Demon princes 01 05 the.., p.27
Demon Princes 01-05 The Star Ki, page 27
“... to produce the maximum effect, one must identify and intensify those basic dreads already existing within the subject. It is a mistake to regard the fear of death as the most extreme fear. I find a dozen other types to be more poignant, such as:
“The fear of inability to protect a cherished dependent.
“The fear of disesteem.
“The fear of noisome contact.
“The fear of being made afraid.
“My goal is to produce a ‘nightmare’ quality of fright, and to maintain it over an appreciable duration. A nightmare is the result of the under-mind exploring its most sensitive areas, and so serves as an index for the operator. Once an apparently sensitive area is located, the operator to the best of his ingenuity employs means to emphasize, to dramatize this fear, then augment it by orders of magnitude. If the subject fears heights, the operator takes him to the base of a tall cliff, attaches him to a slender, obviously fragile or frayed cord, and slowly raises him up the face of the cliff, not too far and not too close to the face. Scale must be emphasized, together with the tantalizing but infeasible possibility of clinging to the vertical surface. The lifting mechanism should be arranged to falter and jerk. To intensify claustrophobic dread, the subject is conveyed into a pit or excavation, inserted head-foremost into a narrow and constricted runnel that slants downward, and occasionally changes direction by sharp and cramping angles. Whereupon the pit or excavation is filled and subject must proceed ahead, for the most part in a downward direction.”
Seuman Otwal made no appearance during the first month, nor yet the second. During this time. Patch called his employees back to work, solicited business, and presently the Patch Engineering and Construction Company was once more in full clangorous swing.
Gersen took upon himself the modification of the walking fort. He communicated with the local office of the UTCS,[8] mentioned the annual Floration Rite at Vanello, described the sinuous supports to the forty-five sepalic platforms, and minutes later received a portfolio of tables, graphs, schematics, and material specifications. He took these to Patch, who scrutinized them, nodded sagely, said, “Ah, yes .... Ah yes .... Ah yes ....” After which he heaved a dolorous sigh. “And so at vast expense, we perfect this ridiculous hurlothrumbo to find that neither Seuman Otwal nor Kokor Hekkus nor anyone else will pay for it—what then?”
“We’ll sue,” said Gersen.
Patch snorted, returned to a study of the data Gersen had set before him. Finally he said grudgingly, “The system is clearly feasible, and will definitely be more flexible than the jointed legs. However the design of the phasing nodes, the coupling to the modulators, and the modulators themselves are far beyond my capabilities .... There is a highly competent group of cybernetic engineers—as I see it, this is basically a cybernetic problem—a hundred yards up the street, and I suggest that we contract the whole matter over to them.”
“As you wish.”
Two months later, Seuman Otwal had not appeared. After vehement protest, Patch communicated once more with the Halkshire Hotel, but Seuman Otwal had not been seen. Gersen began to feel spasms of uneasiness and cast about for another means to make contact with Kokor Hekkus. The fort itself—so he reasoned—by its very nature should provide information. He went to the files and brought forth the entire set of plans, specifications, and correspondence, spread all before him.
Nowhere appeared any categorical identification of the planet on which the metal monster was intended to function.
Gersen began all over again, seeking this time for some indirect indication to Planet X, for information implicit in other data.
There was no mention of air-conditioning equipment; evidently the atmosphere was standard or near-standard.
In the specifications, a section read:
The vehicle must, under full load, be able to traverse slopes of up to 40° (assuming adequate footing) at a speed not less than ten miles per hour; to negotiate easily and certainly broken ground, such as a field of irregularly-shaped rock fragments up to six feet in diameter; to pass across crevasses, gaps, or ditches up to twenty feet wide.
Elsewhere a notation stated:
Energy requirements have been calculated on the basis of 75 percent thermodynamic efficiency with an over-performance factor of 100 percent.
