Ecce and Old Earth

CHAPTER II

Midnight was two hours gone. Araminta Station was quiet and dark, save for a few yellow lamps along Wansey Way along the beach road. Lorca and Sing were gone behind the western hills; across the black sky streamed the coruscating sparkling flow of Mircea’s Wisp.

In the shadows to the sled of the airport hangar there was furtive movement. A door opened; Glawen and Chilke slid out the modified Skyrie. The frame had been fitted with floats and a cabin; the swamp crawler had been strapped to the cargo deck; fairings had been attached wherever possible.

Glawen walked around the vehicle and saw nothing to alter his mood. Chilke said: “One last word, Glawen. I have in the office a bottle of very fine very expensive Damar Amber, which we will drink on your return.''

“That seems a good idea."

“On second thought, perhaps we should break into it now, just to make sure of it, so to speak.”

“I prefer to think that I will be returning'' “That is a more positive approach," said Chilke. ”You might as well get going. The way is long and the Skyrie is slow. I'll keep Benjamie hard at it in the warehouse taking inventory so you should be safe from that direction."

Glawen climbed into the control cabin. He waved his hand at Chilke and took the Skyrie aloft.

The lights of Araminta Station dwindled below. Glawen set off on a westward course which would take him to the side of the high Muldoon Mountains at minimal attitude, across the continent of Deucas, across the great Western Ocean to the shores of Ecce.

The lights became faint and glimmered away in the east; the Skyrie drifted through the night sky at its best speed. With nothing better to do, Glawen stretched out on the seat, wrapped himself in his cloak and tried to sleep. The lightening sky of dawn aroused him. He glanced from the window to find forested hills below: the Syndics, according to his charts, with Mount Pam Pameijer looming high to the south.

Late in the afternoon Glawen passed the western coast of Deucas: a line of low cliffs with lazy blue swells crumpling into ribbons of white spume at their feet. Cape Tierney Thys jutted west; beyond lay the ocean. Glawen reduced altitude; the Skyrie flew onward, southwest by west, fifty yards above the long blue swells of the Western Ocean. The course should bring him to the east coast of Ecce where the Great Vertes River entered the ocean.

The afternoon passed; Syrene dropped below a clear horizon, leaving dainty white Lorca and pompous red Sing to rule the western sky; two hours later they too sidled down and out of sight and the night became dark.

Glawen checked his instruments, verified his position on the pre-plotted course and again tried to sleep.

An hour before noon of the following day Glawen noted distant clouds rearing into the western sky. An hour later a low dark line appeared at the horizon: the coast of Ecce. Glawen reverified his position on the chart and was assured that directly ahead lay the mouth of the great Vertes River, at this point perhaps ten miles wide. Exact measurements were impossible, by reason of the vagueness of distinction between water and land of the surrounding swamp.

As Glawen approached the water below changed color, talking on an oily olive-green luster. Ahead the Vertes estuary became evident; Glawen swung somewhat to the north so that he might skirt the northern shore. Dead trees, logs, snags, tangles of brush and reeds floated on the current. Below appeared a bank of slime grown over with reeds; he had arrived at the continent Ecce.

The river flowed through a miasma of swamps, floats of water-logged vegetation, dull blue, green and liver-colored; occasionally fingers of soggy marshland supported a growth of sprawling trees, holding foliage of every shape up toward the sky. Through the air a hundred sorts of flying organisms wheeled and darted, sometimes diving down into the mud to emerge with a writhing white eel, and sometimes into the water, or occasionally one pouncing down upon another. Upstream on the river floated a dead tree. Perched in one of the branches was a disconsolate mud-walker a gangling half-simian andoril eight feet tall, all bony arms and legs and tall narrow head. Tufts of white hair surrounded a visage formed of twisted cartilage and plaques of horn, with a pair of ocular stalks and a proboscis on its spindly chest. Beside the drifting tree the river surged; a heavy head on a long thick neck rose above the surface. The mud-walker squealed in horror; the proboscis its chest squirted fluids toward the head, but to no avail. The head showed a gaping yellow maw; it jerked forward, engulfed the mud-walker and sank beneath the surface. Glawen thoughtfully raised the Skyrie so that it flew somewhat higher above the river.

Now was that time of day when the heat reached its oppressive maximum, so that the denizens of Ecce tended to become inactive. Glawen himself grew uncomfortable, as heat penetrated the cabin, taxing the competence of the cooling unit Chilke had installed. Glawen tried to ignore the sweltering conditions and concentrate on what must be done. Shattorak still lay a thousand miles to the west; Glawen could not hope to reach the base before dark, and nighttime would not be optimum for his arrival. He slowed the Skyrie to a hundred-mile-an-hour drift along the river, which allowed him opportunity to survey the unfolding panorama.

For a time the landscape consisted of olive-green river to his left hand and swamps to his right. On the slime, families of flat gray animals slid about on flaps attached to their six legs. They browsed on young reeds, moving sluggishly until a heavy tentacle with an eye at the tip thrust up from the mud, at which they darted away at astonishing speed, so that the tentacle struck down into the mud defeated.

