefully all around. “I feared I might find Hildemar Dasce.”
“Ah,” said Rampold. “No need to worry about Hildemar.”
“He is dead?”
“No. He is quite alive, in a little pen I built for him. With your permission, I will not take you to see him, as the pen is in a private spot, well hidden from any who might visit the planet.”
“I see,” said Gersen. “You defeated Dasce, then.”
“Of course. Did you ever doubt it? I have much more resource than he. I dug a pit during the night, built a deadfall. In the morning Hildemar Dasce swaggered forth, hoping to confiscate my stores. He fell into it, and I took him captive. Already he has become a changed man.” He looked closely into Gersen’s face. “You do not approve?”
Gersen shrugged. “I came to take you back to the Oikumene.”
“No,” said Rampold. “Never fear for me. I will live out my days here, with Hildemar Dasce. It is a beautiful planet. I have found sufficient food to maintain us, and daily I demonstrate to Hildemar Dasce the tricks and conceits he taught me long ago.”
They wandered down the valley to the previous landing place. “The life cycle here is strange,” said Rampold. “Each form changes into another, endlessly. Only the trees are permanent.”
“So I learned from the man who first found the planet.”
“Come, I’ll show you Warweave’s grave.” Rampold led the way up the slope, to a copse of slender white-timbered trees. To the side grew a seedling, rather different from the rest. The trunk was veined with purple, the leaves were dark-green and leathery. Rampold pointed. “There rests Gyle Warweave.”
Gersen looked for a moment, then turned away. He gazed up and down the valley. It was as beautiful and placid and quiet as before. “Well, then,” said Gersen, “I will once more depart. I may never return. Are you sure you wish to stay?”
“Absolutely.” Rampold looked up at the sun. “But I am late. Hildemar will be expecting me. A pity to disappoint him. I will bid you farewell now.” He bowed and departed, crossing the valley and disappearing into the forest.
Gersen once more looked up and down the valley. This world was no longer innocent; it had known evil. A sense of tarnish lay across the panorama. Gersen sighed, turned, stood looking down at Warweave’s grave. He bent, seized the seedling, pulled it from the soil, broke it, cast it aside. Then he turned and walked up the valley toward his spaceboat.
The Killing Machine
The Demon Princes, Book 2
Jack Vance
1
From “How the Planets Trade,” by Ignace Wodleckt: Cosmopolis, September, 1509:
In all commercial communities, the prevalence or absence of counterfeit money, spurious bills of exchange, forged notes-of-hand, or any of a dozen other artifices to augment the value of blank paper is a matter of great concern. Across the Oikumene, precise duplication and reproducing machines are readily available; and only meticulous safeguards preclude the chronic debasement of our currency. These safeguards are three: first, the single negotiable currency is the Standard Value Unit, or SVU, notes for which, in various denominations, are issued only by the Bank of Sol, the Bank of Rigel, and the Bank of Vega. Second, each genuine note is characterized by a ‘quality of authenticity.’ Third, the three banks make widely available the so-called fake-meter. This is a pocket device that, when a counterfeit note is passed through a slot, sounds a warning buzzer. As all small boys know, attempts to disassemble the fake-meter are futile; as soon as the case is damaged, it destroys itself.
Regarding the ‘quality of authenticity’ there is naturally a good deal of speculation. Apparently in certain key areas, a particular molecular configuration is introduced, resulting in a standard reactance of some nature: electrical capacity? magnetic permeability? photo-absorption or reflectance? isotopic variation? radioactive doping? a combination of some or all of these qualities? Only a handful of persons know and they won’t tell.
Gersen first encountered Kokor Hekkus at the age of nine. Crouching behind an old barge, he watched slaughter, pillage, enslavement. This was the historic Mount Pleasant Massacre, notable for the unprecedented cooperation of the five so-called Demon Princes. Kirth Gersen and his grandfather survived; five names became as familiar to Gersen as his own: Attel Malagate, Viole Falushe, Lens Larque, Howard Alan Treesong, Kokor Hekkus. Each had his distinctive quality. Malagate was insensate and grim, Viole Falushe gloried in sybaritical refinements, Lens Larque was a megalomaniac, Howard Alan Treesong a chaoticist. Kokor Hekkus was the most mercurial, fantastic, and inaccessible, the most daring and inventive. A few folk had reported their impressions: uniformly they found him affable, restless, unpredictable, and infected with what might have seemed utter madness, except for his demonstrable control and strength. As to his appearance, all had different opinions. He was, by popular repute, immortal.
Gersen’s second encounter with Kokor Hekkus occurred in the course of a routine mission Beyond, and was indecisive—or so it seemed at the time. In early April of 1525, Ben Zaum, an official of the IPCC,[5] arranged a clandestine interview with Gersen and proposed a stint of “weaseling”—that is to say, an IPCC investigation Beyond. Gersen’s own affairs had come to a standstill; he was bored and restless, and so agreed at least to listen to the proposition.
The job, as Zaum explained it, was simplicity itself. The IPCC had been commissioned to locate a certain fugitive: “Call him ‘Mr. Hoskins,’” said Zaum. So urgently required was Mr. Hoskins that at least thirty operatives were being dispatched to various sectors of the Beyond. Gersen’s job would be to survey the inhabited localities of a certain planet: “Call it ‘Bad World,’” said Zaum, with a knowing grin. Gersen must either locate Mr. Hoskins or establish as a definite certainty? that he had not set foot on Bad World.
Gersen reflected a moment. Zaum, who reveled in mystification, on this occasion seemed to be outdoing himself. Patiently Gersen began to chip away at the exposed part of the iceberg, hoping to float new areas into view. “Why only thirty weasels? To do the job right, you’d need a thousand.”