Gersen set to work with slide-rule, calcultte, and integraph. He knew the mass of the fort, he knew the energy required to propel the vehicle up a 40° slope at a speed of ten miles an hour. From this information and the over-performance factor, he could calculate the surface gravity of Planet X—which came to a value of 0 84 standard, implying a diameter of between 7,000 and 8,000 miles.
So far, so good, but hardly definitive information Again Gersen studied the specifications They were extremely exact, and allowed no elasticity, with fourteen color sketches depicting the fort from all sides. The object was to be enameled in various shades of black, dark brown, pink, and chalk-blue Even the enamels and pigments were specified by means of graphs showing wavelength plotted against reflectance One variable had not been indicated, mused Gersen the color of the impinging light Thoughtfully, he called in the plant’s color engineer, and requested a set of plaques enameled in accordance with the graph.
While he waited Gersen investigated another idea. The specifications were so exact as to suggest similarity or identity to an actual living creature. The creature would be awesome indeed, but this was consistent with the philosophy of Kokor Hekkus. He prepared a précis detailing the characteristics of the fort, which he submitted to the UTCS. Twelve minutes later, he received a report to the effect that no creature of these taxonomic indexes could be located in the standard references, bestiaries, monographs, or exploration notices Many worlds hosted creatures with points of similarity: this was a matter of common knowledge. The planet Idora, Sadal Suud XI, exhibited a segmented water-worm, ranging to thirty feet in length, on Earth were various miniature species, the Krokinole Highlands was home to the noxious roof-runner. There was, stated the report, a curiously apt reference in an old volume of children’s tales, Legends of Old Thamber—here Gersen bent suddenly over the sheet. The excerpt read.
Easing and squeezing, gliding and sliding, walking and stalking down the mountain it comes on thirty-six supple hooks. Dreadful and dire is the creature in its unhurried haste, as long as the length of twelve dead victims.
“Now we are lost,” cried Princess Sozanella, “Shall we succumb to the monster or give ourselves to the horrid Taddo trolls?”
“Hope. Hold to hope,” Dantinet whispered. “For this is the ancient foe of the trolls. It turns its black face away, to look upon the Taddo. It rears to show its blue belly, the color of putridity. The trolls whimper and scream, but too late. And the monster tosses them into its maw. Now we hasten away, through the glooms and passages, for once the Dread has performed a benefit.”
Gersen slowly put down the report. Thamber. Another reference to the world of myth.
Xavar Mankinello, the color engineer, came in with tabs enameled to Kokor Hekkus’ specifications. Gersen, with as much impatience as he ever allowed himself, arranged them beside the depicted fort. There was an obvious difference.
Mankinello bent anxiously over the desk. “There’s been no mistake, I took great pains.”
Gersen studied the tiles. “Assuming that this is so, what color light will bring the tiles to the same colors as the sketch?”
Mankinello considered. “The tiles are unquestionably cooler than the sketch. Let’s step into the lab.”
In the laboratory, Mankinello put the tiles under a color generator “Presumably you’re interested in standard incandescence.”
“Standard starlight. I suppose that’s close to the same thing.”
“Somewhat different, due to the stellar atmospheres. But I can easily code for the stellar progression. Let’s start with about 4,000°.” He turned a wheel, flicked a switch, checked with a comparator. “Close.” He turned the wheel “There it is, 4,350°.” He glanced through a port. “See for yourself.”
Gersen peered through the opening. The tiles were now identical to the colors of the sketch. “Color temperature 4,350°. Class K?”
“I’ll tell you exactly.” Mankinello consulted a reference. “Class G8.”
Gersen took sketch, tiles, returned to the room he had preempted for his office. Facts were accumulating. The planet in question attended a G8 star, and was characterized by a gravity of 0.84G. References to the legendary world Thamber had occurred with peculiar frequency. Gersen called UTCS, requested a search for references to the location—hypothetical, fictional, mythical, hysterical, or otherwise—of the lost world Thamber. Half an hour later, a folder was delivered to him with several dozen extracts. There was little of interest, the most circumstantial information being contained in a traditional bit of school-yard doggerel
Set a course from the old Dog Star
A point to the north of Achernar;
Sleight your ship to the verge extreme
And dead ahead shines Thamber’s gleam.