The river embarked on a series of meandering loops, first far to the south, then back an equal distance to the north. Glawen, consulting his charts, struck off across the intervening tongues of land: for the most part dense jungle choked over with trees. Occasionally a rounded hummock rose to an elevation of as much as fifty feet. Sometimes the summits lacked vegetation, in which case each was inhabited by a heavy-headed beast with a lithe slate-gray body: a creature similar to the bardicant of Deucas, thought Glawen. As the Skyrie drifted past he noticed that the summit was cropped clean of vegetation by a band of waddling russet rodents, bristling with short heavy spines. The stone-tiger surveyed the troop with a lofty detachment, and turned itself away, evidently without appetite for the: creatures: a surprise to Glawen; on Deucas the bardicant devoured anything which came its way with undiscriminating voracity.

From the west drifted heavy gray banks of clouds, trailing curtains of rain across the landscape. A sudden squall struck the Skyrie and buffeted it sidewise, rocking and sliding, followed a moment later by a freshet of rain, so that Glawen could no longer see so much as the river below.

For an hour the rain streamed down upon the land, then drifted away to the east, leaving open sky overhead. Syrene floated low toward a tumble of angry black clouds; Lorca and Sing pursued their own erratic dance off to the side. To the west and slightly north, Glawen made out the silhouette of Shattorak: a dim brooding shadow on the horizon. Glawen took the Skyrie down at a slant to the river to fly close beside the right bank, almost grazing the surface, to make the Skyrie as inconspicuous as possible to any detectors which might be active on the summit of Shattorak.

Glawen flew on while Syrene sank into a welter of clouds. The river channel, at this point, was two miles wide. Tremulous fields of gray slime to either side supported tufts of black reeds tipped with pompons of blue silk, spongy dendrons holding aloft a pair of enormous black leaves. Along the surface ran multiple-legged skimmers in search of insects and mud worms. Beneath the slime another sort waited, invisible save for a periscopic eye barely protruding above the surface, or sometimes concealed among the reeds. When an unwary skimmer ventured near, the tentacle lifted high and darted down to seize the victim and then drag it below the surface. The torpid interval had passed; the inhabitants of Ecce were out in full force: feeding, attacking, fighting or fleeing, each to its particular habit.

Troops of mud-walkers climbed through the trees, or strode across the slime on feathery feet, prodding the muck with long lances in order to gaff and retrieve a mud worm or some other morsel. Such creatures were representative of a more or less andromorphic genus prevalent everywhere, in many aspects and species, across Cadwal. These 'mud-walkers' stood seven feet tall on spindly double-jointed legs. Their high narrow heads were surmounted with caste-markers of colored fronds; black fur grew in tufts and blotches from hard hides which shone with a luster sometimes lavender, sometimes golden-brown. Despite a seeming contempt for discipline, they went with vigilance, inspecting the terrain before venturing in any direction. When they noticed a periscopic eye they chittered in outrage and pelted the organ with mud-balls and sticks or squirted it with repellant fluids from their chest proboscis, until the eye sullenly retreated into the mud. Coming upon large predators they showed what seemed reckless audacity, throwing branches, prodding the creature with their lances, then darting aside from its lunges on great high-legged jumps, sometimes even running up and down a massive back, shrilling and chitterling in glee, until the beleaguered creature submerged in the river or the slime, or fled pounding into the jungle.

So went the affairs of Ecce, as Glawen flew through the dark yellow light of late afternoon. Syrene sank; Lorca and Sing cast a weird pink illumination over the river, and as they too approached the horizon, Glawen neared the closest approach of the Vertes to Shattorak.

Across the river Glawen noted a low bald hummock, which upon investigation revealed no stone-tiger in residence. Glawen cautiously set down the Skyrie and erected a surrounding electric fence with enough potential to kill a stone-tiger and stun or disable anything larger.

Glawen stood out in the dusk of Ecce for a few moments, listening, breathing the air, feeling the oppression of the humidity and heat. The air carried an acrid stink, which presently began to cause him nausea. If this were the ordinary air of Ecce, then he must be sure to wear a respirator. But a breeze from the river blew past, smelling only of dank swamp water, and Glawen decided that the stench was resident upon the hummock itself. Glawen retired into the cabin of the Skyrie, and insulated himself against the outside environment.

The night passed. Glawen slept fitfully and was disturbed only once, when some sort of creature brushed against the electric fence. Glawen was awakened by the thud of the discharge, followed by a muffled explosion. He turned on a high floodlight to illuminate the area, and looked through the window. On the cropped turf lay a ruptured corpse from which drained a yellow ooze: one of the lumpish bristle-backed creatures he had seen browsing on another hummock. Steam created by the electric energy had burst the creature's heavy gut; nearby a dozen other such creatures grazed undisturbed by the incident.

The fence had not been damaged; Glawen returned to his makeshift couch.

Glawen lay for a few moments listening to the night. From far and near came a variety of sounds: long low eerie moans, coughing grunts and hoarse snarling grinding noises; cackles and squeaks, whistles and fluting cries uncannily similar in timbre to the human voice…. Glawen dozed, and woke only to the light of Syrene rising in the east.

Glawen made a perfunctory breakfast of packaged rations, and sat for a few moments wondering how best to conduct his mission. Beyond the river rose the mass of Shattorak a low cone shrouded in jungle two thirds of the way to the summit.

