Ports of Call

by Jack Vance

  “Absolutely,” said Myron. “I would never dream of anything else, unless I thought the chances were good.”

  Dame Hester only sniffed and said, “Come! Let us find out what is what.”

  The three proceeded to the portal and halted. Dame Hester said, “Regis, we must be leaving, though your party is most delightful! We thank you very much.”

  “Charmed that you were able to make an appearance!” declared Sir Regis. “By the way, allow me to present Jonas Chay, who publishes Innovative Salubrity, and this is Dame Betka Ontwill, one of his staff writers. This is Dame Hester Lajoie, and Myron Tany and Dauncy Covarth.”

  “I’m happy to meet you,” said Jonas Chay.

  “And I as well,” said Dame Hester.

  4

  Dame Hester telephoned Betka Ontwill at her villa on the edge of Angwyn Heath, in the countryside five miles south of Salou Sain. The two appraised each other’s images, then Dame Hester said brightly: “Perhaps you will remember me; Regis Glaxen introduced us as you were arriving at his party. I am Hester Lajoie.”

  “Yes. I remember you well, the lady with the red hair and the yellow stockings.”

  “Something of the sort,” said Dame Hester graciously. “Your own frock, as I recall, was of a very tasteful simplicity, and truly charming.”

  “Thank you. That is nice to hear, coming from a celebrity.”

  “A celebrity?” Dame Hester gave a mischievous chuckle. “I wonder why? Could it be —”

  Dame Betka said placidly, “Sir Regis mentioned that you own a space-yacht; it must give you a wonderful feeling of freedom.”

  “Oh, the space-yacht. I suppose you are right. The vessel came to me as part of a legal settlement, so I cannot claim to be a keen space-farer. I called, however, to comment upon your article in Jonas Chay’s journal: the piece on revitalization! It is a topic in which I myself am interested.”

  There was a pause of several seconds. Then Dame Betka said carefully, “I am aware of this article. If you recall, it was signed by a certain ‘Serena’. Evidently she wishes to remain anonymous.”

  “Yes, all this is clear. Nevertheless, I would like you to join me for dinner tomorrow night. I will send my car for you, and I can promise you an excellent meal. Further, the identity of ‘Serena’ will not be publicized, and your privacy will be assured.”

  There was another short pause. Then Dame Betka spoke in a voice now cold: “My name is Betka Ontwill; you are making some very shaky and even intrusive assumptions.”

  “Am I?” Dame Hester chuckled. “If so, and my assumptions are incorrect, the circumstances are even more uncanny than they now appear.”

  “This is totally preposterous,” said Dame Betka. “I have nothing more to say. And now, if you will excuse me —”

  “Just a moment. Your husband was Andrey Ontwill. The College of Botany register lists an Andrey Ontwill whose wife, some thirty-five years ago, was Betka Ontwill. Most extraordinary!”

  Dame Betka said drily, “Yes; quite.”

  Dame Hester went on. “You are a striking woman, and you wear your clothes with panache. Your posture is erect, you look strong and capable, and your age is not instantly obvious! Could there be two unrelated Betka Ontwills? Could both Betkas have married scientists named ‘Andrey’ and gone off on jungle expeditions? Could both husbands be similarly dead? Very strange. Coincidence cannot be carried so far — especially just after a certain ‘Serena’ has published an article describing her revitalization on the world Kodaira. I am confused — but, even more, I am curious.”

  Dame Betka’s voice was brittle. “You have no right to be curious.”

  “Incorrect! Your articles put you in the way of public attention and you are now the legitimate object of curiosity.”

  Dame Betka retorted: “Not when I take pains to use a pseudonym!” She compressed her lips, realizing that she had admitted considerably more than she had intended to this sly old creature.

  “Be calm,” said Dame Hester. “No matter what I learn, it will not be trumpeted abroad. I want information for my personal use alone. I am entitled to it, and you have no cause for complaint, since you chose to tantalize us with your hints and concealments. You are like a girl who teases a boy into a state of erotic frenzy, then primly cries out: ‘How dare you!’”

