Araminta Station

by Jack Vance

  Glawen, somewhat taken aback, made a rueful response. “Even if I weren’t a bunter, I’d like her for a pet.”

  Julian spoke to Wayness: “Please ignore my overgallant assistant; his pleasantries are a trifle overfamiliar, under the circumstances.”

  “What circumstances are these?” asked Glawen.

  “It is not particularly your affair, but I may say that Wayness and I have an understanding of long duration.”

  Wayness gave an uneasy laugh. “Flux, Julian! Everything moves, everything shifts. As for Glawen, despite his grim practicality, he has a poet’s soul, and you must tolerate his flights of fancy.”

  “I am, after all, a Clattuc,” said Glawen. “We are famous for our romantic excesses.”

  “I can cite a case in point,” said Milo. “I refer to the legendary Reynold Clattuc. He risked his life to save a beautiful maiden from a blizzard out on the Kaskovy Waste. He carried her through the storm to a way station; he built fires to warm her, rubbed her hands and feet and patiently fed her hot soup and morsels of buttered toast. She ate as much as she could, then, relaxing in her chair, found herself compelled to belch, which so outraged Reynold Clattuc’s sensibilities that he put her out in the snow again.”

  “Milo, that story is not altogether credible,” said Wayness.

  “She must have done something else as well,” said Glawen. “I don’t think I’d put her out for such a transitory offense.”

  “What do you think she did?” asked Milo.

  “It’s hard to say. She might have scolded him for burning the toast.”

  “Clearly the tradition persists,” said Milo. “It’s wise to mind one’s manners while dining with a Clattuc!”

  “I’ll be careful,” said Wayness. “I would not want Glawen to think me vulgar.”

  Glawen rose to his feet. “Right now I think that I had better order the bunters made ready for tomorrow. Julian, will you be inspecting the battlefield or do you care to try your luck at Lake Dimple?”

  Julian wrestled with himself. In a subdued voice he said: “I’ve seen enough for the present. I’ll go out to Lake Dimple.”

  Glawen and Milo went off to the stables. Julian watched the two cross the terrace, and gave his head a disparaging shake. He turned to Wayness. “Romantic or not, I find that Clattuc fellow definitely objectionable. I quite resent the way he looks at you. He seems to forget that you’re a Naturalist and a goodly cut above Station personnel, no matter what airs they put on. For a fact, you should put him right and quite sharply.”

  “Julian, I’m surprised! I thought that LPFers endorsed the classless society, with everyone marching arm in arm into the dawn of a new era.”

  “Up to a point. In my personal life I make very definite distinctions, which I consider to be my prerogative. I represent the highest level of the Gaean race, and I refuse to tolerate or associate with anything other than the very best - in which category I am pleased to include you.”

  “I also have a high opinion of myself,” said Wayness. “I too don’t care to associate with lesser folk, by which I mean fools and hypocrites.”

  “Exactly so!” declared Julian. “We share the same point of view!”

  “There is one small difference,” said Wayness. “Our categories do not include the same people.”

  Julian frowned. “Well - perhaps not. After all, we each have our own circle of acquaintances.”

  “So we do.”

  In a carefully modulated voice, Julian asked: “Are you still planning to go away to Earth?”

  “Yes. There is some research I want to do which can’t be managed here.”

  “What is your subject? You’ve always been so vague.”

  “Essentially it’s a trifle of folklore I want to track down.”

  “And Milo is going with you?”

  “That is the plan.”

  Julian’s voice became brittle, “What of me?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean - although I have a suspicion.”

  “I thought that we had an understanding. I don’t want to be kept waiting indefinitely.”

  Wayness laughed shortly. “That so-called understanding was Mother’s idea, not mine. It’s not at all practical. In the first place, I am not in sympathy with your political beliefs.”

  “It wasn’t that way before. Someone has influenced you. Could it be Milo?”

  “Milo and I seldom if ever discuss politics.”

  “It couldn’t be Glawen Clattuc: he is even more naive than Milo.”

  Wayness became exasperated. “Isn’t it conceivable that I think for myself? Still, you should not underestimate Glawen; he is quiet, unpretentious and highly intelligent. He is also competent, a quality which I admire very much.”