The information contained in the first two lines might be applied, but thereafter the directions were meaningless. There was no more information to be derived from a study of the fort. Gersen decided that he had come to a dead end. Somewhere in space hung a world where Kokor Hekkus planned to take a metal monster. This world might be home to Alusz Iphigenia Eperje-Tokay who valued herself at ten billion SVU. This world might be the Thamber of myth. But there was no way of knowing,.
Myron Patch appeared in the doorway. His round face was taut and accusing. For a moment he looked at Gersen, then said in a portentous voice, “Seuman Otwal is here.”
8
From the Preface to A Concise History of the Oikumene, by Albert B. Hall:
Human evolution ... has never gone in a smooth flow, but always in a cyclical pulse, which, as history is scanned, seems almost convulsive. The tribes mingle and merge to form a race, then comes a time of expulsion, of migration, isolation, differentiation into new tribes.
For more than a thousand years, this latter process has been on the ascendant, as the human race has swept across space. Isolation, special conditions, inbreeding have created dozens of new racial subtypes. But now there is stasis in the Oikumene, with many comings and goings, and it seems that perhaps the pendulum is about to swing back.
But only in the Oikumene! Folk still fare beyond, ever outward. Never has isolation been more easy, never has personal freedom been so cheap!
The eventualities? Anyone’s guess is good. The Oikumene may be forced to expand. Other Oikumenes may come into existence. Conceivably men may collide with the realm of another race, for there is abundant evidence that other space-traveling peoples have gone before us, how and why to disappear no one can say.
“Where is Seuman Otwal?” Gersen asked. “Here in the shop?”
“No. Here in Patris. He wonders why I left the message.” Patch’s expression became more accusing than ever. “I didn’t know what to say .... Humiliating to deal politely with a man who has wronged you .... Swallowing ashes ....”
“What did you say?”
Patch made a helpless gesture. “What could I say? Except the truth. That we had worked out a means to alter the fort.”
“‘We’?”
“The reference naturally was to the Patch Engineering and Construction Company.”
“Did he seem interested?”
Patch gave a grudging nod. “He claims to have new instructions from his superiors. He will be here shortly.”
Gersen sat thinking. Seuman Otwal might or might be one of Kokor Hekkus’ various identities; Kokor Hekkus might or might not be aware that the weasel of Skouse was Kirth Gersen. He rose to his feet. “When Seuman Otwal comes, receive him in your office. Introduce me as—as Howard Wall, plant manager, or chief engineer, something of the sort. Don’t be surprised by anything I say—or,” he added by way of afterthought, “by any change in my appearance.”
Patch gave a stiff assent and turned away. Gersen went to the main washroom, where a dispenser offered a selection of skintonings. Selecting an exotic duo-tone—purplish-maroon with green luster—he changed his color, and parting his hair in the middle, combed it down over his cheeks in the style of the Whitelock connoisseur. He had no change of clothes to complete the transformation, and so donned a white laboratory smock. Still dissatisfied, he clipped on a pair of gold filigree elf-shells over his ears, together with a gold nasal ridge that had been forgotten by one of the more foppish of the engineers. Bedizened and fashionable, Gersen now failed to recognize himself in the mirror.
He crossed the corridor to Patch’s suite. The receptionist gave him a wondering look; Gersen walked past her and into Patch’s office. Patch, looking up in startlement, hastily concealed the weapon he had been inspecting. He rose to his feet, puffed out his cheeks. “Yes sir? What is your wish?”
“I am Howard Wall,” said Gersen.
“‘Howard Wall’?” Patch frowned heavily. “Do I know you? The name is somehow familiar.”