Glawen disarmed the electric fence and stepped from the cabin to fold it into a bundle. He was instantly struck with a stench of such immoderate proportions that he jerked back into the Skyrie, gasping and wheezing. At last he gained his composure and looked respectfully out toward the corpse. The usual plague of carrion-eaters: insects, birds, rodents, reptiles and the like, was nowhere in evidence; had all these creatures been repelled by the stench? Glawen reflected for a few moments, then consulted the taxonomic almanac included in the flyer's information system. The dead creature, so he discovered, belonged to a small but distinct order, unique and indigenous to Ecce, and was known as a 'sharloc’. According to the index, the sharloc was notorious for ‘an odorous exudation secreted by bristles along the dorsal integument. The odor is both repulsive and vile.'

After a moment or two of reflection, Glawen donned his jungle-suit: a garment of laminated fabric which insulated him from exterior heat and humidity by means of a flowing film of cool air from a small air-conditioning unit. He stepped outside and with a machete hacked the sharloc corpse into four segments, grateful that the filters in his air-conditioning unit excluded all but a trace of the stench.

One of the segments he tied to the forward end of the Skyrie’s frame with twenty feet of light cord; he similarly tied a second gobbet to the after end of the frame. The other two pieces he gingerly caught up in a bag and loaded upon the bed of the flyer.

Syrene now stood an hour high in the east. Glawen looked to the north across the river, here two miles wide and marked only by drifting snags and detritus. Before him, at the back of swamp and jungle, nose the bulk of Shattorak, gloomy, brooding and sinister.

Glawen climbed into the Skyrie, took it aloft, and flew at low altitude back across the river with the two gobbets of sharloc dangling below. Where swamp impinged upon the river he saw a tribe of mud-walkers, hoping and sliding, leaping and marching, from tuft to tuft, running high-legged across the slime with great finesse and style, pausing to thrust down their lances in hopes of harpooning a mud slug. Glawen saw that they were being stalked by a flat black many-legged creature which slid across the slime with stealthy movements. Here, thought Glawen, was a good test of his theory. He changed course, to drift over the flat black predator, the segments of sharloc hanging low. The predator writhed forward suddenly, but the mud-walkers had fled in bounds and jumps; and now, from a distance, inspected the Skyrie with astonished attitudes.

The test, thought Glawen, had been indecisive. He flew on, toward the dark line of dendrons and water-logged trees where swamp merged with jungle. In one of the trees he noticed a monstrous serpent forty feet long and three feet in diameter, with fangs at one end and a scorpion’s sting at the other. It slid slowly down a branch, head dangling toward the ground. Glawen flew close above; it writhed and coiled and flailed its sting into the air and then slid rapidly away.

In this case, thought Glawen, the trial had seemed to yield positive results.

Skimming the treetops Glawen searched the area below and presently noticed a large hammer-headed saurian directly ahead. He lowered the Skyrie slowly above the mottled black and green back, until the sharloc segments dangled only three feet from the saurian’s head. It became agitated, lashed its heavy tail, roared and charged a tree; the tree fell crashing to the ground. The saurian pounded onward, whipping its tail to right and left.

Once again the test might be interpreted positively, but whatever the case, Glawen deemed it prudent to delay his expedition up the side of Shattorak until mid-day, when — so it was said — the beasts of Ecce became torpid. In the meantime, he must find cover for the Skyrie, to keep it safe from molestation. He approached the edge of the jungle, and landed in a small open area.

The mud-walkers had been watching with curiosity and a constant interchange of rattles and squeaks. With grotesque celerity they scampered around to the windward slide of the Skyrie, and slowly approached, beating on the ground with their lances and extending red ruffs to signal displeasure. Fifty feet from the Skyrie they halted and began to hurl mud-balls and twigs. In exasperation Glawen took the Skyrie into the air and flew back toward the river. A half-mile upstream he found a cove shaped by the current and dropped the Skyrie into the water, so it floated on its pontoons. He took it to a tuffet of thorn but was deterred from mooring the flyer by a horde of angry insects, oblivious to the submerged chunks of sharloc — of questionable efficacy in any case, after submersion.

Glawen let the flyer drift on the current to a stand of black dendrons, all pulp, punk and scaly bark, but adequate for the mooring of the flyer, or so it would seem.

Glawen made fast the flyer and took stock of the situation, which was neither the best nor the worst. The sky was overcast; the afternoon rains would shortly be upon him, but these could not be avoided. As for the predators, stinging and biting insects, and other dangers endemic to the country, he had prepared himself to the best of his ability, and now must take his chances.

Glawen unclamped the swamp crawler from its chocks. The evidence seemed to indicate that sharloc stench was repellent, Glawen tied the remaining two segments to front and rear of the crawler, then winched it off the deck into the water, where it floated on its own pontoons. He loaded aboard his backpack and such equipment as he deemed useful, climbed aboard the crawler, and churned toward the shore.

To Glawen’s annoyance the tribe of mud-walkers had arrived on the scene, where they watched his approach in agitation, ruffs displaying the bright red of displeasure and threat. Glawen steered so as to arrive at shore upwind, where he hoped that they might be dissuaded from approach by the stench of sharloc. He did not wish in any way to harm them: an act of incalculable consequence were it to occur regardless of precautions. They might either be driven away in terror or their furious vengeful hostility incurred, against which, in the depths of the jungle, Glawen might have no control. He halted the crawler a hundred yards from shore and let it drift. As he had hoped, the putrid sharloc appeared to dissuade the mud-walkers from further hostile behavior. They turned away with a final barrage of insults and mud balls and wandered off. Of course, thought Glawen, they may simply have become bored.

