Star Well

by Alexei Panshin

  “Thurb. Thurb. ...”

  “This is Mr. Villiers in the Palatine Suite.”

  “Oh, yes, sir!”

  “It seems that my plans have altered somewhat. I’m not leaving tonight as I told Mr. Shirabi. I’ve decided to remain here at Star Well for some few days more. Will I be able to retain my present rooms, or will it be necessary for me to change them?”

  “Pardon me, sir. I’ll check.” The clerk turned in the service screen and checked quickly. “No problem at all, sir. You can stay just where you are.”

  “Very good,” said Villiers, and prepared to sign off.

  “A moment, sir. I can’t see you and I keep hearing an odd throbbing noise. Is the service in order?” “Perfectly in order. Thank you.”

  Villiers turned. “Well, the least of our problems is settled.” He sat again on the bed. Idly he tugged at the fringes on the canopy. “What we are going to do for enough money to leave here and reach Yuten, I don’t know.”

  Without looking up, Torve said, “Is no need to worry. All will come to evenment.”

  “Hmm?”

  “No need to worry. I do not worry. Thurb. Thurb. I have confidence. Thurb. In time fullness, many lines of occurrence come together—they make . . .” Words failed him and with paws he made a rounded motion and then planed it smooth. “We go then to Yuten, have money, all is well. See you?”

  “I understand that you are confident.”

  Torve brightened. “Ah, you see.”

  “No.”

  “Oh, well, you are still good fellow, Tony. You understand little, but you are still good fellow.”

  “Thank you. For lack of any choice, I’ll accept that as a compliment.” Villiers pulled the holster free of the body-piece, the grip-tite backing making its usual skritchy protest at being parted from what it had seized so tenderly. He set tie holster down and began to strip off his stocks.

  “Who was young female girl creature?”

  “She’s the daughter of a man I met several years ago —more than a bit of a rogue. One of the Parini-Blinoff-Branko Clan.”

  “These names?”

  “They’re all related to each other. If you meet a man with one of those names, it’s a sign to be wary.”

  “But you call the father rogue? You?”

  Villiers laughed. “Am I a rogue, Torve?”

  Quite seriously, Torve said, “In some times.”

  Villiers laughed again. “Mr. Parini is a rogue in all times. In any case, Louisa Parini is being taken by that engagingly horrid woman to school on Nashua. I know the school. A school I was expelled from—for roguery-used to have us practice our hardly learned manners on their girls. I don’t envy Louisa. I think Miss McBurney invented stuffiness.”

  "You are dressing to go out?”

  “Yes. I have Mrs. Bogue’s permission to escort Louisa to dinner in the Grand Hall. A few thalers isn’t going to affect our bill particularly, and I think she will enjoy herself. Would you like to join us?”

  “No. Is thought, but I have seeing with Mithra Priest Srb. We will eat dinner. He understands little, too, but is needful for lines of occurrence that we . . .” He again made his rounding and planing motions.

  “And our traveling together—is the key to that lines of occurrence, too?”

  “Ah, you do understand!”

  “No,” Villiers said. “But pleased as I am that our lines of occurrence coincide, little as I understand the principle, from my side I would say the cohesive force was friendship.”

  “How could friendship be so important? I do not understand.”

  Villiers was delighted. “I knew it. The day would come, at long, long last, and at last it has. You don’t understand.”

  “Thurb. Is my new composition. No, you have very strange mind. I do not understand. But is no mattering: favorable line of occurrence and friendship travel together. I like you—means nothing to me. Line of occurrence grabs you by neck and will not refree you— means nothing to you. We still go to Yuten together and both of us are happy.”

  “I’ll be happier when the bills are paid and we are on our way.”

  “No need to worry. All will come ...”

  “I know. I know. All will come to evenment.”

  “Please tell me when is time to go to Yuten.”

  “I will.”

  Alice Tutuila bounced on the bed and said, “Oh, wow! Dinner in the Grand Hall, and Mrs. Bogue is letting you go. How did you do it?”

