The Jester at Scar dot-5 Read online

  "Soon. I'm taking a survey to check the state of the crop. If it's ready we'll start right away. In any case, you can pass the word that we'll be needing men."

  "Sure, Boss. The same terms?"

  "Piecework, yes, but we've got to cut the price by five percent." Zopolis didn't look at the other man. "It isn't my doing," he said. "I'm just following orders. It's a reduction all along the line."

  "The processing sheds too?"

  "Yes, but we'll reserve those jobs for the weak and incapable." The ones who've starved too much and too long, he thought, the ill, the chronically sick, the dying. "I'll have a word with Brother Glee about that. He'll know who to pick." He glanced sharply at the overseer. "Something on your mind?"

  "Heldar, Boss, I don't want him around."

  "Why not? He's a regular."

  "He's trouble. There's talk of someone moving claim markers and stealing original finds. I don't figure on letting him use our rafts and our time for his own business."

  "He was on scout duty," mused Zopolis thoughtfully. "It would give him the opportunity. Do you think he's guilty?"

  Wandara shrugged. "I don't know, Boss. He could be; he knows a lot about electronics and could rig up a detector. I just don't want him around."

  "Ground him," decided the agent. "Put him to work here in the sheds. Give him three days; and if he starts to loaf, get rid of him."

  Leaving the overseer, he walked down the shed to where the door stood open. He opened it still more and stepped outside. The sun was nearing its zenith and the heat was stifling. The dull red light of the sun stained the ground, the buildings and the faces of those walking about the station, so that it seemed they all lived in a giant oven.

  He caught a glimpse of motion and turned. A raft was rising from Hightown, anti-gravity plates robbing it of weight and the engine sending it silently through the air. Beneath a transparent canopy, a cluster of tourists sat in air-conditioned comfort. They were all looking downward at the weird forest of colorful growths spreading all around the station to the limits of visibility.

  Zopolis sighed, envying them a little. They could sit and watch and wonder at the fantastic configurations of the exotic fungi, at their monstrous size, endless variety and incredible rate of growth. He had to test and judge and select the exact moment to commence the harvest. If it were too early, the crop would lack flavor, if too late, there would be no time to gather the quantity needed to make the operation a financial success. The fungi would reach maturity, produce spores, lose quality, and, worse, perhaps be contaminated by harmful elements.

  Not for the first time he wished that he had taken up a different profession.

  * * *

  The entertainment had been discreetly advertised as a program of strange and unusual practices of a cultural nature collected on a score of primitive worlds. To Adrienne it was a monotonous collection of boring filth.

  The whippings didn't disturb her and neither did the flayings, cuttings, scarification of tender organs and feats of drug-assisted endurance; Eldfane had hardened her to the spectacle of pain. On that rough world, punishment was public and, if any sightseers gained an erotic satisfaction from the spectacle it was an unintentional bonus. To her, pain was meant to hurt and nothing else. As for the rest, she grew impatient with the sighs and inhalations of the others crowded in the small auditorium. Surely there was nothing strange about sex.

  Impatiently she turned, searching for her maid. The girl sat with her eyes enormous, her moist lips parted and her body twitching in time to the hiss and crack of the whip. Colors from the three-dimensional representation flowed over her flawless skin and touched her dark hair with shimmers of rainbow brilliance.

  "Keelah!"

  The girl blinked. "My lady?"

  "Attend me!" Adrienne rose, careless of the comfort of those to either side and careless of those she thrust aside on her way to the exit. The anxious entrepreneur bowed as she approached.

  "My lady, I trust the performance did not offend?"

  "You did ill to invite me," she snapped. "The factor will hear of this, and," she added, "it would not be for you to visit either Jest or Eldfane. My father has a way of dealing with vermin of your kind."

  "My lady?"

  "Stripped," she said brutally, "castrated, blinded and released in the streets as sport for the mob."

  Regally she swept through the corridors of Hightown. A scarlet shadow detached itself from a bench and fell into step at her side.

  "Do you return to the ship, my lady?"

