The Book of the Ler

by M. A. Foster

  As syllables were not repeated within names, and all three parts had to be of the same aspect, the number of possible interpretations is fortunately limited; however, it is still too high to guess and beat the laws of probability, even for ler. Consequently, considerable time was devoted among the ler, socially, to determining the aspect of one’s associates and friends (not to mention lovers), a practice which was countered by equally strenuous attempts to keep it concealed. Perhaps by this, some of Liszendir’s actions may appear more explicable.

  Liszendir’s name, “(fire) velvet brushed night,” carried overtones of abstraction and distance in interpersonal relations, and in fact she was rather cool and aloof, intellectual rather than intimate. While she had known lovers much the same, and to the same degree, as any other average ler girl her age, she had not had what she might have called a great love affair of passion, and felt thereupon a certain lack. She knew well enough that humans did not follow ler custom in personal names, but out of habit and to pass the time, she was not above playing a minor little fortunetelling game with Han’s name, much as she might have done back in her own environment. This became more than just interesting when one considered that Han’s full name was Han Keeling; by altering the -ng at the end of his last name to an -n, would produce, by accident or design by persons unknown, an acceptable Singlespeech ler name, Hankiellin. Liszendir already suspected Han of being strong in the sphere of emotions which would fall to the water aspect (see further Taro symbolism, the suit of Cups). That, if it were true, would make the string of roots mean, more or less, “last-passion-meeting.” All things considered, it was a dire message indeed to derive from a minor session of the fortunetelling game.

  M.A.F.

  The Day of the Klesh

  For Eugene

  1

  “Anyone who reaches a new world must conform with all the conditions of it.”

  —A.C.

  THE SUMMER LABOR fair on the outskirts of Kundre, on Tancred, had been an established feature of the country for years past counting, reaching far back into the days of ancient tradition when Men alone ruled the world Tancred. The coming of Ler-folk in the latter days had, in its due course, changed much, as always, slowly and subtly, but not Kundre, and not the fair. It persisted. It grew, for nothing remains the same: and the fair, which had begun as a hiring place for harvest helpers, had slipped back into summer, then early in the season, almost into spring, encompassing more trades, jobs, specialties, finally virtually everything. Most importantly, it had become a place where young people seeking change might choose and hope to be chosen for many tasks, long and short, near and far, on-planet—or off it.

  The cities of Tancred were uniform and uncosmopolitan: Kundre, by the fair, was not appreciably different from its sisters, Bohemundo, Isticho, Athalf, Ricimer and Amand. The fair, on the other hand, evidenced diversity and difference; there were star-captains, laborers, entrepreneurs, hiring-bosses and foremen, all of several kinds of creature: Humans, in egg- or teardrop-shaped craft; Ler, in windowless, featureless spheres; and, typical of this sector of space, Spsomi, foxy, sharptoothed humanoid beings who resembled lemurs or galagos, but who were not, technically, primates at all, being descended from an unspecialized carnivore closest in form to the raccoons and pandas of old Earth. Spsomi took to space in asymmetrical slipperships whose shapes were never repeated and remained difficult to describe for they most resembled doodlings in three dimensions, smoothly finished and gracefully curved, broken by exterior piping and conduits, as eccentric as the ler ships were featureless.

  Odor, sound, sight; contrast and difference filled the region of the fair. Cooking proceeded in booths scattered over the fair grounds. There were also dust, odors of beasts, chemicals, scents to repel and allure. Prospective employers set up their placards and tables and glowered at one another—Humans in all-purpose coveralls or spacesuits, or pajamalike utility garments: Ler in pleths, like nightshirts, or in loose tunics and pantaloons; Spsomi in vests and loincloths, which were patterned in ornate designs and worked in colors of jarring disharmonies. There were sounds of motors, the wheels of carts and barrows, cries in several languages, fragments of incomprehensible words, and music—accented, rhythmic human forms, accentless, formalistic Ler music, erratic, syncopated Spsomi tunes and jangles.

  The place of the fair was an open, spacious plain set among distant, low hills. To the west, opposite Kundre, a river made a broad sweep, enclosing the field within a long curve of tall trees. There, along the river, the ships grounded.