Cautiously Glawen approached the shore. Syrene was now halfway up the sky and the heat would have been debilitating save for the jungle-suit. A dead hush fell over the swamp, broken only by the whir and buzz of insects. Glawen noted that they seemed to veer away from the crawler, which saved him the necessity of activating the insecticide fogger.

Glawen arrived at the first banks of slime; the crawler churned doggedly forward. He made ready the guns at each side of the crawler, setting the range of response at thirty yards, and setting the mode to 'automatic,' and not a moment too soon. From the slime only twenty feet to the right of the crawler an optic tentacle reared high. Instantly the gun responded, aiming at the motion and destroying the tentacle with a burst of energy. The slime heaved and sucked as the creature below tried to decide what had happened to it. At a distance of a hundred yards the mud-walkers watched in awe, and presently set up a screeching outburst of vituperation, and threw sticks which fell far short and which Glawen ignored.

The crawler slid across the slime and without further incident entered the first fringes of the jungle, and now Glawen was faced with a new problem. The crawler capably negotiated thickets and bushes, tangles of vines, and was even able to push over a small tree. However, when trees with dense and heavy trunks grew so closely as to deny the crawler access, then Glawen was forced to choose a new route, which was often a time-consuming procedure. He discovered, to his discomfiture; that neither the time of torpidity, nor the sharloc stench, nor the automatic gun, nor all three together were enough to protect him from harm. By chance he noted on a branch under which he was about to pass a crouching back creature all maw, fangs, claws, and sinew. It poised immobile and the gun failed to detect its presence. If the crawler had proceeded below, the creature could have dropped directly upon him. Its bulk alone would crush him, even though the automatic gun by that time would have killed it. Glawen destroyed the thing with his handgun and thereafter proceeded in a much more cautious state.

Up the slope of Shattorak went the crawler, occasionally finding an easy avenue for fifty or sixty yards, but more often Glawen was forced to dodge right or left, squeeze through narrow gaps, sidle along declivities, moving far more slowly than he liked.

The afternoon rains came, and thrashed down upon the jungle. Glawen’s visibility was much reduced, as was his margin of safety. At last, toward middle afternoon, he arrived at a gully choked with a growth too dense for the crawler to penetrate. At this point the summit was visible, less than a mile upslope. With resignation Glawen lighted from the crawler, slipped into his backpack, made sure of his weapons, and set off on foot: scrambling through the gully, killing a hissing gray bewhiskered creature which sprang at him from the dank shadows, fogging a nest of slinging insects, and finally arriving breathless at the uphill side of the gully. The slope thereafter became less difficult, with vegetation less fecund and with longer perspectives of visibility.

Glawen climbed across outcrops of decayed black rock, through copses of giant fuzz ball trees, around solitary horsetail ferns sixty feet tall and barrel trees with boles ten to twenty feet in diameter.

As Glawen approached the summit, ledges of the rotten black stone began to appear and presently, halting behind a copse of mitre dendrons, he looked out on a strip of open hillside a hundred yards wide, isolated from the flat summit by a stockade of posts woven with saplings and branches ten feet high. Along the strip a number of rude huts could be seen, either built into the crotch of a barrel tree or on the ground. These were protected by makeshift stockades of their own. Some were in use as habitations; others were dilapidated and rapidly decaying to the onslaughts of rain and sun. A few plots of ground had been brought under desultory cultivation. Here, thought Glawen, was the Shattorak jail; prisoners could escape any time the desire came upon them. Now then: where was Scharde?

Most of the huts were clustered about a gate through the stockade: the more distant from the gate, the more dilapidated their condition.

Glawen moved through the shadows, to station himself as close to the gate as he dared. There were six men within range of his vision. With the afternoon overcast providing relief from the direct rays of Syrene, one man mended the roof of his tree hut. Two worked dispiritedly in their gardens; the others sat with their backs to the boles of the barrel trees, eyes focused upon nothing. Five of the prisoners seemed to be Yips. The man who worked on the roof of his hut was tall, gaunt, black of hair and beard, hollow-cheeked, with a pale ivory complexion which seemed to show a lavender undertone around the eye-sockets.

Scharde was nowhere to be seen. Might he be in one of the huts? Glawen inspected each in turn, but discovered nothing significant.

Rain suddenly struck down on Shattorak, producing a muffled drumming sound that filled all the horizons. The prisoners without haste went to their huts and sat in the doorways with the rain sluicing from the thatch in front of their faces and into collection pots. Glawen took advantage of the rain to slip furtively across the slope to one of the deserted huts, which provided a degree of shelter. Nearby he noted a hut perched thirty feet high in the first crotch of a huge barrel tree; this would provide him an even better vantage point. He darted through the downpour to the ladder and clambered up to the rickety porch of the tree hut. He looked through the door, and finding no one, took refuge within.

The hut afforded good visibility indeed: over the walls of the stockade and across the width of the summit. The rain blurred details but Glawen thought to see a group of ramshackle structures built of posts, branches and thatch, much like the tree huts. The structures were to his right, on the eastern side of the summit. To the left, the ground humped up in a series of rocky ledges. A pond fifty yards wide occupied the center of the area. No living creature could be seen.