  She did not look at the cyber. "You have some other suggestion?"

  "A raft could be hired if you wish to see Scar. The growths at this time of the season are extremely interesting. The visual aspect, too, is most unusual."

  With an effort she restrained her temper, remembering who the cyber was and what he represented. The Cyclan was quick to avenge any injury or slight done to its members.

  "Thank you, Yeon, but no." Spitefully she added, "Have you any other suggestions?"

  "There are always the information tapes on Jest, my lady."

  Irritably she thinned her lips, half suspecting him of irony. Surely he must know that she was in no mood for education. A guard at the exit bowed as they approached, opened the first door and bowed again as they passed. There were two more doors and a second guard stood before the final barrier. As they passed into the open air a man flung himself at her feet.

  "My lady! Of your charity, save a dying man!"

  She stepped back, suddenly fearful. Assassins had been known to adopt strange disguises.

  "Please, my lady!" Heldar raised distorted features to her. "A word with your husband on my behalf-a single word!" His voice rose as she stepped farther back. "At least let me spin again! It is my life, my lady, my life!"

  "What is this?" Anger replaced her fear. Where were the guards, the retinue without which one of her station should never be without. "Who are you?"

  Yeon stepped between the groveling suppliant and the woman. "Attend your mistress," he said to the girl and then he said to Adrienne, "My lady, do not concern yourself; the man is distraught. With your permission, I will attend to the matter."

  She nodded and swept towards the ship, fuming with rage. I, the queen of a world, to be treated so! And still Jocelyn refuses to leave this backward place. Still he insists on playing his stupid games, making his stupid promises and talking all the time of destiny and fate.

  But there was one thing at least she could do.

  "Quick-time?" Jocelyn rose from his chair as she burst into his cabin with her demand. "Are you so bored?"

  "I am."

  "But there is so much to see. You could visit Lowtown- Ilgash will accompany you-or inspect the village around the station. We could invite the factor and a few others to a meal, and surely Hightown has something to offer in the way of entertainment."

  She was insistent. "I did not leave Eldfane to be stranded on this apology of a world. You seem able to amuse yourself, but I cannot. I see no pleasure in walking through slums, eating with commercially-minded fools or watching unsavory images. I refuse to suffer longer because of your whims."

  "Suffer?" Jocelyn stepped close and looked into her eyes. "Are conditions so unbearable?" he asked softly. "I had the impression that we were on our honeymoon. There are many ways, in such circumstances, to alleviate the slow passage of time."

  "Must you talk like a peasant!" Memory of the recent entertainment brought a red flush to her cheeks. "There will be time enough to conceive an heir after we land on Jest. Until then, I demand to be spared further humiliation. At least quick-time will shorten this interminable period of waiting. I shall, of course," she added, remembering the girl's nubile beauty, "expect Keelah to attend me."

  Jocelyn frowned, understanding the innuendo, and his face grew hard. "I am sorry. It would not be convenient at this time to grant your request."

  She looked at him, eyes wide with incredulous anger.

  "You are my wife,
" he said. "As such, your place is by my side. Because things are a little tedious, do you imagine that you can escape them by running away?" His voice was a hammer driving home the point it was essential to make. "Jest is not a soft world, Adrienne. There is much that will prove tedious and unpleasant but will have to faced. I suggest that you begin to learn the basic elements of self-discipline."

  He was being unfair and knew it. Eldfane, also, was not a soft world; but the aristocracy had cushioned themselves against its natural harshness by becoming encysted in ritual and formality. Now, as his wife, Adrienne expected to be the head of such a world within a world. It was best to disillusion her now.

  Training helped her to contain her anger. "You are well named," she said coldly, "but I do not appreciate the jest. Neither, do I think, will my father."

  He bridled at the threat. "You wish to break the contract? Let me warn you that, if you do, you will not be welcome at your father's house. He has too many daughters still unwed. Why else do you think he was so eager to give me your hand?"

