He picked up an oddly-shaped device resting on a nearby table. "This is similar to the flute I use to mine the ice," he said, brandishing it. "The one I use for work uses ultra- and subsonics to cut through the ice. This flute, however, cuts inside the ice. Let me show you." And he threw back the cover.
What we saw was one intact cube of ice, perhaps four feet per side. But it was intact on the surface only. For etched inside the cube was an entire city. It was as if the ice had engulfed a miniature 19th century village. There were people, trees, clouds, birds, bicycles, a train, grass, buildings, smoke, streets, dogs, children with kites and hoops, horses, fences, benches, sidewalks. Factually inaccurate of course, and uninspired. Yet as real and as colorful as a hologram.
"Watch the steeple," he said as he stepped to one side. "The challenge is to find the right frequency and signal strength to cut the ice at the proper depth." We heard a low humming sound, and then saw a fogging in the ice that slowly cleared and changed into a cloud. He turned off the flute and smiled. "Light diffuses along the cracks of the ice, creating an illusion of color. If the light hits that rainbow at the proper angle," he pointed toward a far corner, "you'll be able to see it in its full glory."
Grenya, ever the foolish one, sighed. "You are a genius," she declared. "On Hellson, on Homeworld, on K-8, on any of the planets where art is truly appreciated, you would be hailed as a master."
I could not let this charade continue. "I think our young friend would find the hordes of sycophants disquieting. Once again, your enthusiasm has blinded you. An interesting technique to be sure. Highly original and well-done. But technique, nothing more."
"You are an antiquarian, Mr. Habersham. Tell me, what do you think of my village? Even if, as you say, it is only an exercise in technique?"
"'Historically inaccurate' immediately comes to mind." I have no patience for amateurs, so I studied the block of ice intently. "I take it this is based upon a village in the country America, Terra, the 1900's?" He nodded. "I believe that if you do your research properly, you'll learn that trains of that time were still pulled by teams of horses. Kites only existed in China. You have no stream running through the village square. They always built their villages around a stream. And you have no power lines for electricity.” I straightened and offered a false smile. "I repeat, your technique is interesting. Given the fire of inspiration and several more years of practice, yes, I could see your work displayed elsewhere than on Paglinowski's Planet."
"But I did..." he began to protest, then realized how ridiculous it was. "An artist is entitled to make mistakes," he finished lamely.
"Not entitled. Nearly everyone does."
"I still think it's wonderful. Very wonderful," Grenya interjected. She rubbed against Hancock like a kitten. "I would like to learn your technique. If you would teach me."
He peered down at her unwelcome intrusion. "I don't have time for an apprentice. I am lucky to steal a few hours a week to come out here."
"Your dedication, at least, is commendable," I observed. "But this cold is damnable. If you'll excuse me, I'm leaving." I stared at Grenya.
She knew better than to protest. "Of course." She turned once more to Hancock. "I want to see your work again."
"Depends on how long you plan to stay."
Not long at all, I vowed as we returned to the cold hospitality of Paglinowski's Planet.
"You were a little fool tonight." We were lying in our "room," if such I can call it. A large cot and heat wall. A curtain for privacy. Prisoners endure less. The joys of primitive life indeed. "The man is an idiot, my dear. Worse yet, an untalented idiot."
"He's an artist," and she was genuinely angry. "His work, like nothing else I've ever seen. It spoke to me. I could hear it from deep inside my soul."
"What you heard was your stomach demanding a decent meal. All he offers is technique. After all this time, haven't I taught you the difference between craftsmanship and Art? Between skill and Vision?"
"He agrees with you, you know."
I laughed. "He does? When did he tell you this?"
"After you left us with your 'headache.' He respects, well, some of your opinions anyway. What he's working on now is only practice, a rough draft. His ultimate intention is truly amazing."
"You have aroused my curiosity. Tell me, dearest, what great gift does he propose to offer the universe?"
