by Jack Vance
“By no means,” said Magnus Ridolph. “He has nothing to offer.”
“Who then?” bellowed Karamor.
“Naturally, the colony of intelligent sardines I told you about.”
“What!”
“Yes,” said Magnus Ridolph. “You are now associated commercially with a shoal of sardines. The Sardine–Karamor Company.”
“My word,” husked Karamor. “My word!”
“The advantages to all concerned are obvious,” said Magnus Ridolph. “You are assured of efficient management with high-grade raw material guaranteed. The sardines receive whatever civilized amenities they desire.”
Karamor was silent for some minutes. He turned a narrow eye on the bland Magnus Ridolph.
“I detect the Ridolph touch in this scheme. The characteristic lack of principle, the calculated outing of orthodox practise…”
“Tut, tut,” said Magnus Ridolph. “Not at all, not at all.”
Karamor snorted. “Do you deny that the whole program was your idea?”
“Well,” said Magnus Ridolph carefully, “I admit that I pointed out to the fishes the advantages of the arrangement.”
To B Or Not To C Or To D
Walking on Caffron Beach in the planet Azul’s watery blue-green twilight Magnus Ridolph was confronted by a scowling man of formidable appearance—very tall, very broad, with thundercloud eyebrows, a mouth and jaw like an ore-crusher.
“Are you Magnus Ridolph?” The tone was direct with overtones of bellicosity.
Magnus Ridolph wondered which of his creditors had been so importunate as to pursue him out here on the quiet blue sand beside Veridical Sea. Unfortunate—impossible to avoid him now.
Magnus Ridolph said frankly, “I am he.”
The carbuncle eyes of the scowling man bored into Magnus Ridolph’s pale blue ones. “I understand you’re a detective.”
Magnus Ridolph pursed his lips thoughtfully, touched his neat white beard. “Why, I suppose that term might be used. Generally I refer to myself as—”
The scowling man looked off across the ink-black water. “I don’t care what you call yourself. John Southern recommended you.”
“Ah, yes,” Magnus Ridolph nodded. “I remember him. The statues in the King of Maherleon’s harem.”
The big man’s scowl deepened. “You’re not what I expected.”
“Intelligence, facility, resourcefulness are not like neckties, to be displayed as ornaments,” Magnus Ridolph pointed out.
“Maybe you can angle and argue but can you produce when the going’s tough? That’s what I want to know.”
Confident that the man, no matter how unpleasant, was no bill collector Magnus Ridolph said affably, “That depends upon the circumstances.”
The big man’s expression became slightly contemptuous.
Magnus Ridolph said easily, “The circumstances include a feeling of sympathy with my client. So far you have aroused no such sensation.”
The big man grinned. “I arouse what sympathy I need by writing my name to a check. My name is Howard Thifer. I’m in the heavy metal business.”
Magnus Ridolph nodded. “I have heard your name mentioned.”
“Probably as a high-flying free-wheeling financial hell-raiser.”
“I believe the term ‘unscrupulous blackguard’ was used,” said Ridolph.
Thifer made an impatient gesture with a forearm the size of a rolled-up welcome mat. “Never mind about that. The squealing of scalded shoats! I’m up against something fantastic. Something I can’t fight. It’s costing me money and I’ve got to lick it.”
“Suppose you describe your problem.”
Thifer turned the full gaze of his red-brown eyes on Magnus Ridolph. “This is confidential, understand? If anything leaked out there’d be trouble for both of us. Get me?”
Magnus Ridolph shrugged, started to move away, across the pale blue beach. “I find that your proposition does not interest me.”
A hand like a bear paw descended on his shoulder. In outrage Magnus Ridolph swung around. “Hands off, sir!”
Thifer said with a heavy leer, “At the Green Lion Hostel two process servers are waiting for you. They’ve got a multiple notice of judgment.”
Magnus Ridolph chewed at his lip. “That confounded zoo,” he muttered. Aloud, “Mr. Thifer, what is the nature of your problem, and how much are you able to pay?”
“First of all,” said Thifer, “I’ll warn you that if you take on this job there’s a good chance you’ll be killed. In fact you’ll certainly be killed unless you do better than the last twenty men. You see, I’m being frank with you. Are you still interested?”