  “That is not what I had in mind. I wrote the article only because Jonas Chay offered me a large sum of money, which I badly needed.”

  “That is irrelevant. The effect is the same, and I have a right to pursue my inquiries. I am growing no younger, and the time is coming when I must peer behind the veil, so to speak. I will postpone this moment by all practical means, including those cited by ‘Serena’.”

  Dame Betka laughed without humor. “You are not alone in your yearnings.”

  “That is as may be! But I am quite alone in being Hester Lajoie! I strike my own personal path through the wilderness of life, and I intend to resist dissolution tooth and nail!”

  “Perhaps so, but I have a commitment to secrecy, and I prefer not to discuss the circumstances.”

  Dame Hester nodded. “Certainly not over the telephone. We will talk tomorrow evening at Sarbiter House.”

  “I can make no such commitment.”

  “Come now!” coaxed Dame Hester. “We will enjoy a splendid meal, and you shall taste my best wines! A quiet affair, of course! And then there need be none of the sensation and publicity surrounding the mysterious ‘Serena’ that there would most certainly be otherwise.”

  Dame Betka stared grimly at Dame Hester. “Are you trying to blackmail me?”

  “Yes,” said Dame Hester. “You have fixed upon what is known as the mot juste. But it is a relatively painless process, and I will see that you enjoy an excellent dinner.”

  In a strained voice Dame Betka said, “I see that you lack all compunction.”

  “Not so! You do me a frightful wrong! I would never serve a Spanzenheimer Hock with devilled ox-tails, nor yet Romany Bull’s Blood with whitebait.”

  “I am encouraged on that score, at least.” Dame Betka wavered, torn between conflicting emotions.

  “Just so,” said Dame Hester confidently. “I will send my car to pick you up at about six.”

  5

  Dame Hester’s long black car called for Dame Betka at the hour specified, and transported her to Sarbiter House. She was met by Dame Hester and escorted into the pleasant gray and green drawing room, where the butler served aperitifs, and where they presently were joined by Myron. Dame Hester told him, “As you know, Dame Betka is a veteran of several expeditions to far-off worlds. Unfortunately, her husband was killed on the last of these expeditions.” She looked aside at Dame Betka. “Perhaps I am tactless! Does it pain you to talk of the tragedy?”

  Dame Betka gave her head a smiling shake. “By this time the pain has drained away. I don’t mind telling you what happened. Andrey had ventured a mile into the jungle and was taking samples of sap from an iron tree. A creature called a bottle-bird settled into a cluster of pods at the top of the tree. A twenty-pound pod, mostly iron, fell a hundred feet and killed poor Andrey instantly. I’m sure that he never knew what struck him.”

  “Not the worst way to go,” observed Dame Hester. “Putting aside this terrible event, you have lived a remarkable life, and I’m sure that you have a thousand wonderful memories! Where, for instance, did you go on your last expedition?”

  Dame Betka shook her head. “It’s not important, and it’s something I prefer not to dwell on.”

  “Of course not!” said Dame Hester.

  Myron watched as the ladies went on to discuss other matters in which he took no interest. He fixed his attention upon the agreeable image projected by Dame Betka. Tonight she wore a demure suit of soft blue-gray which went nicely with her complexion and from which Dame Hester could draw no unfavorable conclusions. Initially Myron had thought of her as an attractive young matron not a great deal older than himself. Her golden curls were tucked up into a bundle at
the nape of her neck, with a pair of golden tendrils trailing down at right and left to her shoulders. Her skin was as smooth as still cream, lightly tanned by the light of distant suns. However, without actively searching, Myron began to notice certain small signs which jarred against his first impressions. Her body was something less than youthfully flexible. When the three had walked in to the dining room, Myron, bringing up the rear, observed that the articulation of her hips, knees and ankles seemed rather stiff, so that she walked carefully, without elasticity or bounce. She was definitely a pleasant lady, thought Myron, but not the spring chicken she had originally seemed.

  As Dame Hester had promised, dinner was a splendid affair of ten courses and nine wines, indicating that Dame Hester intended to induce in her guest a state of semi-inebriated satiety, to such a degree that the guest would grant Dame Hester whatever favor Dame Hester might suggest. Myron had seen the ploy in action before.