  Louisa was looking through her clothes. “I don’t know what I should wear. Help me decide, Alice. I’m so excited!”

  “But who is he—Mr. Villiers, I mean? You never told me. How do you know him?”

  Alice aimed the questions in Louisa’s general direction without anything so time consuming as a check to see which, if any, reached their intended target. Louisa, for her part, was insulated by her concern for her appearance, her mingled excitement and apprehension, and her own stream of comment. The result was a mild sort of bedlam, thoroughly enjoyed by both girls, but enjoyed rather less by Alice when she realized how little she was receiving in the way of cold, hard, specific information. She rose from the bed and crossed the room.

  “What have you got there?” she asked. “Oh, no, that won’t do. Here, let me help you.”

  She hmmed her way through Louisa’s dresses. “How do you expect to have him make you his mistress and carry you away in any of these? You’d better wear something of mine.”

  They crossed to inspect Alice’s wardrobe. “Isn’t it nice to have some room? I feel like just standing and breathing.”

  “It is better, isn’t it? At least you’re not going to sit up and bang your head tonight.”

  “Here. Try this on. I didn’t let Mother see I took it, but I figured it might come in handy. It’s very stylish.” Louisa held it up. “I can see. There isn’t a lot to it, is there?”

  “That’s the point, silly. Now go on.”

  Louisa crossed to the dressing room. In a moment, she said, “I can’t reach all the fastenings.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll get them. Let’s see what you look like.”

  Louisa posed in the door. “It’s not that it’s skimpy. I just don’t think I’m quite ready for it yet.”

  She was right. It hung where it should have clung, partly because she lacked something of Alice’s height, partly because she lacked something of Alice’s development.

  “I suppose you’re right. We may have to make do with your blue. It’s nice enough, but it’s so young.”

  “Well, I’m young. I am young.”

  “But how can you get him to carry you away to a life of passion? Not in your blue.”

  “That was your idea, Alice. I just want somebody to help me.”

  “Do you think he will?”

  Louisa took the blue dress to the dressing room and tunneled into the fabric. Her muffled voice said, “I don’t know. I’m going to ask him.”

  “Who is Mr. Villiers and how do you know him?”

  “I don’t know exactly who he is. He and Daddy know each other from sometime, and he stayed with us once. I thought he was older then, but he’s not really very old, is he?”

  “Less than thirty, I think,” Alice said. “He does seem nice, but maybe a bit stiff.”

  Louisa came out. This dress indisputably fit better, and actually became her more. The dress had a wholesome look, and she, like it or not, as she might not now, but certainly would later when she had time to appreciate the advantages, did also.

  “Fasten me, please,” Louisa said.

  Alice came to her assistance. It is a perplexing question why women’s garments should invariably be made in such a fashion that either contortion or assistance is required to close them. It is certainly not an insoluble problem to design closures that do not interfere with the lines of the clothes and are still within ready reach. The easiest answer might be that there are advantages in being able to ask to be done or undone.

  Louisa said, “He
really isn’t that stiff. At least I don’t remember him that way. I remember him as being very funny.” She began to look through her extra trappings and hangings.

  “Oh, hey, I’ve got an idea,” Alice said. She went to the service, and after studying it for a minute, mastered the controls well enough to place a call. “Oh, hello,” she said. “I have a friend staying here in Star Well—a Mr. Villiers. Can you tell me which room he is in?”

  “Mr. Villiers is not in a room. Mr. Villiers is in the Palatine Suite.”

  “How much does that cost?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “The suite—how much is it per day?”

  “Oh, come away!” Louisa said, but was ignored. “The Palatine Suite is our best,” said the deskman. “One royal a day.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Alice said and rang off.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” Louisa said. “You don’t ask somebody straight off like that. You ask one man where Mr. Villiers is staying, and then you ask somebody else how much the Palatine Suite costs.”

  “I don’t see why,” Alice said. “I wanted to know.”

  “But this way he knows what you’re interested in. Not just Mr. Villiers, but money. You shouldn’t let him know that much.”