Magnus Ridolph remarked that if his death were a necessary adjunct to the solving of the mystery he feared that his fee would have to be disproportionately large.
Thifer said, “Well, here’s the set-up. I own a planet.”
“A planet in toto?”
“Yes,” said Thifer roughly. “I own Jexjeka. I’m—quite wealthy.”
Magnus Ridolph sighed. “I am not. My zoo is unsuccessful. It has cost me a great deal.”
“Hm. So that howling menagerie of monsters is your doing?”
“No longer. I’ve sold the whole affair for two hundred munits.”
Howard Thifer snorted, a sound that would have fractured the larynx of an ordinary man. “Here’s the situation—or better, come aboard my ship, where I can show you on the chart.”
“Jexjeka is rock, all rock,” said Thifer. “There are what I call oases—four springs of good water. Only water on the planet. Two in each hemisphere, as you see. My headquarters is here—” he pointed “—at A, closest to the mines.”
“Heavy metals?”
“I’m mining a crystal of pure tungsten the size of a house. I’ve got an open pit of selenium oxide and I’m working a three-foot vein of centaurium trioxide, with uranium. But that’s neither here nor there,” he said impatiently. “About two years ago I decided to make Jexjeka self-sustaining.”
Magnus Ridolph frowned. “A planet all rock?”
Thifer said, “It’s airless, lifeless—not even spores. But I’m using Thalurian labor—anaerobes from Thaluri Second. They eat like wolves and it costs me real money keeping them in supplies.
“I figured to plant some of the native vegetation at the oases, have them grow some of their own food. So I freighted in soil, planted an orchard of Thalurian trees, the fiber things with the glass leaves. Now, see here at oasis B, the closest to A—this is where I set out the first orchard, also a meadow for the Thalurian cows.” He sat back, glowered at the chart.
“And?” Magnus Ridolph prompted.
“It’s what I can’t understand. It puzzles me. Everything went beautifully. The trees give bigger crops than they do on Thaluri Second. The cows—I call ’em that, they’re big barrels with long legs for hanging on to the rocks—they multiplied like rabbits, really prospered.”
Magnus Ridolph scanned the chart, glanced up into Thifer’s big flat face. “Clearly I am dense. You have spoken at length and I still fail to understand your problem.” He smoothed the front of his neat white and blue tunic.
Thifer scowled. “Let’s understand each other, Ridolph. I’m not paying you for sarcasm. I don’t like to be the butt of your jokes, anybody’s jokes.”
Magnus Ridolph inspected him coolly. “Calm yourself, Mr. Thifer. Your display of temper embarrasses me.”
Thifer’s face swelled with dark blood. He clenched his hands, then in a low thick voice he said, “About a year ago I decided to expand my orchard to oasis C. On the night of June thirteen, Earth-time, every man at the oasis disappeared. They vanished off the face of the planet as if they’d never been there. There were two Earthmen, a Rhodopian clerk, four Thalurians.”
“Any ships missing?”
“No, nothing like that. We were mystified, naturally. An investigation told us nothing. But I still went ahead, expanded the farm to oasis D. Eighty-four days after the first disappeara
nce the same thing happened.
“Every man vanished without trace from both C and D. No sign of violence, no struggle, no hint of any kind as to what happened. Naturally camp routine was disrupted. The Thalurians, as you may know, are a very superstitious bunch—easily frightened. The second disappearance set them off into a serious demonstration. I finally got them quiet and imported a crew of men I could trust from another working.
“I sent this crew out to C and D. Eighty-four days after the previous disappearance they disappeared, the whole bunch—lock, stock and barrel. Gone into thin air—except there’s no air on Jexjeka. And at each disappearance went all the Thalurians I was able to persuade out to C and D to tend the orchard and the cows—and likewise all the cows.”
Magnus Ridolph asked, “Have you appealed to the TCI?”
Thifer sounded his gargantuan snort. “That gang of scroungers? You know what they told me? They told me I had no business on Jexjeka in the first place. That, since it lay outside the legal bounds of the Commonwealth, they had no legal right to investigate. And mind you, every eighty-four days citizens of the Commonwealth were disappearing into nowhere. They wouldn’t even turn their heads to spit in my direction.”