  From those hills, by way of Kundre, had come four young men, all of an age alike to wander and explore, to see new things, new lands, or to sight the invitation and return, sobered by a secret self-knowledge: Ilver Quisinart, Grale Cervitan, Dreve Halander, Meure Schasny. Their distinguishing characteristics could be noted at a glance: Quisinart was lanky of build, long-nosed and querulous. Cervitan was long of trunk and short of leg, thick and stocky, with smooth contours in the heavy bones of his face. Halander was unremarkable in any degree, unmemorable, bland and neutral as a store manikin. Schasny was wiry and delicate, small-featured. Otherwise, they were similar in skin tone, eye color, hair texture and color, and general shape. Humans were now as uniform as Ler; there was only one race of man, with only minor planetary variations.

  All were acquaintances, loosely friends, but of somewhat differing origins. Quisinart was from an experimental commune; Cervitan the sole child of a herdsman; Halander the middle child of a merchant family; Schasny the youngest of a family of landtenders. None had futures that were both desirable and assured. And it was for such as these that the fair by Kundre had existed since time immemorial.

  The four passed a Spsomi booth, surrounded by a half dozen of the slender, foxy creatures, who were at that moment all talking at once in their sputtering language with its accompanying gestures, slow-motioned as the deliberations of sloths, but also frantic; measured nervousness. The Spsomi looked their way, and foxy, delicate muzzles bared needle teeth in the Spsom version of a smile. Drooping feeler-whiskers waved, preposterous curved ear-trumpets waggled, opened and closed, swivelled independently. Behind was a sign, crudely lettered, which proclaimed, “Fame—its fortune, in employ the Great Capitan Iachm Vlumdz Shtsh. Sojourn Pstungdz, Whulge, Tmargu, SfaDdze—bonded pipemen: 9 their-places.” While they watched, one of the Spsom bent to a communications device set out on the table, listened, raged back at the device as if the voice in it came from there, not somewhere else in the field of the fair, and then peacefully walked to the sign and changed the number 9 to a 6.

  Quisinart gaped in open wonder; Cervitan stared. Halander frowned. Meure Schasny looked at the four-digit hands, which waved, gestured to them, motioned, beckoned. Each digit was tipped with a ridged nail, which in the course of normal wear shaped itself to a needle-sharp point. He made a polite sign to the Spsomi, continuing past the booth.

  As they passed on beyond the booth, hopefully out of earshot or notice of the furred Spsomi, Cervitan remarked, “No fame there—all one sees on a Spsom ship are the interiors of conduits.”

  Quisinart asked, “What are the pipes for? They don’t seem to discharge anywhere.” Quisinart greatly admired the man-of-the-world air possessed by Grale Cervitan.

  Cervitan answered, “No one knows, that I’ve heard. The Spsom don’t tell—all they want to do is hire someone else to clean them—it’s considered to be a job suitable only for convicts, outcastes, and offworlders. All I know is that they have to be kept spotless. Some are dusty by nature, others get greasy. All smell funny, or bad. They are cleaned both in flight, and on the ground. There you have the extent of my knowledge concerning Spsom pipe and conduit.”

  Halander interjected, “No fortune, either. Pay is computed on the basis of ‘lays,’ which is a fraction of the net profit of the voyage. The rub comes when the lay gets ‘adjusted.’ They add a lot on; food, taxes, bonuses, antibonuses, ship stores, stipends, garnishments. One is indeed fortunate to arrive ahead
at all, that is, owing the furry devils nothing.”

  “What, no money for liberty?” asked Meure, in tones of mock outrage.

  “Absolutely none,” answered Cervitan. “Fardus shipped with them two years ago, and had to swab conduit the whole trip. Never saw a thing. And they put him out on Lickrepent for debt and he had to work his way back here, almost begging. As it was, there was fuss enough; the Spsom captain threatened to fricassee him, but the Lerfolk on Lickrepent would have none of that. At the least, they paid him out.”

  Quisinart asked, incredulously, “Would they really have eaten him?”

  “Never a doubt.” Cervitan said the last with all seriousness, but he also flashed a quick glance at Halander, which Meure saw. The true answer was that they probably wouldn’t have, although there were enough stories going around about the Spsomi to that effect that Quisinart would believe it.