  “You defend him fervently.”

  Wayness said wearily, “Please, Julian, put me out of your mind. At the moment I have my own problems and I don’t care to cope with yours. I am absolutely definite on this.”

  Julian gave a cold shrug and leaned back in his chair. The two sat in silence, watching Syrene drop upon the mountains.

  Glawen and Milo returned. “The bunters will be ready, well-fed and amiable, immediately after breakfast.”

  “In a far friendlier mood than they are now,” said Milo. “Or so I hope. Glawen did not exaggerate; the bunters are not lovable. I don’t envy the stablemen their work.”

  “I hope they’re good at it,” said Wayness.

  “They should be by now,” Glawen replied. “They’ve been here for years - at least since my last visit.”

  Julian prepared to utter a remark, presumably in regard to the Yips, but Wayness forestalled him. “The sun is almost down, and it’s time to dress for dinner.”

  The four went to their rooms. Glawen bathed and dressed in garments considered proper for informal dining at the lodges; dark green trousers with black and red piping down the sides, a white shirt and a trim dark gray jacket. Returning to the terrace, he found Milo already on hand, leaning on the balustrade. Dusk had come to the Plain of Moans, with distances blurred and a dull orange afterglow rimming the sky.

  “I’ve been listening to sounds,” said Milo. “I’ve heard several different kinds of howling, a heavy deep roar, or bellow, and a melancholy wailing sound.”

  “I like listening from up here, behind the balustrade,” said Glawen.

  “If the other choice is down there on the plain, I like it here too. Listen! What’s that?”

  “I don’t know. It has a sad voice.”

  Wayness appeared, wearing a white skirt and a pale tan jacket which perfectly complemented her coloring. “What are you two doing?”

  “Listening to noises and sounds,” said Glawen. “Come over and help.”

  “For instance!” said Milo. “Listen to that.”

  “I hear it. No wonder this is the Plain of Moans.” Wayness looked up and down the terrace, where half the tables were already occupied by other guests of the lodge. “Are we dining outside?”

  “If you like.”

  “It’s a pleasant evening. Let’s do.”

  The three went to sit at a table. Time passed: ten minutes, twenty minutes, and Julian still had not made an appearance. Milo became restive. He looked over his shoulder toward the lobby. “Has he fallen asleep? I’d better give him a call, or we’ll be waiting until he wakes up.”

  Milo went off to investigate. Presently he returned. “Odd! He’s not in his room, nor in the lobby nor yet in the library. Where else could he be?”

  “What of the gallery? Could he be looking over the pictures?”

  “I looked there too.”

  “Surely he hasn’t gone for a walk – unless he’s far braver than I,” said Wayness.

  “Here he comes now,” said Milo.

  Wayness asked: “Julian, where have you been?”

  “Here and there,” said Julian airily. He wore a white suit with a red and blue blazon at the neck and a red sash at his waist.

  Milo said: “I looked every
where for you. Perhaps you’ll reveal your hiding place?”

  “No large affair, nothing to worry about,” said Julian.

  “Is it a secret?” asked Wayness.

  “Of course not,” said Julian curtly. “If you must know, I went out to the stables to look over the situation for myself.”

  “You can’t see much this time of night,” said Glawen. “The bunters are already in their stalls.”

  “I spoke for a few minutes with the Yips. I was curious to discover what they really thought of their jobs.”

  “And they told you?”

  “We had a pleasant conversation, said Julian with dignity. “When they learned I was LPF they opened up. The head groom’s name is Orreduc Manilaw Rodenart, or something of that sort. He is a person of quick intelligence, and is surprisingly cheerful. The same applies to the whole crew. I heard not a single surly word. I find their equanimity remarkable.”

  “They’re quite well paid,” said Glawen. “Although I suppose the Oomphaw takes all their money.”

  “That’s when you’d hear surly words from me,” said Milo.

  Julian ignored the remarks. “Like myself, they hope for friendlier times. I truly believe that some sort of accommodation is possible, given goodwill in all quarters. The LPF is willing to take the lead in this regard. I am sure that we could arrange this world for the benefit of everyone concerned.”