Glawen made himself as comfortable as possible and set himself to wait. Two hours passed; the rain stopped; the low sun flashed for a few instants through the clouds. The time of torpidity had ended and no longer deterred the creatures of Ecce; once again they set forth upon their missions: to attack and rend, to sting, kill and devour, or to avoid such an eventuality by whatever desperate tactics served them best. From his perch in the tree Glawen could see far and wide over the jungle, over the bends and loops of the mighty Vertes River and far to the south across the swamps of Ecce. From below came a variety of sounds, some muted, some ominously close at hand: choking, gurgling roars; staccato grunts; ululations and screams; hoots and resonant drumming sounds.

The gaunt dark-haired man descended from his tree hut. With an air of purpose he went to the gate which led into the summit compound. Putting his hand through an aperture he manipulated a latch; the gate opened and he stalked through, crossed the compound to a nearby shed, into which he disappeared. Odd, thought Glawen.

Now that the rain had stopped, his view across the central compound was unhindered, but he saw nothing markedly different than before, except on the highest point of the ground to the left a low structure had been built which, in Glawen’s estimation, would seem to house a radar installation, to provide warning of approaching aircraft. Glawen noted no movement through the windows; the installation would seem to be automatic. Glawen studied the area with care. According to Floreste, five flyers, or perhaps more, were stored here on Shattorak. They were nowhere evident — an eminently reasonable situation, thought Glawen. The shacks, the stockade and the huts of the prisoners would never be noticed by any but the most careful observation; the textures and irregularities would function as camouflage — but where could five flyers be hidden?

Glawen noticed that the terrain at the western edge of the area showed a rather unnatural conformation, and it might well be that storage space had been carefully roofed over with imitation soil and stone. As if to validate his theories, a pair of men came briskly into sight from over the side of the western slope and climbed to the small hut which Glawen assumed to be a radar transceiver. These men seemed not to be Yips, although as he watched, four Yips appeared from the far side of the summit and came to the shed which the black-haired man had entered. These Yips, Glawen noted, wore hand weapons at their waists, though they seemed oblivious to the prisoners out on the strip.

Half an hour passed. The two men remained in the observation station. The four Yips returned the way they had come: across the summit and out of Glawen’s sight. The two occupants of the observation tower now came down to stand beside the pond, looking into the northern sky.

Several minutes passed. Low in the sky to the north a flyer appeared, approached and settled to a landing beside the pond. Two men alighted, a Yip and another: this one slight of physique, dark of complexion, with a scruff of dark beard. The two brought from the flyer a third man with arms shackled behind his back and a loose hood over his head. The three were joined by the two from the observation tower; the entire group of five went to the largest of the sheds, the prisoner hunching disconsolately along, propelled by a man to either side of him.

Half an hour passed. The Yip and the bearded non-Yip emerged from the shed, went to the flyer and departed into the northern sky. The remaining two brought out the prisoner, led him across the summit and out of sight past the rock outcrops.

Another half hour passed. From the near structure, which Glawen now thought to be the cook shed, came the gaunt dark-haired man, whom Glawen identified as the cook. He carried several buckets though the gate and out upon the prison strip. He set the buckets upon a table near the gate, and struck the table three times with a stick, by way of signal. The prisoners approached the table, bringing with them pannikins. The cook served them from the buckets, then returned through the gate to the cook shed.

Five minutes later the cook emerged once more, carrying two smaller buckets. He took these across the summit, in the direction the prisoner had been taken, and disappeared from Glawen’s sight behind the first ledge of rock. Five minutes later, he returned to the cook shed.

The time had progressed to late afternoon. From the far side of the summit came other men in groups of two or three. Glawen thought that the total number might be nine or ten. After consuming their supper in the cook shed, they returned the way they had come.

Syrene sank in the west; Lorca and Sing cast a rosy twilight murk over the swamps and jungles, which abruptly dimmed as clouds again swept over the sky and again rain thundered down upon Ecce. Glawen at once descended from his vantage, ran through the downpour, and climbed to another of the tree huts, there he waited.

Half an hour passed; the rains ceased as suddenly as they had come, leaving a heavy darkness, broken only by a few soft yellow lights within the compound the glow of three bulbs at the top of the stockade which illuminated the prison strip. From the cook house came the gaunt dark haired cook. He crossed the compound, opened the gate, stood for a moment surveying the strip to make sure that it harbored no savage beasts, then closed the gate and walked swiftly to the tree which supported his hut. He climbed the ladder pushed through the opening which gave on the little porch in front of the hut, closed the trap door and secured it against intruders. Turning, he started to enter his hut only to stop short.

Glawen said: “Come into the hut. Make no disturbance."

The cook spoke in a strained reedy voice: “Who are you?" And then, more sharply: “What do you want?”

“Come inside and I will tell you.”

Step by unwilling step the cook came forward, to halt warily just within the open doorway, where the wan illumination of the stockade cast black shadows on his long face. He tried to speak in a firm voice: “Who are you?”

"My name would mean nothing to you, “said Glawen.” I have come for Scharde Clattuc. Where is he?”

The cook stood rigid a moment, then jerked his thumb toward the stockade. “Inside.”

“Why is he inside?"

“Hah!" — a bitter laugh. “When they want to punish someone, he is put down in a doghole.”

“What might that be?”

Lights and shadows shifted along the cooks face as he grimaced. “It is a pit eight feet deep and five feet square, with bars on top, open to both sun and rain. Clattuc has so far survived."

For a moment Glawen was silent. Then he asked: “And who, then, are you?"