  Immediately he repented of his cruelty. "Adrienne," he said, softly. "I did not marry you simply for your dowry, nor because we are genetically compatible and should have no trouble obtaining issue. I married you because-"

  "You needed a wife to breed more fools," she interrupted savagely, "a woman to bring you goods and credit and the loan of trained and intelligent minds. Well, you have those things, but do not expect to gain more. And do not expect me to aid you with your insane projects. I do not relish being the butt of lesser folk. I, at least, have dignity."

  "And can you live on that?" Her rejection sharpened his rage. "You dislike slums, but are there no slums on Eldfane? You sneer at commercially-minded fools, but who else is to plot our prosperity? Unsavory images are only what you make of them and, in any case, who are you to either judge or condemn?" He fought his anger, drawing air deep into his lungs and wondering where his sense of the ridiculous had gone. Now, above all, he needed the soothing balm of humor. "Scar is a backward world," he said. "There is no industry here, no real population, certainly no ruling class. These people will mostly be gone at the end of summer and we shall, most probably, never see any of them again. So, my dear, why be concerned over your image?"

  "Is pride a garment to be taken off and put aside?" Her voice was thin and acid with dislike. "I gain no pleasure from this conversation. With your permission, my lord, I will retire."

  He sighed as she swept from the room. Women, who can gauge their emotions? Perhaps I've been wrong to deny her the use of quick-time. The hours drag and who knows what mischief a bored and idle woman might do? And yet she has to learn, accept the fact that life has to be lived, if nothing else.

  He sat down and picked up his book. He held it in one hand as he stared at the cover, but he did not see the stained and crumbling material beneath the plastic seal. He was thinking of other things. Jellag Haig for one. The trader was hovering on the brink of decision, a little more pressure and he would surely yield.

  Thoughtfully, Jocelyn leaned back in his chair.

  It would be best to make him a baron, he decided, to begin with, at least. Later, if he proved himself, he could be elevated to an earl or even a duke, but first he would be a baron.

  Baron Jellag Haig of Jest.

  It made a satisfying mouthful and would please his family. He would have an armored crest together with a residence and an estate, a small residence and a big estate.

  Land was cheap on Jest.

  Chapter Five

  Ewan sat at his table, deft hands busy as he manipulated his shells. The little ball bounded from one to the other, vanishing only to reappear and vanish again.

  "A test of skill," he droned in his flat, emotionless voice. "Now you see it, now you don't. Pick the shell it is under and I will double your money. The more you put down the more you pick up. Why risk your neck when you can get rich the easy way? Hurry, hurry, hurry. Hit while the game is hot."

  Like the room, he thought, the station, the whole stinking planet. Late summer on Scar was the anteroom of hell. He glanced around beneath hooded eyes, his hand moving mechanically and his voice droning its attention-getting chant. No one took any notice; business was bad.

  Business had been bad all through the season. There had been the usual flurry at the end of spring when those in deep sleep had awakened eager for a little excitement, but lack of a reliable protector had made him cautious. He'd been forced to play carefully, letting too many win too often, hoping to recoup later in the season.

  Later could be too late. Those who had been lucky would be in a hurry to leave the planet, and those that hadn't would be conserving their money in order to pay for deep sleep or, if they lacked enough for that, hugging every coin to see them through to the next summer. A few would be desperate enough to take a risk, but they would have little to lose.

  "Hurry, hurry, hurry," he droned. "Pick the shell with the ball and double your money. Step up and match the quickness of your eye against the swiftness of my hand." He scowled at the continuing lack of attention,

  "You're getting good," said Dumarest. He walked from behind the gambler and sat down facing him. "Real good. You could almost pass for an honest man."

  "I am an honest man," said Ewan. "I am exactly what I appear to be." He looked up, studying the other man. "You've been out a long time, Earl. Find anything good?"

  Dumarest shrugged. "The usual. A few clumps which might pay enough to keep us going."

  "You and Clemdish?"

  "That's right."

  Ewan nodded and then abruptly pushed away his shells. "I saw you when you came in," he said. "The pair of you. You both looked all in, but Clemdish was up and about some time ago. My guess is that you carried him, did all the work."