"He plans to carve an entire glacier! He told me he already has one selected. People will be able to view it from space, or take tours across its surface. Can you imagine? It could make Paglinowski's Planet the greatest tourist attraction in the galaxy. And he will be the most famous artist ever!"
I lay back and shuddered. The nerve of the man! And such an affront to Art and the universe. But it would be a success, I ceded that. The horde is always impressed by size.
And he was right, there would be shiploads of tourists scurrying to admire this frozen Mount Rushmore. A ring of space hotels and other necessary amusements would soon follow. Resorts on the surface itself. Hancock would reap the tremendous rewards. He would need no monetary gain from the glacier itself. That would come from him traveling the banquet circuit, the guest of honor at world upon world. Lectures, interviews, bio-vids, tri-d exposure. He would be famous all right. If I had any hair left I would have pulled it out.
"I'm staying, Dannel."
"What?" Her pronouncement shattered my nightmare.
"I'm staying. Here. With Hancock."
I laughed. "So the Beauty has fallen in love with the Beast. In literature that occurs in reverse. Is it his artistic soul that intrigues you, dearest, or his artistic member?" I let my disappointment in her creep into my voice. "How long do you suppose you will enjoy this frozen Eden? Four weeks? Six? That seems to be the standard length of your infatuations."
She remained surprisingly calm. "I want to learn, Dannel. I want to learn--ice sculpture? Dance? I don't know. But I do want to learn. From him. I am not learning from you. Or what I am learning I don't want to know."
I sat upright; the nerve of the woman! "The fault is with the student, not the teacher. I leave tomorrow. If you want to remain with this Neanderthal, you may do so. I will not be back to retrieve you."
"I don't plan to leave. I will help Hancock with his work, he will help with mine."
"I'm somewhat surprised Hancock agreed. Or did he ask you?"
"I asked him. He was reluctant. I assured him I would not bother him, I would pay my way."
"That will be a first."
"I never asked you for anything!" The ungrateful wench snarled. "Besides, I have paid you, and not just with sex. Do you think your company is always pleasant?"
I was tired of her tirade. I had much to think about, much to plan. I needed solitude. "If then I am to journey unaccompanied, I best get in practice. I suggest you spend your evening with your new paramour. If you can stand the smell."
She stared at me with her large, empty eyes. "I think I know why you hate him so much," she said after a long, boring silence. "You saw the talent there. You are just afraid to admit it. You are afraid of anyone who has talent." She stopped. "I think," she continued, "you are even afraid of me."
"That's enough! I have tolerated your childish tantrums for the last time. And your indiscretions. And your mindless chattering about your 'art.' You have only one talent, Grenya. I hope for your sake you find a rich patron before you lose it."
She rose. "And you, Dannel, have the warmth, wit and charm of a sea slug. Although I do disservice to the creature."
"Aha, you have learned something," I called out as she parted the curtains. "You could have never responded so imaginatively before you met me!" She had no retort. Instead she left me to my musings. And me without my sundew!
The fawning lieutenant was surprised when I alone stepped from the shuttle. He had to videophone Grenya to be convinced she was remaining on her own accord. "Your friend must be a very brave woman," he offered after he broke connections.
"That
is one of the reasons I married her," I replied. I had to hide my smile behind my goblet of sundew as I saw his reaction.
He paled. "I thought you said..."
"I care not what you thought. But that's neither here nor there." I handed him a message I had composed on my flight back. "Please send this immediately. I could do so from my yacht, but military channels are much more efficient."
He stared at me, shaken. "I can't do that," and he dropped the note on his desk. "You must know military communications are reserved for military use only."
"Of course." I sat down and rested my feet on his desk. "I also know many in the military. Many who are superiors of yours, in fact. I hope you enjoy this assignment because it will be the only one you ever have. Once I tell them what you did to my wife!"
He pondered my threat, then read my missive. He gave a low whistle. "Why?"
"I believe that is none of your concern." I swirled the amber liquor and admired its flashes of brilliance. "I really don't have the time or energy to entertain you. You send my message, or I will send another one. One concerning your untoward behavior. Which do you prefer?"