"I am not here by my own choice: I assure you!"

"That was not my question.”

"It makes no great difference; nothing is changed. I am a Naturalist from Stroma. My name is Kathcar. Every day it becomes more difficult to remember that other places exist."

“Why are you here at Shattorak?”

Kathcar made a dreary guttural sound. “Why else? I ran afoul of the Oomphaw, and a cruel trick was played upon me. I was brought here and given a choice: working at the cook house or sweltering in a doghole.” Kathcar’s voice rang with bitterness. "Is it not preposterous?”

"Yes, of course. The Oomphaw is preposterous. But for the moment, how best can we rescue Scharde Clattuc from the doghole?"

Kathcar started to blurt out a protest, then reconsidered and fell silent. After a moment he spoke, in a somewhat what different tone of voice and his head tilted to the side. "You are planning, I gather, to free Scharde Clattuc and take him away?"

“That is correct."

"How will you cross the jungle?”

“A flyer is waiting below."

“Kathcar pulled at his beard. “It is a dangerous project: a true doghole affair."

"I expect that it is. First, there will be killing, of anyone who hinders me or raises an alarm."

Kathcar gave a wincing jerk of the head, and turned a nervous glance over his shoulder. He spoke in a cautious voice: “If I help you, you must take me out as well."

“That is reasonable.”

“This is your guarantee?"

“You may count on it. Are the dogholes guarded?”

“Nothing and everything is guarded. The compound is small. Folk are irritable and on edge. I have seen some strange slights.”

“Then when is the best time to act?”

Kathcar considered a moment. “For the doghole, one time is as good as another. The glats come up from the jungle in an hour or two, and then no one dares stir from the trees, since glats merge with the shadows and one never knows they are near until it’s too late.”

"Then we had best go now for Scharde.”

Again Kathcar seemed to wince, and again he looked over his shoulder. "There is no real reason to wait," he said hollowly. He turned and stepped furtively out on the little porch. “We must not be seen by the others; they might raise an outcry out of pure anger." He peered right and left along the strip, among the huts: there was nothing to see, neither movement nor flicker of light. Heavy overcast smothered the sky and every trace of starlight. Humid air reeked with the odors of jungle vegetation. Away from the dim glow of the stockade lamps the shadows were opaque and absolute. Kathcar, at last reassured, descended the ladder, with Glawen coming close behind.

“Be quick now,” said Kathcar. “The glats sometimes come early. Do you carry a gun?”

“Of course."

“Hold it ready.“ At a crouching bent-kneed lope Kathcar ran to the gate. He reached through the port, worked the latch mechanism. The gate swung open, just far enough to allow a man to pass. Kathcar peered through the opening, then spoke in a husky whisper "No one seems to be out. Come, to the rock yonder." He sidled along beside the stockade, seeming to merge with the texture of the materials. Glawen followed, and joined Kathcar in the dense shadow behind a rock ledge. "That was the risky part. We could have been seen from the high hut had anyone looked.”

“Where are the dogholes?”

“Just yonder, up and around that shoulder of rock. Now we had best go on hands and knees.” He set off crawling through the shadows. Glawen followed. Kathcar suddenly dropped flat. Glawen inched up beside him.

“What is the trouble?”

“Listen!”

Glawen listened, but heard nothing. Kathcar whispered: “I heard voices."

Glawen listened, and thought to hear a mutter of conversation, which presently became still.

Kathcar moved off through the shadows, crouching low. He stopped, turned his face down, spoke softly: “Scharde Clattuc! Do you hear me? Scharde? Scharde Clattuc?”

A husky response arose from the doghole. Glawen crawled forward. He felt horizontal bars under his hands. "Father? It is Glawen."

"Glawen! I am alive, or so I believe."

"I have come for you." He looked to Kathcar. "How do we lift the bars?”

"At each corner is a rock. Move it aside.”

Glawen groped along the bars and found a pair of heavy rocks, which he pushed aside, while Kathcar did the same on the opposite side. The two lifted the barred frame aside; Glawen reached down into the pit. “Give me your hands."

A pair of hands reached up; Glawen grasped and pulled. Scharde Clattuc emerged from the doghole. He said: "I knew that you would come. I only hoped that I would be alive at the time."

Kathcar spoke fur a reedy whisper: "Come; we must put the bars back in place, along with the rocks, so that no one will notice.”

The doghole was covered once again and the rocks put back in place. The three crawled away: first Kathcar, then Scharde and Glawen. In the shadow of the ledge they paused to rest and to assess the compound. A glimmer of light fell on Scharde's face; Glawen stared unbelieving into the haggard countenance. Scharde's eyes seem to have sunk into his head; the skin of his face stretched taut over bone and cartilage. He felt Glawen’s eyes upon him and grinned a ghastly grin. “No doubt I look a poor case."

"A very poor case indeed. “Are you fit to walk?"

"I can walk. How did you know where to find me?"

“It is a long story. I only arrived home a week or so ago.” Floreste supplied the information. "

“Then I must thank Floreste."

“Too late! He is dead."

Kathcar said, “Now! To the gate, along beside the stockade, as before."