  “Under the leadership of the Peefers? Can we anticipate the anointment of Julian Bohost as Grand Oomphaw on Cadwal?”

  Julian paid him no heed. “Surprisingly, Orreduc knew next to nothing of the LPF. I explained our goals and mentioned my own place in the organization, and he was most impressed. It was quite heartwarming.”

  Wayness had become bored and was happy to discover a distraction. She pointed into the sky, where dusk still lingered.

  “What in the world is that thing?”

  Glawen looked up. “You are looking at a Mad Mountain night-whisk. It’s headed for that cardamom tree yonder.”

  “It looks like a big bundle of black fluff. Doesn’t it have wings?”

  “It’s mostly air, a mouth, a gut and black plumes. It vibrates fibrils which create lift, and the creature flies. It will now perch in the tree and catch insects.”

  The night-whisk settled delicately upon the topmost branch of the cardamom tree. Wayness pointed. “You can see its eyes glittering, like little red lights! What an odd creature!”

  “They almost became extinct, and all the biologists wondered why. Then someone discovered that the Yips were taking time off from work to climb up to the nests, kill the birds and sell the plumes to the tourists. Bureau B quickly invoked Statute Eleven of the Charter, which addresses willful destruction of indigenous species for profit. Under this law the killing of the night-whisks became a crime punishable by death, and the poaching stopped at once.

  “Death?” cried Julian in consternation. “For hunting a bird? Isn’t that extreme?”

  “It doesn’t seem so to me,” said Glawen. “No one stands in the slightest danger unless he breaks the law. It is transparently simple.”

  “I understand!” said Milo. “I will explain to Julian. If I jump off a cliff, I will die. If I kill a night-whisk, I will die. Both acts are discretionary, both are suicide, and a person makes his own choice.”

  Wayness said virtuously: “I’m not afraid of the law. But then I don’t intend to kill night-whisks and sell plumes.”

  Julian, with a sardonic chuckle, said: “Naturally you do not worry, since no matter what, the law would never be applied to you. Only to some miserable Yip.”

  Milo asked Wayness: “What of that? Is Julian right? Would Father sentence you to death for poaching?”

  “Possibly not,” said Wayness. “I’d certainly be sent to my room.”

  A waiter appeared at the table. He spread a red, white and black-checked cloth, brought candelabra and set the candles alight and in due course served the dinner.

  The four spoke little, each occupied with his own thoughts. The candles flickered in the faintest of airs and from the plain came sounds: plaintive, melancholy, ominous.

  They sat long at the table after dinner, drinking green tea. Julian seemed in a pensive mood and had little to say. At last, he heaved a sigh and seemed to rouse himself. “At times I am truly frustrated. Here we sit, four persons subscribing to a common morality, and still at odds over rather fundamental problems.”

  Milo agreed. “It’s an extraordinary situation. In some of our minds, the gears are not meshing.”

  Julian flourished his hand around the sky, encompassing thousands of light-years and stars beyond number. “I can suggest a solution to our problems. Our common morality will be served and any reasonable person will make the necessary adjustments without rancor.”

  “That sounds like the plan we have been waiting for!” exclaimed Milo. “I endorse morality. I think Wayness is also moral; at least there’s been no scandal. Glawen is a Clattuc but not necessarily immoral. In any event, speak! And we will listen.”

  “My plan, in its broadest terms, is simple. ‘Beyond’ is out yonder, behind Circe’s Couch. Thousands of worlds await discovery, some as beautiful as Cadwal. I propose that a revived and dynamic Naturalist Society send out locators, to discover one of these worlds and there establish a new Conservancy, while Cadwal yields to the inevitable realities!”

  “Is that the plan?” asked Milo.

  “It is indeed.”

  Glawen spoke in puzzlement. “Where does morality fit into your scheme? It might be that the divergence you mentioned is here. We are not agreed on the meaning of the word ‘morality.’”

  Milo said soberly: “For convenience we can define it as ‘cosmos, space, time and the Conservancy arranged to the tastes of Julian Bohost.’”