“It should be,” said Gersen. “I just mentioned it ten minutes ago.”
“Oh. Gersen. Yes indeed.” Patch cleared his throat. “You gave me quite a start.” He resumed his seat. “Why the elaborate regalia?”
“For Seuman Otwal. He doesn’t know me, and I don’t want him to.”
Patch’s face became dour. “I dislike catering to the trade of suspected criminals; it reflects upon the good name of Patch, and this is our most valuable asset.”
Gersen ignored the obvious rejoinder. “Don’t forget: I am Howard Wall, your production manager.”
“Whatever you like,” replied Patch with dignity.
Five minutes later, the receptionist announced Seuman Otwal. Gersen went to the door, slid it open. Seuman Otwal came jauntily forward. His skin was strikingly two-toned russet and black; he had a high-bridged hooked nose, a long sharp jaw and prow-like chin, he wore tall pointed ear-shells of jet and nacre, which gave his head a narrow jutting bony look. Gersen tried to project upon him the image of the man he had confronted on Bissom’s End. Was there similarity? Conceivably. Otwal seemed of generally similar physique, but the facial indexes of the two were at variance. Gersen had heard reports of malleable flesh, but here was something more than wadded cheeks or a splayed nose .... Seuman Otwal glanced inquisitively at Gersen, then at Patch who had risen uncertainly to his feet. “My general manager,” said Patch. “Howard Wall.”
Otwal nodded politely. “Your custom must be increasing.”
“I was forced to it,” grumbled Patch. “Somebody had to look after the business when I was away. I have you to thank for it.”
Otwal made an airy gesture. “A matter to be forgotten. My employer has his foibles; he is by no means unfair, though he wants fair value for his generous remuneration. Mr. Wall knows whom I represent?”
“Certainly. He understands the need for discretion.”
Gersen nodded with the proper degree of solemnity.
Seuman Otwal gave a slight shrug. “Very well, Mr. Patch. I accept this. So now?”
Patch jerked his thumb toward Gersen, with rather less suavity than Gersen liked, and spoke with heavy irony: “Mr. Wall understands the nature of our previous difficulties and has some new ideas.”
Otwal seemed not to notice Patch’s lack of enthusiasm. “I shall be glad to listen.”
“First a question,” said Gersen. “Is the party you represent still interested in the device as specified in the original contract?”
“Such conceivably might be the case,” said Otwal, “if our requirements are satisfied. My employer was appalled by the awkward motion of the first version. The legs moved stiffly, with an angular scissor-like effect.”
“This was the only difficulty?” inquired Gersen.
“It was certainly the most important one. Presumably the object is built to the well-known quality standards of Patch Engineering.”
“Indeed it is!” declared Patch.
“The difficulty then no longer exists,” said Gersen. “Mr. Patch and I have devised a system by which any required motion can be programmed and enforced upon the legs.”
“If so, and if the system meets our standards of reliability, then this is good news indeed.”
“We had best consider the matter of recompense,” said Gersen. “Here I speak for Mr. Patch, of course. He wants the full sum of the original contract, plus the cost of modifications and the normal percentage of profit.”
Otwal considered a moment. “Minus, of course, those developmental funds already advanced. SVU 427,685,I believe to be the sum.
Patch began to sputter. Otwal could not restrain a faint smile.
“There have been additional expenses,” said Gersen. “To a total of SVU 437,685. This must be included in the total reckoning.” Otwal started to protest, but Gersen held up his hand. “We do not care to argue this point. We are prepared to deliver the mechanism, but we insist upon payment, which is as I stated it. Of course, if your principal wishes to make further representations, we shall be glad to listen to him in person.”
Otwal gave a cool laugh. “No matter: I agree. My principal is anxious to take delivery.”
“Still—and no denigration intended—we would prefer to deal with your principal, in order to minimize all misunderstanding.”
“Impossible. He is involved elsewhere. But why be concerned over trifles? I have full power to act on his behalf.”