Like flitting shadows the three arrived at the gate without challenge, and sidled out upon the strip, where wind blowing through the trees created a mournful sound. Kathcar searched the terrain, then gave a signal. “Quick then! To the tree!” On long strides he ran to the tree and started up the ladder. Scharde came next, at a hobbling trot, followed by Glawen. Kathcar gained the porch and looked over as Scharde climbed a painful step at a time. Kathcar reached through the opening and pulled Scharde up on the porch. He called urgently down to Glawen: "Hurry; "a rackleg is running this way!”

Glawen scrambled through the opening; Kathcar slammed down the trapdoor. From below came a rasping thump, a hiss, a jar. Glawen looked to Kathcar, “Shall I kill it?"

“No! The carrion would bring all manner of things; let it go its way. Come into the hut."

Inside the hut the three composed themselves to wait. A glimmer from the stockade lamps entered the hut, to Illuminate Scharde's face; once again Glawen was appalled by his father's wasted countenance. “I returned to the Station only about a week ago — and I have much to tell you — but no one knew where you were. Floreste gave us the facts and I came as quickly as I could; I am sorry it could not have been sooner."

“But you came, as I knew you would!”

“What happened to you?"

“I was lured and trapped, neatly and cleverly. Someone at the Station betrayed me.”

“Who was it, or do you know?"

"I don’t know. I went out on patrol and over the Marmion Brakes I noticed a flyer, heading east. It was not one of ours and I was sure it had come from Yipton. I dropped low and followed at a distance, where I would not be noticed. The flyer flew east, around the Tex Wyndom Hills and out over Willaway Waste. It descended and landed in a small meadow. I came in low and circled, looking for a place to land where I would not be observed. My intent was to capture the flyer and the passengers, and to learn what was going on, if possible. I found a perfectly situated landing area about half a mile north, behind a low ridge of rock. So I landed, armed myself and set off to the south, toward the ridge. The route seemed easy: too easy. As I passed a jut of rock, three Yips dropped down on me. They took my gun, tied my arms, and brought me and my flyer to Shattorak. It was a neat and clever trick. Someone at the Station who had access to the patrol schedules is a spy, and perhaps a traitor.”

"His name is Benjamie,” said Glawen. “At least, that is my guess. What happened then?"

"Not a great deal. They put me into the doghole, and there I stayed. After two or three days someone came to look down at me. I could not see clearly: no more than a silhouette. The person spoke: it was a voice I instantly loathed, as if I had heard it before-a heavy chuckling voice. It said: ‘Scharde Clattuc: here you are and here you shall bide. Such is your punishment.’ ”

"I asked: ‘Punishment for what?’ ”

“The answer came: ‘Need you ask? Consider the wrongs you have done to innocent victims!’ ”

“I said nothing more, since I had nothing to say. Whoever it was went away, and that is my last contact with anyone."

Glawen asked: “Who do you think spoke to you?"

“I don’t know. I have not thought about it.”

Glawen said: “I will tell you what happened to me, if you like. It is a long story; perhaps you would rather rest."

“I have been doing nothing else. I am tired of rest."

"Are you hungry? I have dry rations on my pack."

“I am hungry for something other than porridge.''

Glawen brought out a packet of hard sausage, biscuits and hard cheese and passed them over to Scharde. “Now then, this is what happened after Kirdy Wook and I left the Station.”

Glawen spoke for an hour, ending his narrative with a description of Floreste's letter. "I would not be surprised if the person who spoke to you were not Smonny herself."

“It might be so. The voice was odd."

Rain had started to fall, drumming down upon the roof in what seemed a solid sheet of water. Kathcar looked out the doorway. "This storm goes on and on, worse than usual.”

"Scharde gave a grim laugh. “I am happy to be out of the doghole. Sometimes it would fill up to my hips with water."

Glawen turned to Kathcar. “How many dogholes are there?"

“Three. Only one was occupied, by Scharde Clattuc until this afternoon, when they brought in another prisoner."

"You took food to him; who was he,“ asked Glawen?

Kathcar made a fluttering gesture of the hand. “I pay no attention to such thing. To save my own neck I obeyed orders, no more."

“Still, you must have taken note of the prisoner."

"Yes, I saw him." Kathcar hesitated.”

"Go on. Did you recognize him, or hear his name?"

Kathcar responded grudgingly: "As a matter of fact, they spoke his name in the cookhouse, and they were all laughing together, as if at some great joke.”

“Well then, what was the name?"

“Chilke."

“Chilke! In the doghole?”

"Yes. That is correct.”

Glawen went to look out the door. The rain obscured his vision; he could see nothing but the stockade lamps.” He thought of Bodwyn Wook and his cautious plans; his calculated risks and compared them to the impulses of his emotions, but the entire process required less than a minute. He gave one of his guns to Scharde. “The crawler is down the hill, across the first gully. There is a flame-thrower tree just beyond. Directly below, where the river bends you will find the flyer. This is case I do not come back.”

Scharde, without comment, took the gun. Glawen signaled to Kathcar. “Come.”

Kathcar held back. He cried out: "We should not presume upon our luck! Do you not agree? Our lives deserve to be cherished; let us not ponder lost opportunities from the dogholes!”

“Come." Glawen started down the ladder.

“Wait!" cried Kathcar. “Look first for beasts!"

"There is too much rain,” said Glawen. “I can't see them. Nor can they see me.”

Cursing under his breath, Kathcar followed down the ladder. “This is senseless and reckless!”

Glawen paid no heed. He ran through the rain to the stockade. Kathcar followed, still crying out complaints which went unheard in the storm. He opened the stockade gate; the two passed through.