  Here they passed by a small, semipermanent office, with a signboard in the window listing inbounds, outbounds, and ships currently grounded on the field. There were three rows, showing status, and three columns, showing race of the crew. The four strolled over to examine the listings. The first column listed human ships, the second, Ler, and the third, Spsomi.

  Halander read aloud, “Zahed and Zain are departed, as are Assiah and Sadran, which left yesterday. Baal Chalal and Aur Chasdim are yonder in the field. Nistar is also down, here, but is awaiting parts and is not in commission. Tiferet and Merkava are known inbound, with Zemindar and Kavannah reported.”

  Cervitan commented, “Little enough there to work with. Baal Chalal is a scow, and Aur Chasdim is worse, according to rumor. Nistar is an excellent ship; well-run. That’s why her Captain took her out of commission. Most would order the part and fly on. Tiferet I’ve heard mentioned, but the others I don’t know. Zemindar . . . Hm . . . probably not so good, either.”

  Halander squinted at the listing for the Ler ships, and continued reading, “Let’s see what the Lerfolk offer spacewise . . . Ah. Dilberler is gone. A shame. That’s a good ship. Forfirion departed day before yesterday, in the company of Gennadhlin Srith. Tantarrum and Holyastrin are still here, Murkhandin and Volyasmus are reported. And the Spsom? Let’s see. . . . None have left recently. Thlecsne Ishcht is down, as are Vstrandtz, Warquandr and Ffstretsha. Mstritl is due in next week.”

  Cervitan commented, “Vstrandtz. That’ll be the ship of Iachm Vlumdz.”

  Halander asked, “Do you know the other three?”

  “Thlecsne is reportedly a privateer. There’s a war going on, the far side of Spsom space, so they say, so it could be on this side, doing some trading of raid-booty. Warquandr is a scheduled liner, and I think Ffstretsha is a tramp for hire. Watch that one! There’s no telling what kind of work they’d get into.”

  They passed onward, aimlessly drifting in the fine warm afternoon from place to place, passing booth, stand, field-table and outdoor restaurant alike. At the hiring booths, some advertised tasks which were elaborately specified, listing duties, responsibilities, hours of employ. Some went further, and added elaborate pay scales and types of promotion ladders, as well as pension plans. These were also equally exact in their requirements for prospective candidates. Others advertised more simply, even to the point of deliberate obscuration. These simply promised “good money” for “hard work,” specifying neither the task to be performed, nor the employer for whom it was being performed. These they sensibly avoided; the conventional wisdom held that employment so advertised would, of necessity, be either illegal, dangerous, risky, underpaid, or any combination, possibly all four simultaneously.

  They visited a small emporium specializing in roasted sausages and foamy, pale beer, settled themselves in a convenient booth, and took a relaxed lunch, each sitting quietly to himself and savoring whatever revelations the day at the fair had brought them.

  Meure Schasny was, in a word, bored. Aside from sightseeing, they had accomplished little this day, and the next ones promised more of the same. He knew that as long as they contented themselves with sightseeing and sign-reading, they were unlikely to go anywhere in any employ, dangerous or not. Finally, seeing the bland expression of Cervitan, the blank face of Halander, and the gullibility of Quisinart, he said, “And so? After the sausages, what do we plan to do?”

  Halander ventured, not even surprised, nor bothering to reflect upon his answer, said, easily, “No problem there; Kundre is within walking distance, and there are always a number of footloose girls there. I move that we address ourselves to the town and avail ourselves upon them, of course allowing nature to dictate the turn of events.”

  Cervitan agreed, finishing the last of his beer. “I would have said as much. I agree. Let us proceed with all dispatch.”

  Quisinart pulled his nose and asked, “Could we not go down by the river and look at the ships? I never saw one closely before. Perhaps we might get some ideas there as well.”

  Halander and Cervitan glanced at Quisinart with expressions of disdain, but Meure agreed. “Indeed! A good idea. I agree with Iliver, for once. We two will stroll along the riverbank and interview crewmembers, if they will talk with us, and you two can return to Kundre and satiny flesh.”

  Cervitan lowered his heavy brows and glowered. “One moment. The satiny flesh is by no means certain; and anyway, how will you two know what to ask? You are babes in the woods.”