To his credit he only waited seconds. "I will take care of it personally."
"I've always felt that our instinct for self-preservation was one of our most enduring and endearing attributes. I'm glad you agree." I stood and lit a cigar. "I will be in my yacht; contact me immediately when you receive any information." I turned and walked gaily from his office. Lovely little Grenya, thank you so much for your lascivious ways.
Business negotiations are slow even when ultra-light communication is used. I spent the better part of two weeks orbiting that damn station which orbited that damn planet, waiting for closing confirmation. I visited the station several times, but after bearing the lieutenant's sniveling for the fourth or fifth time, I settled on sundew and solitude and an occasional sonnet.
But the message finally came, as I knew it must. No one really wanted Paglinowski; it's profit margin was minimal and then only because of Hancock's questionable sanity. My advisers had questioned mine, but it was my money. I could afford it. At worst I could always use a tax write-off. So when I again entered the lieutenant's office I was chairman of the board and sole owner of Paglinowski's Planet. And this was one enterprise I was going to take personal control over.
His delight at my appearance was nonexistent. "Aren't you through with me yet?" he whined. "I've already been disciplined by my superiors for improper use of military channels. They are withholding my wages until I have paid for all of your messages."
"Hardly my concern. I want this message sent to Paglinowski's Planet immediately. If the terms are not complied with, I request that you, as resident military commander, send your troops and evict the afore-named parties as trespassers."
He read my order, then whistled softly. "Now I understand. You did all this because your wife left you."
"Grenya is not my wife! As the sole and rightful owner of that planet, I demand your full cooperation."
The lieutenant stared at me as comprehension dawned--a slow process. Then he rose stiffly. "You are a bastard, Habersham."
I smiled at his puny wrath. "Hardly. I full well know my parentage."
"They must be granted asylum."
"I'm sure you have room for them until another supply ship arrives. Hancock does have a substantial amount of back wages available so he can travel anywhere he pleases. I don't know, or care, about Grenya. Just remember, I own everything on that planet. They take nothing with them. Nothing."
He nodded, then smiled. "I know my duties. I don't have to do them in your presence. This is a military outpost and you are a civilian. If you do not leave immediately, I have full authority to arrest you."
"I would never question your authority, lieutenant. I was just leaving." I whistled a happy tune as I made my way back to my ship.
The troops weren't necessary. There was shock and outrage, of course, and much bad language over the video-com. I enjoyed my eavesdropping immensely.
"Why?" Grenya asked again and again.
"You'll have to ask the new owner. I am only following orders."
"Who would do this?" she raved on.
"I think I know," I heard Hancock say in the background.
"My men will be down to retrieve you within the hour. I trust that will be sufficient for you to be ready," the lieutenant replied tiredly.
Hancock's bearded face filled the screen. "Of course." The screen went blank.
"I've saved you," I toasted the frozen globe beyond my viewscreen and enjoyed another sip of sundew.
"This is outrageous, impossibly insane. What type of madman is responsible?" I could hear Grenya's braying even in the lieutenant's office. An impressive performance, but then she always performed best when angry. Even in bed.
"I think all your questions will be answered shortly," the lieutenant responded. "If you will come in here, please."
"Trespassing! Of all the..." Grenya stopped when she saw me. She was still wearing her ill-fitting heat suit. Northern exposure had done nothing to enhance her beauty. "Hancock was right."
"You shouldn't carry on so, it causes wrinkles," I greeted her.
"I understand, I really do." She settled awkwardly into an empty chair. Hancock, ever the frontiersman, preferred to stand. "It was jealousy, wasn't it, Dannel? You saw his talent. It scared you. Heaven forbid the star of Habersham be eclipsed by a true artist."