  Over dessert Dame Hester begged Dame Betka to describe one of her more interesting expeditions.

  Dame Betka smilingly shook her head. “I’m afraid I would bore you. Our work, for the most part, was quite routine: the collecting of samples, the gathering of specimens, the struggle of setting up camp in wild places, which was seldom entertaining, since many of the environments were far from hospitable. Still, we were dedicated to the work and never fretted at hardships. Andrey was a talented scientist and a fine man; it was a great tragedy to lose him.”

  “I’m sure of it!” intoned Dame Hester. “Were you far from civilization when it happened?”

  Dame Betka smiled bitterly. “I was not there at all. At the time I was undertaking a course of treatment at a local clinic and a week passed before Andrey’s second in command informed me of the accident.”

  “How dreadful! Then what did you do?”

  Dame Betka shrugged. “We buried Andrey locally and I continued treatment at the clinic; it would have been pointless to do otherwise.” She turned Dame Hester another smiling glance. “I tell you this because it is all implicit in the article.”

  Dame Hester’s mouth twitched, but she made no comment.

  “In the end, I gathered our gear and all our records and returned to Vermazen — to rest, and take stock of myself and consider the future, which is what I am doing now. In a way, I’m sorry I wrote that article for Jonas. I think it might well have been an indiscretion, but the fee was hard to refuse, since it allowed me to clear up all our debts.”

  Dame Hester seemed to hesitate, then put on a coy smile. “I know you don’t care to talk too much of your treatment — but tell me this. How does one gain admittance to the program at the clinic?”

  “I don’t really know. The doctor is capricious, to say the least, and his methods are unusual.”

  “Does the clinic take applications?”

  Dame Betka began to fidget with the stem of her wine glass. “I don’t think I want to discuss the subject any further.”

  “Answer me this, at least: could you recommend new patients to the clinic?”

  “No.”

  Dame Hester studied Dame Betka with somber calculation. “I am not one to intrude upon another’s secrets, so I will ask you no further questions.”

  “I am glad to hear this,” said Dame Betka. “You would only find my responses exasperating.”

  The dinner party came to an end and Dame Betka was driven back to her home on the Angwyn Heath.

  6

  The black car had departed, carrying Dame Betka home. Myron started for his room, but Dame Hester called him back. Myron reluctantly dropped into an armchair and waited, while Dame Hester paced back and forth on long bent-kneed strides. She had run her fingers through her mop of roan-red hair to create a disorganized tangle. Finally she halted, and swung around to face Myron. “Well then, what is your opinion?”

  Myron looked at her blankly. “As to what?”

  “You heard the wretched woman! She is as devious as an oiled snake! She came here intending to tell me nothing; she devoured her dinner with both hands, and when she had gulped down the last of the wine she belched three times for the sake of formality, then departed, leaving me no better informed than before. She gave me smirks, deceit and evasion; surely you must have noticed!”

  “I was paying no great attention.”

  Dame Hester stared down at him. “Sometimes, Myron, you are utterly obtuse! Do you realize that she is older than I?”

  Myron shrugged and frowned. “I thought that she might be a bit long in the tooth.”

  “In this regard, at least, you are correct. She married Andrey Ontwill thirty-five years ago.”

  “Amazing how she keeps her looks! Do you think that she is the ‘Serena’ who wrote that article?”

  “Of course! She admits as much!”

  Myron nodded judiciously. “The therapy seems to have helped her. She looks to be a young woman; at least, that is the semblance she projects.”

  “What of my own poor semblance?” cried Dame Hester passionately. “Everyone tells me that I radiate an invincible fervor that defies time! I feel within myself the essence of youth; it is inherent in every atom of my being: my bones, my spirit, my deepest yearnings! Dauncy Covarth tells me that I dance through life like a nymph through the eternal springtime of my own imagination!”

  “Dauncy has a silver tongue.”