  "You guess wrong," said Dumarest. "I'm not that stupid. If I take a partner, he does his full share." He changed the subject. "How's business?"

  "Not so good. Ewan pursed his lips and leaned back in his chair. I've had to work under a handicap. No protection," he explained. "And money seems to be tighter than ever. Have you heard the gossip?"

  "About the ship with the joker?" Dumarest nodded. "I heard."

  "A weird character," summed up the gambler. "But he isn't the only one." He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Listen, if you've found anything really good, be careful; I mean extra careful. There's something odd going on, too many men hanging about for no obvious reason. I've seen it happen before. A lot of good men seemed to vanish about that time."

  "Jumpers?"

  "I don't know. But when a man comes back from harvesting what he's found, he's liable to be tired and a little careless. If someone was waiting for him, he wouldn't stand much of a chance."

  "That's obvious," said Dumarest.

  "Sure, it is, but if I can think of it, then so can others." Ewan reached out and touched his shells, moving them casually with the tips of his fingers. "There's a few of them in here right now."

  Dumarest didn't move.."Where?"

  "Over at the bar, the group in the far corner. And there's something else: I overheard someone talking about a ring." The shells made a little sliding sound as Ewan moved them from side to side. "A ring like the one you're wearing."

  Dumarest frowned. "I don't get it. Why should they be interested in my ring?"

  "I didn't say they were," corrected the gambler. "But there's one sure way to find out."

  "Sometimes," said Dumarest, "you make pretty good sense."

  He rose, smiling as if at a joke, and casually turned. Three men stood engaged in conversation, one of them looking in his direction. The man was a stranger. He crossed to where Zegun stood before his wares, and managed to catch a glimpse of the other two. Both were unfamiliar. None of the three bore any resemblance to the cat-man or his companion. They could have been entrepreneurs, minor traders, or belated prospectors, but Ewan knew his people.

  "Hello, Earl." The vendor smiled his pleasure. "Glad to see you back. I was beginning to
wonder if you'd had an accident. You were both out a long time."

  "We took a good look around," said Dumarest. "One thing I'll say for Clemdish, he certainly knows how to live off the land. He even found some drinkable water."

  "I know," said Zegun. "He's got a nose for it. He told me that you'd covered quite an area."

  "Told you?"

  "When he ordered your supplies," explained the vendor, "a few hours ago."

  Dumarest kept his voice casual. "Maybe I'd better check his list."

  "You're the boss." Zegun found a slip of paper. "Here It is: suits, spare filters, power cells, a couple of machetes, tent, collection sacks and storage containers, the usual equipment, rope too." Zegun looked curious. "I wondered about that. What the hell do you need rope for, Earl?"

  Dumarest was bland. "We're going fishing," he said, "from a raft."

  Zegun laughed. "Now I know you're joking. Every raft on the planet is booked solid. Even the tourist transport's locked up tight." He scowled, suddenly annoyed. "Something should be done about those fat slobs taking a man's living. They get a yen to go hunting, buy a suit and hire a guide and hope to find something to help pay expenses. But they've got to do it the easy way, they've got to ride."

  "Why not?" said Dumarest. "Wouldn't you?"

  "Sure," admitted Zegun. "But that doesn't make it right."

  * * *

  Clemdish looked down at his hands. "I'm sorry, Earl. I was only trying to help."

  "By tipping our hand?" Dumarest walked three paces to the end of the cubicle, turned and walked back again. He halted, staring down at the man sitting on the edge of the bed. "Rope," he said. "Any idiot would guess from that that we'd found something in the hills. Why didn't you leave it to me to order the equipment?"

  Clemdish met his eyes. "What difference would it have made? We still need rope."

  "Maybe," said Dumarest. "I'm not so sure."

  "Earl?"

  "The golden spore is in a place almost impossible to reach. We've got to find it, harvest it and bring it back. The chances are that we won't even be able to get near it unless we've got a raft. Even if we do manage to collect it, our troubles won't be over."