Magnus Ridolph rubbed his beard. “You’re sure there is not some simple explanation? The men are not working with a gang of hijackers or black-birders?”
Thifer said, “Nonsense!” and glowered indignantly at Magnus Ridolph.
Magnus Ridolph said, “I agree that you have given me an interesting story. I suppose your idea is that I take up residence at either C or D, risking my own disappearance?”
“That’s right.”
Magnus Ridolph said slowly, “Actually I have outlived my usefulness. If I am to be killed on Jexjeka my only concern is for my creditors. I would not care to have the stigma of debt soil my memory.
“Hm—you say that there are two process-servers waiting at the hostel? Well, I will be modest. Give me a check for ten thousand munits and satisfy the process-servers and I will undertake your problem for you.”
Thifer growled, “Just what do you owe these process-servers?”
“I’m not sure,” said Magnus Ridolph, looking blandly at the chart. “The bill was merely provisions for the creatures in my zoo.”
“Provisions for how long?”
“Four months—no longer.”
Thifer considered. “That shouldn’t be too much. Very well, I’ll do it.”
“I’ll write out a quick agreement,” suggested Magnus Ridolph. He did so and Howard Thifer, after grumbling about the delay, put his signature to it.
Together they left the cruiser, returned to the Green Lion Hostel in the Vale of Tempe at the head of Caffron Beach.
Two young men, sitting in the lobby, jumped to their feet at the sight of Magnus Ridolph, advanced upon him like terriers.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen!” said Magnus Ridolph, holding his hands up in mock dismay. “There is no need for your unpleasant documents. Are you empowered to accept a settlement?”
“We’ll settle for the exact sum of the judgment, not one cent less.”
“Mr. Thifer here will pay you. Please submit him your bill.”
Thifer pulled out a checkbook. “How much is it?” he rumbled.
“One hundred and twenty-two thousand, six hundred and twenty munits. Make it payable to Vanguard Organic Supply of Starport.”
Thifer turned to Magnus Ridolph with a terrible slow fury. “You lying swindling old goat!”
“‘Goat’,” said Magnus Ridolph, “is an epithet I dislike. Others have regretted its use. My beard is an affectation, I agree. Aside from this beard I have no hircine characteristics.”
Thifer’s eyes were level pools of hot fire. “You told me this bill was for animal food. You tricked me into—”
“No such thing!” protested Magnus Ridolph. “You need merely read the statement these gentlemen will hand you.”
Thifer reached across, snatched a sheet of paper from the process-server, who protested feebly. The sheet read:
“To Magnus Ridolph, statement of indebtedness, as per invoice below, covering deliveries during last quarter.
100 kg. candied ceegee eggs @ M80/kg. ___________________________________M 8,000
200 liters sap (from Yellow-Bounding Tree of Lennox IV) @ M45/liter______ 9,000
One ton live chancodilla grubs @ M4,235/ton______________________________ 4,235
Two tons slime from bed of Lanklark Sinkhole @ M380/ton__________________ 760
50 lbs. California raisins, first quality @ M1/lb._______________________ 50
100 cases ripe ticholama buds from Naos VI @ M42/case____________________ 4,200
20 frozen ice-mandrakes @ M600 __________________________________________12,000
400 cartons—”
Thifer flung back the statement. He said briefly to Magnus Ridolph, “I won’t pay it.”
Magnus Ridolph said, “I have no choice but to sue for breach of contract. And in addition you will be denied the pleasure of my disappearance from your oases C and D.”
“True,” said Thifer. “It’s worth many times the money to assist, even in a small way, at your disappearance. I warn you, Ridolph, I’m not a forgiving man.” He turned to the process-server. “How much was that again?”
“One hundred twenty-two thousand six hundred and twenty munits.”
“Here’s your check.” He jerked his head to Magnus Ridolph. “Have your luggage sent out to my cruiser. We’re leaving for Jexjeka at once.”
“As you wish,” said Magnus Ridolph.
During the eight-day voyage from Azul in Sagittarius to Jexjeka in Cancer 3/2, Magnus Ridolph spoke to Howard Thifer exactly twice. They lunched together the first day out and agreed to discuss the mystery in the observation dome over coffee.