  Quisinart ventured, “I can tell a regular fellow from a rogue, and I intend to sign on with no Spsom, whatever their promises.”

  Schasny agreed, “And I will do likewise. We will have to start somewhere, and,” here he hesitated, “. . . prosper or suffer as circumstances will come to dictate.” It was brave, nevertheless, he regretted saying it immediately, for it had established a certain relationship with Cervitan that could not end but in one of them losing face.

  Halander tossed down the remainder of his beer and said, agreeably, “Well, that settles it. We shall go look at ships and converse with crews. And afterwards, if nothing has come of it, can we take ourselves to the city?”

  “Agreed,” said Meure, and with that, the four of them arose, settled their bills with the cook, and set out in the direction of the place nearer the river where the spaceships were grounded.

  The fair proper had always oriented itself on the side of the field nearest to Kundre. But as one proceeded westward through the temporary structures of the fair, the fair soon fell away and the grounds were merely open field, fading away to the riverbanks. From Kundre, the ships were hardly noticeable, abstract artifacts by, or under the distant row of riverside trees. From the fair, they were little more, but out in the open of the fair grounds, they began to assume shapes of a greater distinction. Schasny found himself glancing upward, now and again, so as not to be surprised by another ship settling in.

  Nine spaceships were arrayed, following the broad curve of the river; from the far distance, they had seemed small and insignificant, but as the four walked across the open, the ships grew in size and importance. The nearest ship was the Human spacecraft, Nistar, awaiting parts. No point in going there. They were obviously not going to sign on anyone for a while. Although deactivated, the scene was far from being over-relaxed. A pavilion had been erected before the entry-port, and members of the crew were engaging in an afternoon buffet with some ladies of Kundre. It was all very sedate, orderly, and impressive; the green of the branches and overhanging fronds of the riverside trees, the gold-brown color of the dry summer grass, and the deep green with which the ship Nistar had been painted. They were close enough to read the name and origin placards attached over the entryport: Nistar, and below, Port Callet, Samphire. The crewmembers they could see were suave and polished, making elegant gestures effortlessly, and in full-dress uniform. The four walked past, trying to appear inconspicuous. Surely such a craft did not recruit actively on a back-country world like Tancred. They would want able spacemen, merchant officers, pursers. It was, as such craft went, rather small. Schasny suspected that Nistar’s cargo was usu
ally valuables, money, jewels, wealthy people who could go visiting. He sighed, hoping the others would not hear him. That was something like what he wanted, but which seemed, here and now, light-years away.

  The next ship was a large Spsom ship, without a nameplate. From its naked armament-blisters, however, they could deduce that it was most probably the Thlecsne Ishcht. This one was shaped in an asymptotic curve, the pointed ends elevated. It also carried noticeably more than the usual number of exterior pipes and conduits, and was colored a sooty brown. The pipes had probably once had color of their own, as was the custom with the Spsom, but the paint appeared to be either burned off or worn off. They kept a certain distance from it, not wanting to be suspected as spies; but they saw no activity. Nevertheless, Thlecsne conveyed an impression of wary activity; a faint hum could be heard from somewhere underneath, and none of them doubted for an instant that it could spring into furious life then and there. They passed on, hoping they had not been noticed, but sure that they had been.

  Somewhat farther down the irregular line of ships was a smaller Spsomi spacecraft, considerably smaller than the Thlecsne Ishcht, but considerably more open. This one seemed to be shaped into a rough crescent, although one end was higher, shorter, and more sharply curved than the other. It was a dull coppery color, but it seemed clean and well-cared for, the exterior piping was maintained after the full rigor of the Spsom custom—each pipe was garishly painted in bright, prismatic colors, so far as any of them could tell, each differently. As they drew nearer, they could make out, under the tangle of piping, an open entry port. Over the port, with its attached stairwell, several ideograms in the Spsom manner were painted. To the side, another legend they could read: Ffstretsha, Imber, SfaDdze. By the stair, a single Spsom had opened an inspection plate in the hull and was taking readings on a portable device which he would attach at different points inside. Satisfied, so it appeared, with the measurements, the Spsom disconnected the device and turned to re-enter the ship. An ear swivelled around, followed by the foxy head. The creature stopped, halfway up the stairs, as the four approached.