"You lack the intelligence and taste to be a critic, Grenya. I do not fear Hancock here 'eclipsing' my talent. Perhaps someday he will produce another Mona Lisa or Man on Thorns. However, I cannot allow him to violate an entire planet, create some gargantuan doodle to amuse the mindless. Such massive egotism must be checked."
"You won't even allow me to work there." Hancock spoke in questioning tones.
"For your own good. You have been too long locked away from the association of man. You cannot create great art without experiencing life. Discover what the rest of the galaxy has to offer. Then pursue your craft."
"The galaxy has nothing to offer him," Grenya said. "It will only pervert him, ruin his vision, make him like you. Small and vindictive. A voice without a vision. An actor, a sham. No wonder you're afraid of him. No wonder you want to destroy him."
"I won't condescend to defending myself before a creature like you." I turned to Hancock. "I say again, work on your technique. Eventually, you may have the wisdom and inspiration to put it to proper use."
"You made me leave my work, my tools behind.”
"Technically, they aren't yours," I explained patiently. "The contract you signed gave all rights to anything you developed on Paglinowski to your employer. I now own that company. I now own your sculptures and your flute."
"I think that's disgusting," Grenya snorted.
"That's business."
Hancock, at least, had the sense to know when he was beaten. "When can we leave?" he asked the lieutenant.
"A supply ship will be by within a week."
Grenya piped in. "You promised us sanctuary. Please show me my room." She glared at me. "I need a breath of fresh air."
"This way." The lieutenant led her out.
Hancock remained, staring out at the frozen rock below. For the longest time he stood there, and I wondered if perhaps he, too, had turned to ice. Finally he spoke. "You never heard, did you? Grenya heard, she understood. But you never could."
"I'm tone deaf." The truth, actually, but he would never believe it. "You should thank me. The galaxy has much to offer. Trust me. After you have walked among man as long as I, your artistic eye will open, your soul will blossom, you will be able to create your masterpiece." And fish can fly.
He studied me carefully, although I detected no light of understanding in his eyes. "But not on Paglinowski."
"Not on Paglinowski."
He stared out the viewscreen a few minutes longer, and I swear I saw a tear in his eye. "Grenya is going to surprise you," he said withou
t turning.
"How? By keeping her legs together longer than five minutes?"
He shook his mangy head. "She has the soul and spirit of a true artist. Something," he finally worked up the nerve to look at me, "you know nothing about."
I was tired of his self-pity. I threw an envelope on the desk. "Your last wages and severance pay are in there. Spend them wisely." I left him to his silent communion with a worthless piece of rock.
Paglinowski's Planet proved my advisors correct. Without the foolish dedication of Hancock, the expense of ice mining quadrupled. My new employees lacked his skill and diligence and soon there were complaints about the quality of the product. When Johnson's Hard Mud hit the market, that signaled the end of further interest in ice sculpture. We shut down operations and I took a healthy tax loss.
The station remained, however. The military decided the planet would be useful for sub-zero training and leased it from me for a pittance. Because of his serious breach of military protocol, the lieutenant was forced to remain, without hope of transfer or advancement. He serves as a powerful object lesson for incoming recruits.
I have no idea where Hancock went, although I became curious when some unknown artist began displaying sculpture carved within cubes of artificial diamond. However, I've seen several and they display too much wisdom and inspiration for an oaf like Hancock to ever create. Whoever the unknown man is, he deserves his current popularity no matter how fleeting it surely will prove to be.
And Grenya? I lost track of her as well. But I have heard an intriguing story. A dancer on Paradise No. 4, with movements as slow, so they say, as melting ice. She blends the erotic and the mystical into a dance that tells the tale of two artist/lovers struggling to create their vision within a society blind to and ignorant of their true genius. Standard stuff, but the audiences seem to love it. If I'm ever out that way...
SIN OF OMISSION
The fire glowed cheerily in the hearth, warming the room and the goblet of 25-year-old brandy that sat invitingly on the lamp stand. At the present, neither the fire nor the liquor was having its desired effect on Father Wenington. Instead he sat scowling at the blank sheet of paper before him.
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