The discussion began amiably—“a feast of reason, a flow of soul.” Before long Magnus Ridolph expressed surprise at the fact that while Thifer had prospected the planet for minerals and organic life he had ignored the possible presence of the inorganic, sometimes supersensory, creatures found on certain planets, even on Earth, where they were known as ghosts.
Here Thifer vented his most devastating snort to date. “John Southern told me you were a detective, not an incense-swinging hoochy-macooch witch-doctor.”
Magnus Ridolph nodded philosophically, remarking that his attitude was not unusual. He cited the animal world. Swine, bears, seals among others also took their sensory impressions to be an accurate picture of the world, said Magnus Ridolph.
Thifer’s eyes began to glisten. Before long epithets were exchanged and the word ‘goat’ was used, whereupon Magnus Ridolph rose to his feet, bowed in icy politeness and left the dome.
The lunch and the discussion comprised the two occasions on which Howard Thifer and Magnus Ridolph spoke during the cruise. Only when the ship sank into a glass-smooth basin of what evidently had been a tremendous blister in the basalt did the two once more exchange words. And now Thifer, on his home territory, was inclined to be affable.
“Rock, rock, rock,” he said. “Damn impressive planet and not a bad place to live if it had an atmosphere. Not too hot, not too cold. Maybe one of these days I’ll set up an air plant, build up some atmosphere. Should make a good tourist planet, wouldn’t you say, Ridolph?”
“Very spectacular,” agreed Magnus Ridolph. A year or so previously he had seen published in the Augustan Review a list of the settled planets arranged by Arthur Idry, the explorer, in order of their increasingly unearthly and bizarre quality.
Earth was naturally norm, with Fan, Naos VI, Exigencia, Omicron Ceti III, Mallard 42, Rhodope, New Sudan, high on the list. At the bottom were ranged such strange worlds as Formaferra, Julian Wolters IV, Alpheratz IX, Gengillee. Looking now across Jexjeka Magnus Ridolph decided that Idry had missed a good bet for last place on the list.
Jexjeka was the sole satellite of three suns—Rouge, a nearby red giant, Blanche, a white Sol-sized star at a greater dist
ance, and Noir, Blanche’s dark companion. Jexjeka revolved around Rouge so that for half of each sidereal year two suns shone during the day. For the other half Rouge shone during the day, Blanche during the so-called night.
Rouge filled half the black sky, a monster ball of molten red whose globular shape was manifest. Indeed its equatorial region seemed to bulge out into the observer’s face. The dazzling white disk of Blanche hung slightly to the side. Noir was nowhere visible.
The ship had berthed at the center of a vast shallow basin. The black glass of the floor rose in a gradual catenary to a mile-high rampart of gray rock, at the base of which were a huddle of shiny domes and a tailings pile. Thifer’s living quarters were in another dome slightly removed from the mine buildings, beside oasis A, a pool of clear water.
Formed by chemical action in the warm interior of Jexjeka it was conveyed to the surface in the form of vapor, to condense and trickle into a pool, where it gradually evaporated into interstellar space, which here began at the planet’s surface. Magnus Ridolph was forced to admit that the planet had a certain mad beauty to it.
Distance on this airless world of gigantic proportions was hard to estimate. The perspectives had a peculiar distorted slant. Magnus Ridolph judged Thifer’s dwelling to be a mile distant and he was surprised when the surface car, which trundled along the glass-smooth bed of the blister, required ten minutes to make the trip.
The car entered an airlock. Thifer swung open the door. “We’re here.”
It was evident that Thifer had devoted neither time nor money to sybaritic niceties. Magnus Ridolph frowned at the unrelieved concrete floor, the blank walls, the rigid furniture.
“Your quarters are this way,” said Thifer and led Magnus Ridolph down a hall walled with corrugated aluminum to a room overlooking the pool.
The room was furnished with a narrow bed, a chest of drawers painted gray-green, a straight-back chair painted white.
“You are very wise,” Magnus Ridolph observed sagely. “Very sensitive.”
“How so?” inquired Thifer.
“You have accurately grasped the personality of the planet and have carried the feeling in its most subtle nuances into the furnishings of your house. Quite correctly you decided that starkness and rigor was the only answer to the blank simplicity of the landscape.”