The Dirdir

by Jack Vance

  The Immaculate approached the captives and unsnapped the chains. Reith snatched his chain free. The Immaculate looked up in slackjawed surprise, the false effulgences drooping to the side of his white face. Reith walked forward, heart pounding in his throat. He felt the pressure of every eye; with great effort he held his gait to a steady, deliberate step. Six feet in front of the Dirdir he halted, so close that he could smell their body odor. They regarded him without display of any kind.

  Reith raised his voice in order to speak clearly: “Dr’ssa! Dr’ssa! Dr’ssa!”

  The Dirdir made small movements of surprise.

  “Dr’ssa! Dr’ssa! Dr’ssa!” Reith called once more.

  The Excellent spoke in a nasal, oboe-sounding voice. “Why do you cry dr’ssa? You are a sub-man, incapable of discrimination.”

  “I am a man, your superior. Hence I cry dr’ssa.”

  Woudiver pushed forward with a self-important huffing and heaving. “Bah! He is mad!”

  The Dirdir seemed somewhat perplexed. Reith called out, “Who accuses me? Of what crime? Let him come forward and let the case be judged by an arbitrator.”

  The Excellent spoke: “You invoke a traditional force stronger than contempt or disgust. You may not be denied. Who accuses this subman?”

  Woudiver spoke. “I accuse Adam Reith of blasphemy, of disputing the Doctrine of Double Genesis, of claiming status equal to the Dirdir. He has stated that Dirdirmen are not the pure line of the Second Yolk; he has called them a race of mutated freaks. He insists that men derive from a planet other than Sibol. This is not in accord with orthodox doctrine, and is repugnant. He is a mischief-maker, a liar, a provocator.” Woudiver accented each of his accusations with a stab of his massive forefinger. “Such are my charges!” He favored the Dirdir with a companionable smirk, then turned and roared at the crowd. “Stand back! Do not press so close upon the dignitaries!”

  The Dirdir fluted to Reith. “You claim this accusation to be false?”

  Reith stood in perplexity. He faced a dilemma. To deny the charge was to endorse Dirdirman orthodoxy. He asked cautiously, “Essentially, I am accused of unorthodox views. Is this a crime?”

  “Certainly, if the arbitrator declares it so.”

  “What if these views are accurate?”

  “Then you must hold the arbitrator to account. Ridiculous as such an eventuality may be, it is tradition and wields its own force.”

  “Who is the arbitrator?”

  The polished bone countenance of the Excellent showed no change, nor did his voice. “In this instance I appoint the Immaculate yonder.”

  The Immaculate stepped forward. In plangent mock-Dirdir tones he spoke: “I will be expeditious; the ordinary ceremonies are inappropriate.” He spoke to Reith. “Do you deny the charges?”

  “I neither confirm nor deny them; they are ridiculous.”

  “It is my opinion that your statement is evasive. It signifies guilt. Additionally your attitudes are disrespectful. You are guilty.”

  “I refuse to accept your verdict,” said Reith, “unless you can enforce it. I hold you to account.”

  The Immaculate regarded Reith with scorn and revulsion. “You challenge me, an Immaculate?”

  “It seems to be the only way I can prove my innocence.”

  The Immaculate looked at the Dirdir Excellent. “Am I so obligated?”

  “You are so obligated.”

  The Immaculate measured Reith. “I will kill you with my hands and teeth as befits a Dirdirman.”

  “As you please. First, remove this chain from my neck.”

  “Remove the chain,” said the Dirdir Excellent.

  The Immaculate said fretfully, “Vulgarity! I lose dignity performing before a gaggle of sub-men.”

  “Do not complain,” said the Excellent. “It is I, Captain of the Hunt, who loses a trophy. Continue; enforce your arbitration.”

  The chain was removed. Reith stretched, relaxed, stretched, relaxed, hoping to restore tone to his muscles. He had hung all night by his wrists, his body felt heavy with fatigue. The Dirdirman stepped forward. Reith became a trifle light-headed.

  “What are the rules of combat?” asked Reith. “I do not wish to commit any fouls upon you.”

  “There are no fouls,” said the Immaculate. “We use hunt rules: you are the game!” He uttered a wild screech and launched himself upon Reith, in what seemed an ineffectual sprawl, until Reith touched the creature’s white body and found it all tense muscle and gristle. Reith fended aside the rush, but was ripped by artificial talons. He attempted an armlock, but could not secure a leverage. He struck the Immaculate a blow under the ear, tried to hack the larynx and missed. The Immaculate stood back in annoyance. The spectators gasped in excitement. The Immaculate again launched himself upon Reith, who caught the long forearm and sent the Dirdirman staggering. Woudiver could not contain himself; he rushed out and struck Reith a buffet across the side of his head. Traz yelled in protest and whipped his chain across Woudiver’s face. Woudiver screamed in agony and sat squashily upon the ground. Anacho wrapped his chain around Woudiver’s neck and yanked it tight. The Elite Dirdirman leaped forward, snatched away the chain. Woudiver lay gasping, his face the color of mud.