  “Come, Milo, be serious!” said Julian. “Must you forever act the clown? Morality has nothing to do with me. Morality regulates the needs and by democratic processes guarantees the rights of all the folk, not just the caprices of a privileged few.”

  “Superficially that sounds good,” said Glawen. “But it would seem something like a special case. It does not address the situation here on Cadwal, where a colony of illegal vagabonds, who should not be here in the first place, far outnumbers the hardworking folk of Araminta Station. If you gave them the vote, they’d blow us away.”

  Julian laughed. “I will generalize, to clarify my point. In the largest morality, the first axiom ordains equality, which means equal perquisites, equal treatment before the law and an equal share of decision-making power for each member of every civilized race: in short, a truly universal democracy. And that is a truly universal morality.”

  Once again Milo protested: “Please, Julian! Can’t you get your head out of the clouds? This isn’t morality; it’s Peefer egalitarianism in its most hypertrophied form. What is the point of expounding these windy platitudes when you know them to be, at the very least, impractical?”

  “Is democracy impractical? Is this what you are saying?”

  Glawen said: “As I recall, Baron Bodissey had something to say on the subject.”

  “Oh? Was he pro or con?”

  “Neither. He pointed out that democracy could function only in a relatively homogeneous society of equivalent individuals. He described a district dedicated to democracy where the citizenry consisted of two hundred wolves and nine hundred squirrels.

  When zoning ordinances and public health laws were put into effect, the wolves were obliged to live in trees and eat nuts.”

  “Bah,” said Julian “Baron Bodissey was a man from the Eocene.”

  “And I am off to bed,” said Milo. “Today has been long and eventful, with two major achievements. We have designed Julian’s overpass and defined once and for all the term ‘morality.’ Tomorrow may well be as productive. Goodnight all!”

  Milo departed. For a period the three sat in silence, Glawen hoping that Julian would also go off to bed. Julian showed no disposition
to do so, and Glawen suddenly realized that, in fact, Julian was determined to outwait him. Glawen instantly rose to his feet; Clattuc vanity debarred him from so ignoble a competition. He bade Wayness and Julian goodnight and went off to his room.

  Wayness stirred in her chair. “I think I’m for bed, as well.”

  Julian spoke softly: “The night is young! Sit out with me for a while! I’m anxious to talk to you.”

  Wayness reluctantly settled back in her chair. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “I can’t believe you meant what you said before dinner tonight. Tell me I’m right.”

  Wayness rose to her feet. “I’m afraid that you’re wrong. Our lives go in different directions and now I’m going to bed. And please don’t sit out here brooding all the night’“

  For a time Wayness lay awake, her mind too active for relaxation, listening to the sounds which drifted across the night and through her window. Finally she fell asleep.

  In the morning the four arrayed themselves in riding habits provided by the lodge; then, after breakfast, went out to the stables. Glawen brought along a case containing the guns which all would carry in their saddle holsters as a safety precaution.

  In front of the stables four bunters awaited them, with blinders in place over the optic stalks. The bunters were prepared for riding, each with a saddle clamped into the notch in its dorsal ridge. Each saddle was painted a different color: blue, gray, orange and green, by which the bunters could be identified one from the other.

  Wayness looked over the bunters with a dubious droop to her mouth. She had expected sullen, graceless and ill-smelling animals, but these four hulks eclipsed her most vivid imaginings.

  Wayness renewed her study of the bunters. Their sheer bulk was daunting in itself. Each stood six feet high, on six splayed legs, to the serrated upper edge of its dorsal ridge, and measured from eleven to twelve feet in length, exclusive of its tail: a linkage of bony nodules seven feet long. The dorsal ridge at the front terminated in a head of naked bony segments from which depended a flexible proboscis, of an unpleasant pale blue color. Optic stalks lifted from tufts of black fur; these were now covered over by leather cup-shaped blinders. The skin, mottled liver red, gray and purple, hung in flaps and folds and gave off an unpleasant musty odor. Immediately forward of a hump at the base of the creature’s tail the saddles were clamped. A pair of chains attached to the harness constricted the proboscis, and a pole taped to the tail protected the rider, that he might not be lashed or plucked from the saddle.