  “I don’t see why. And, oh, my—he is in the royal-a-day room! It’s just like we said. Oh, you’ll have to hide in the closet.”

  The door was tried, and then someone rapped. As Alice crossed to open the door, Louisa said, “I don’t think I need to hide in the closet. After all, he is taking me to dinner.”

  “No, I mean afterwards, when our ship—” Alice stopped abruptly as she saw who was at the door. “Good evening, Mrs. Bogue.”

  Mrs. Bogue swept in. “Good evening, Alice. What’s this about the ship?”

  “Oh, nothing. I was just saying it’s nice to have a large room after the ship.”

  “You’re not dressed, Alice.” She consulted a piece of paper. “We have a table scheduled in the Buff Room in forty minutes. I want you ready to leave in twenty. And no nonsense. Good evening, Louisa. You’re looking very well.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Bogue.”

  “Turn around. Let me look you over.”

  Louisa turned obediently.

  “Alice, stop larking and get moving. I think you’ll do, Louisa. Now I want you to mind your manners particularly carefully tonight. Sit straight, mind what you say, don’t eat and talk at the same time, be back by ten hundred, and be sure to thank Mr. Villiers for the evening.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Bogue.”

  “And, Louisa, I do want you to look your best tonight. I brought you this to wear.” She held out a silver brooch. “Oh, Mrs. Bogue, how lovely. Thank you.”

  “Here, let me pin it on. I thought silver would go with anything you chose.”

  Alice, coming to look, said, “Oh, it does.”

  Mrs. Bogue turned precisely and said, “Alice, you have just fifteen minutes. You had better use them to good advantage.” And she left.

  When the door had closed behind her, Alice said, “It does look nice, doesn’t it?”

  Louisa said, “And just when I was ready to totally hate her.”

  Alice said, “Oh, I still do. Just concentrate on remembering the way we had to stay in our room on the ship.” “Still, I didn’t expect her to do a thing like this.”

  Adams let Phibbs out of the room, closed the door and locked it. Phibbs had his duties to perform. The ship that had arrived from Morian was due to leave for Luvashe and Phibbs had to check those departing at the landing port. Adams turned to face Augustus Sib, who was sitting calmly in a great chair smoking a pipe.

  “I didn’t think he’d know anything, sir. He doesn’t seem to be a very bright man.”

  “No.”

  “I don’t think we’d even have to investigate if we had a more intelligent man representing the Empire here in Star Well.”

  Srb puffed reflectively. “Is this your first investigation? This is, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir.” Adams suddenly choked and began to wave the smoke away.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Is it bothering you?”

  “Yes, sir. I didn’t' want to say anything before. I thought you were trying to bother Phibbs. But it makes my eyebrows feel as though they were crawling up my forehead, and my ears tingle.”

  “I’ll put it out,” Srb said. “I sometimes forget that not everybody shares my vices.” He covered the mouth of the pipe with the palm of his hand. “The air will be clear in a few minutes. You must realize, Lieutenant, that we would have very few investigations indeed if we had more intelligent men representing the Empire. We have to make do with Phibbses because common jobs in unattractive places are ill-paid and consequently no one but old fools will take them. Then, when things go wrong, it’s up to people like you and me to straighten them out.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did they tell you why you were being sent here?” “They said I was to be your legs, sir.”

  “I suppose you might say that. And my eyes, and my ears. And whatever else I need you for. I will sit, and you will run. But do you know why we are here?” Srb took his palm away from the mouth of the pipe and looked to see that it was out. He puffed on it to be sure, carefully separated the burnt ash from the unsmoked residue with a pipe tool, then knocked the residue into his smoking pouch. “I hate to see waste,” he said, looking up.

  Adams said, “They told me.that there had been a number of investigations here in the past few years.” “Yes. Accidents, duels, one mysterious disappearance. However, the stories given have been good enough to pass investigation. The trouble is that there have been too many things here that required checking by the Navy. Besides this, around the borders of the Rift there has been an increase in several illegal traffics during the past few years, thumb running, in particular. On general principles, Star Well is going to be given a close look by you and me, and since we are going to do it quietly we are the more likely to find anything there is to be found.”