  The Immaculate had taken advantage of Woudiver’s attack to seize Reith and bear him to the ground. The wire-tense arms clasped Reith’s body; sharp long teeth tore at his neck. Reith freed his arms. With all his force he clapped his cupped hands upon the white ears. The Immaculate emitted a strangled squeal and rolled his head in agony. Momentarily he went limp. Reith straddled the thin body, as if he rode a white eel. He began to work at the bald head. He tore away the false effulgences, teased the head this way and that, then gave a great twist. The Immaculate’s head hung askew; his body thrashed and floundered, then lay still.

  Reith rose to his feet. He stood shaking and panting. “I am vindicated,” he said.

  “The charges of the fat sub-man are invalid,” intoned the Excellent. “He may therefore be held to account.”

  Reith turned away. “Halt!” said the Excellent, its voice taking on a throaty vibrato. “Are there further charges?”

  A Dirdir of the Elite caste, effulgences rigid and sparkling with crystal coruscations, spoke: “Does the beast still call dr’ssa?”

  Reith swung around, half-intoxicated by fatigue and the aftermath of struggle. “I am a man, you are the beast.”

  “Do you demand arbitration?” the Excellent asked. “If not, let us be away.”

  Reith’s heart sank. “What are the new charges?”

  The Elite stepped forward. “I charge that you and your henchmen trespassed upon the Dirdir Hunting Preserve and there treacherously slaughtered members of the Thisz Sept.”

  “I deny the charge,” said Reith in a hoarse voice.

  The Elite turned to the Excellent. “I request that you arbitrate. I request that you give me this beast and his henchmen and mark him exclusive quarry of the Thisz.”

  “I accept the onus of arbitration,” fluted the Excellent. To Reith, in a tone nasal and coarse: “You trespassed in the Carabas, this is true.”

  “I entered the Carabas. No one ordered me not to do so.”

  “The proscription is general knowledge. You furtively assaulted several Dirdir; this is true.”

  “I assaulted no one who did not attack me first. If the Dirdir wish to act like wild beasts then they must suffer the consequences.”

  From the crowd came a murmur of wonder and what seemed muted approval. The Excellent turned to glance around the plaza. Instantly the sound was muted.

  “It is Dirdir tradition to hunt. It is sub-man tradition and his essential character to serve as quarry.”

  “I am no sub-man,” said Reith. “I am a man and quarry to no one. If a wild beast attacks me I will kill it.”

  The bone-white face of the Excellent showed no quiver of feeling. But the effulgences began to glow, and to become rigid. “The verdict must adhere to tradition,” the creatu
re intoned. “I find against the sub-man. This farrago is now at an end. You must be taken to the Glass Cage.”

  “I challenge the arbitration!” cried Reith. Stepping forward, he buffeted the Excellent on the side of the head. The skin was cold and somewhat flexible, like tortoiseshell; Reith’s hand stung from the blow. The Excellent’s effulgences stood like hot wires; it vented a thin whistle. The crowd stood in unbelieving silence.

  The Excellent reached its great arms to the front in a clutching, ripping gesture. It vented a gurgling scream and poised to leap.

  “A moment,” said Reith, stepping back. “What are the rules of combat?”

  “There are no rules. I kill as I choose.”

  “And if I kill you, I am vindicated, and my friends as well?”

  “That is the case.”

  “Let us fight with swords.”

  “We will fight as we stand.”

  “Very well,” said Reith.

  The fight was no contest. The Excellent came forward, swift and massive as a tiger. Reith took two quick steps back; the Excellent launched itself. Reith seized the horny wrist, planted a foot in the torso; falling backwards he threw the creature in a sprawling somersault. It landed on its neck, to lie in a daze. Instantly Reith was upon it, locking the taloned arms. The Excellent writhed and thrashed; Reith banged its head against the pavement until the bone cracked and whitish-green ichor began to exude. He panted: “What of the arbitration? Was it right or wrong?”

  The Excellent keened—a weird wailing sound, expressing no emotion known to human experience. Reith banged down the harsh white head again and again. “What of the arbitration?” He slammed the head against the pavement. The Dirdir made a great effort to dislodge Reith and failed. “You are the victor. My arbitration is refuted.”

  “And I, with my friends, are now held guiltless? We may pursue our activities without persecution?”

  “This is the case.”

  Reith called to Anacho, “Can I trust it?”

  Anacho said, “Yes, it is tradition. If you want a trophy, pluck out his effulgences.”

  “I want no trophy.” Reith rose to his feet and stood swaying.