  Dame Hester resumed her pacing. After a few moments Myron yawned and rose to his feet. “I think the time has come —”

  “Be good enough to sit down,” snapped Dame Hester. “When the time comes, I will let you know. Meanwhile, there is more to be said! Whatever the secret, I am entitled to know the truth! Why should I not participate in this miracle? No reason whatever, and I intend to do so!”

  Myron sat in uneasy silence, watching Dame Hester stride back and forth.

  She halted, turned to face him. “You are a student of Cosmology; now is the time to put this expensive training to practical use. I want you to locate ‘Kodaira’.”

  Myron laughed and drew his fingers through his sleek blond hair. “My dear lady, ‘Kodaira’ is a fiction! It’s a figment of the woman’s mind! It doesn’t exist!”

  “Nonsense! We’ve proved only that Dame Betka invented the name ‘Kodaira’. I want you to identify and locate this world.”

  “That is easy to say, but I haven’t a clue!”

  “You have dozens of clues! Professor Ontwill was a botanist; go to the Institute, learn the facts regarding his last expedition — specifically, his itinerary and where he died. Surely these facts will be on record; am I correct in this regard?”

  “Very likely. What happens next?”

  Dame Hester gave a laugh of girlish excitement. “Can’t you guess, when the Glodwyn is at my disposal? I shall attempt a voyage.”

  Myron was not surprised. “That is not a trivial project.”

  “Of course not! But in this regard I can rely upon Dauncy Covarth; he is knowledgeable in such matters.”

  “So am I, so far as that goes.”

  “That may be so. But your knowledge is theoretical. Dauncy’s experience is practical.”

  “I see.”

  Dame Hester looked off across the room. She spoke pensively: “You may have noticed that Dauncy and I have been much together recently. I am a bit older than he, but what of that? A remarkable harmony joins our souls; Dauncy tells me that never before has he felt such a unity of purpose! He says that it is altogether inspiring. He brushes aside all considerations of age; he insists that mutual interests and generous hearts are more important than a few brief years.”

  “A few brief decades, more likely,” thought Myron, but did not put the idea into words. He asked tentatively, “Are you making a serious commitment to this fellow?”

  Dame Hester gave another gay little trill of laughter. “He is a distinguished gentleman, handsome, and sophisticated. His manners are perfect; he wears his clothes with the ease of a true cosmopolitan. If he makes a proposal, I shall give it serious thought.�
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  Interesting, thought Myron, in view of other information which he had chanced upon.

  Myron rose to his feet. “Time I was in bed. Tomorrow I’ll look into the Ontwill expeditions.”

  At dinner of the day following, Dame Hester asked Myron, “Have you made any progress?”

  “I’m starting to put the pieces together.”

  “And you will have definite information?”

  “I believe so.”

  Dame Hester gave a nod of approval. “I have good news, as well! Dauncy has put himself totally at my disposal. He will hire a crew of seasoned professionals, who will work the Glodwyn with expert competence. The crew will be minimal. We shall carry neither passengers nor dilettantes of any sort. Dauncy will serve as captain and navigator; I will be what Dauncy humorously calls ‘the Grand Poo-Bah’, with ultimate authority. Dauncy insists upon this arrangement, and together we shall work the ship with spartan efficiency.”

  “All very well,” grumbled Myron, “but I hope that your ban on passengers does not apply to me.”

  Dame Hester compressed her lips. “My dear Myron, this voyage is not a pleasure trip. It is dedicated to a single goal: therapy for my poor body, which has served me so well, but probably can use a ‘minor tune-up’, so to speak. Dauncy and I are agreed that there shall be no deviation from the rule.”

  Myron said, “Still and all, there must be some sort of slot into which I can fit! I am neither physically nor mentally deficient.”

  Dame Hester laughed. “Quite true! You are a nice-looking lad and you are trained in the field of cosmological studies. Still, the matter rests with Dauncy, who is assembling the crew.”

  Footsteps approached the drawing room; Dame Hester turned her head to listen. “He is arriving at this moment. Take him aside and put your case to him.”

  “I shall do so at once.” Myron left the room and accosted Dauncy Covarth in the foyer. “I understand that you are hiring a crew for the Glodwyn.”