  “If there is anything.”

  “If there is anything.”

  “While I was waiting for you, sir, I poked around a bit. I didn’t know what I was supposed to be looking for.”

  “Did you find anything?”

  “No, sir. And Mr. Villiers followed me. He’s the one I pointed out this afternoon.”

  “You know for a fact that he followed you?”

  “Oh, yes, sir. He even said that he did. I think I like him—he’s very polite—but I don’t know what to make of him. He confuses me.”

  “I think I can understand that,” Srb said dryly. “We may have to take our investigations elsewhere if it is clear that they know we are looking them over. For now, let’s avoid being seen together and I’ll find out what I can about your Mr. Villiers.”

  The Orion, with her new complement of passengers stuffed in their tiny cabins, with a fuddled third officer who was not even aware that there had been a layover, with a passenger lounge in which three were discussing Systematic Anarchy and another four were talking yachts (one maintaining that the day of two-man yacht racing was dead because the costs of owning and keeping small spaceships were prohibitive), but without Anthony Villiers aboard, left Star Well bound for Luvashe some eight hours and twenty-two minutes after she had arrived. Between the time that the extensors were withdrawn and the ship actually left, Godwin called Hisan Bashir Shirabi.

  “Villiers didn’t leave on the Orion ,” Godwin said.

  Shirabi said, “I know. I already received a call that he extended his room. Indefinitely—he didn’t say how long he intended to stay.”

  Shirabi was the essence of quiet agreeability, and Godwin couldn’t help smiling wolfishly. There are some people who need an occasional kick in the head to remind them of who they are. That was something that Godwin had learned long ago and applied any number of times to good effect. Calculated ruthlessness is an unnerving thing to face.

  Godwin ran a thumbnail down the line o
f his mustache. “Do you want him eliminated? His baggage was clean.”

  “I don’t think that’s the main point. He’s been asking questions and he didn’t leave. We simply cannot afford to let him live. It’s too big a chance. And there’s only one way to do it, too. With the sort of money that he has, someone is bound to take exception unless he is killed in a duel.”

  “You mean you’re dropping another one on my shoulders.”

  “Look at me,” said Shirabi. He was a common, greasy, furtive man dressed in common purple robes. “He would never fight a duel with a man like me.”

  “And if he did, he would kill you.”

  “Probably, yes. But I don’t want you to take chances. If you don’t think that you can kill him in a duel, we’ll find some other way. But the ship comes tonight.”

  As much as he wanted to be one of them, I think it would be fair to say that Godwin hated the well-born, and probably as greatly as Shirabi. The two of them had a beautiful thing in common, and neither of them appreciated the fact. Ah, the blindness that keeps us from knowing our true friends and clasping them to us with bonds of steel. It has been ever so. Common interests are overlooked and the trivial divides.

  Godwin said, “Don’t fash yourself. I’ll kill this one.”

  “Good,” said Shirabi in the same mild tones. “Take him in the casino tonight.”

  Godwin nodded and the service blinked to black. Shirabi turned from the screen and looked at the table to his left. Laid out on it was an assortment of weapons: swords, tinglers, curdlers, vibro-blades. He smiled a secret smile that grew by stages into a thoroughly unpleasant laugh. Some people anticipate their pleasures.

  6

  I find it hard to believe in Inspector Generals. Look: men of utter probity who roam the Empire, commanding great personal power, but applying it only with restraint, secretly keeping their eyes on things, righting wrongs, checking on the practices of local rulers, calling in the Navy when necessary. I am certain, moreover, that they wait for no thanks, but simply do their duty and disappear into the night leaving bewildered but thankful people behind. And I don’t believe it. People like that don’t exist. Power does corrupt. Total personal honesty is a myth. Secret wrong righting is a make-believe game for children to toy with.