  The crowd regarded him with awe. Erlius turned on his heel and strode hastily away. Aila Woudiver backed slowly toward his black car.

  Reith pointed a finger: “Woudiver—your charges were false and you now must answer to me.”

  Woudiver snatched out his power-gun: Traz leaped forward, hung on the vast wrist. The gun discharged, scorching Woudiver’s leg. He bawled in agony and fell to the ground. Anacho took the gun; Reith tied one of the chains around Woudiver’s neck and gave it a harsh tug. “Come, Woudiver.” He led the way to the black car, through the hastily retreating onlookers.

  Woudiver hulked himself within and lay groaning in a heap. Anacho started the vehicle and they departed the oval plaza.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  THEY DROVE TO the shed. The technicians, in the absence of Deine Zarre, had not reported for work. The shed felt dead and abandoned; the space-boat, which had seemed on the verge of coming alive, lay desolate on its chocks.

  The three marshaled Woudiver within, as they might lead a cantankerous bull, and tied him between two posts, Woudiver making a continual moaning complaint.

  Reith watched him a moment. Woudiver was not yet expendable. Certainly he was still dangerous. For all his display and expostulation, he watched Reith with a clever and hard gaze.

  “Woudiver,” said Reith, “you have worked great harm upon me and my friends.”

  Woudiver’s great body became racked with sobbing; he seemed a monstrous and ugly baby. “You plan to torment me, and kill me.”

  “The thought has presented itself,” Reith admitted. “But I have more urgent desires. To finish the ship and return to Earth with news of this hellish planet I would even forgo the pleasure of your death.”

  “In that case,” said Woudiver, suddenly businesslike, “all is as before. Pay over the money, and we will proceed.”

  Reith’s jaw hung in disbelief. He laughed in admiration for Woudiver’s wonderful insouciance.

  Anacho and Traz were less amused. Anacho poked the great belly with a stick. “What of last night?” he demanded in a suave voice. “Do you recall your conduct? What of the electric probes, and the wicked harness?”

  “What of Deine Zarre, the two children?” spoke Traz.

  Woudiver looked appealingly toward Reith. “Whose words carry weight?”

  Reith chose his words carefully. “All of us have cause for resentment. You would be a fool to expect ease and conviviality.”

  “Indeed, he shall suffer,” said Traz through gritted teeth.

  “You shall live,” said Reith, “but only to serve our interests. I don’t care a bice for your life unless you make yourself useful.”

  Again in Woudiver’s eyes Reith discerned a cold and crafty glint. “So it shall be,” said Woudiver.

  “I want you to hire a competent replacement for Deine Zarre, at once.”

  “Expensive, expensive,” said Woudiver. “We were lucky in Zarre.”

  “The responsibility for his absence is yours,” said Reith.

  “No one goes through life without making mistakes,” Woudiver admitted. “This was one of mine. But I know just the man. He will come high, I warn you.”

  “Money is no object,” said Reith. “We want the best. Secondly, I want you to summon the technicians back to work. All by telephone, of course.”

  “No difficulties whatever,” declared Woudiver heartily. “The work will proceed with dispatch.”

  “You must arrange immediate delivery of the materials and supplies yet needed. And you must pay all costs and salaries incurred henceforth.”

  “What?” roared Woudiver.

  “Further,” said Reith, “you will remain tied between those posts. For your sustenance you must pay a thousand—or better, two thousand sequins each day.”

  “What!” cried Woudiver. “Do you think to cheat and bewilder poor Woudiver?”

  “Do you agree to the conditions?” Reith asked. “If not I will ask Anacho and Traz to kill you, and both of them bear you grudges.”

  Woudiver drew himself to his full height. “I agree,” he said in a stately voice. “And now, since it seems that I must sponsor your hallucinations and suffer the backbreaking expense in the bargain, let us instantly get to work. The moment I see you vanish into space will be a happy one, I assure you! Now then, release these chains so that I may go to the telephone.”

  “Stay where you are,” said Reith. “We will bring the telephone to you. And now, where is your money!”

  “You can’t be serious,” Woudiver exclaimed.

  Footnotes

  [1] A binocular photo-multiplying device, with a variable magnification ratio up to 1000 x 1: one of the articles Reith had salvaged from his survival kit.

  [2] Phung: solitary nocturnal creature indigenous to Tschai.

  [3] An inexact rendering of the word tsau’gsh: more accurately, a band of determined hunters who have claimed the right to prosecute a quest or a task, in order to win status and reputation.

  [4] Gray: Loose term for the various peoples hybridized of Dirdirmen, Marshmen, Chaschmen and others, generally stocky and large-headed, often with yellow-gray complexions, occasionally somewhat albinoid.

  [5] Literally: the way of death’s-heads with purple-gleaming eye-sockets.

  [6] Sums expressed in sequins are in terms of the unit value sequin, the “clear.”

 

 

 
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