Kathcar spoke into Glawen’s ear: “In the rain they might think to activate their motion sensor, so we had best go the same way as before. Are you ready? Come along then! To the rock!"

The two ran crouching beside the stockade, with the rain hissing around their ears. Under the rock they halted. “Down low!” Kathcar ordered. “As before follow close, or you will lose me.”

On hands and knees the two scuttled through the muck, past the first doghole, up and around a ledge, down into a rocky hollow. Kathcar halted. “We are here.”

Glawen felt for the bars. He called down into the blackness: “Chilke Are you there? Can you hear me? Chilke?”

A voice came from below. “Who's calling for Chilke? It’s a waste of time; I can't help you.”

“Chilke its Glawen! Stand up; I'll pull you out.”

“I'm already standing, so that I don’t drown.”

Glawen and Kathcar moved aside the bars and pulled Chilke to the surface. “This is a glad surprise, “said Chilke.

Glawen and Kathcar replaced the bars; the three crawled across the compound to the stockade, ran crouching to the gate, passed through. For a moment the rain seemed to diminish its force; Kathcar peered up and down the strip. He gave a startled hiss. “There's a glat! Quick! To the tree!"

The three ran to the tree and scrambled up the ladder. Kathcar secured the trap door just as something heavy slammed against the tree.

Kathcar spoke to Glawen in dour tones: “I hope no more of your friends are captives?"

Glawen ignored the remark. He asked Chilke "What happened to you?"

“Nothing at all complicated,“ said Chilke. “Yesterday morning two men jumped me, threw a bag over my head, taped my arms, stowed me aboard our new J-2 flyer and flew away. Next thing I knew I was here. One of the men, incidentally, was Benjamie; I could smell the fancy pomade he wears in his hair. When I get back to the Station, he is out of a job, since he cannot be trusted."

“Then what happened?"

“I heard some new voices. Someone led me into a shack and pulled the bag from my head. Certain peculiar things happened next which I am still sorting out. Afterwards, I was conducted to the doghole and dropped in. This gentleman here brought me a bucket of porridge. He asked me my name, and mentioned that it looked like rain. After that I was left alone, until I heard your voice, which I was glad to hear."

"Odd," said Glawen.

“What will we do now?"

“As soon as we can see, we leave. We won’t be missed. Until they come to the cookhouse for breakfast and find no Kathcar.”

Chilke peered through the dark. "Your name is Kathcar?"

“That is correct." Kathcar spoke stiffly.

"You were right about the rain."

“It is a terrible storm,” said Kathcar. ”The worst I have seen."

“You have been here long?"

“Not too long.”

“How long?”

“About two months.”

“What was your crime?”

Kathcar responded tersely: "I am not sure in my own mind why I am here. Apparently I offended Titus Pompo, or something of the sort.”

Glawen told Chilke and Scharde: “Kathcar is a Naturalist from Stroma.”

“Interesting” said Scharde. "How is it that you are acquainted with Titus Pompo?”

“It is a complicated matter, not presently relevant."

Scharde said nothing. Glawen asked him: “Are you tired? Do you wish to sleep?”

“I am probably stronger than I look.” Scharde's voice drifted away. “I think I’ll try to sleep.”

"Give your gun to Chilke."

Scharde gave over the gun, crawled across the hut and stretched out on the floor. Almost at once he dozed.

The rain waxed and waned: slowing for a few minutes as if passing over, then suddenly striking down in new fury. Kathcar marveled anew: “This storm is incredible!

Chilke said: “Scharde has been here about two months. Who came first: you or Scharde?"

Kathcar appeared to dislike questions. As before, he answered curtly: “Scharde was here when I arrived.”

“And no one explained why you were here?"

“No.”

“What of your family and friends at Stroma? Do they know of your whereabouts?"

Bitterness tinged Kathcar’s voice. “As to that, I cannot guess."

Glawen asked: ''Were you an LPFer at Stroma, or a Chartist?”

Kathcar surveyed Glawen sharply. “Why do you ask?”

“It might cast light on why you were imprisoned.”

“I doubt it."

Chilke said: "If you have run afoul of Titus Pompo, you must be a Chartist.”

Kathcar spoke frostily: “Like the other progressives of Stroma, I endorse the ideals of the LPF party.”

“Very strange!“ declared Chilke. “You were clapped into jail by your best friends and good clients: I refer, of course, to the Yips.”

“No doubt there was a mistake, or a misunderstanding,” said Kathcar. “I do not care to dwell on the matter, and I will let bygones be bygones.”

“You Peefers are a high-minded group, “said Chilke. “As for me, I crave revenge.”

Glawen asked Kathcar: “You are acquainted with Dame Clytie Vergence?”

"I am acquainted with this woman.”

"And Julian Bohost?”

"I know him. At one time he was considered an influential member of the movement."

"But no longer?”

Kathcar spoke in measured terms. "I differ with him on several important points."

“What of Lewyn Barduys? And Flitz?"

"I am not acquainted with either. And now, if you will excuse me, I too will try to rest." Kathcar crawled away.

A few moments later the rain stopped, leaving a silence broken only by the splash of drops falling from the trees. Imminence charged the air.

Purple-white dazzle fractured the sky. A second of tense silence and another — then an explosion of thunder, dying in a sullen rumble. Across the jungle came a response of grinding chatters, angry roars and bellows.

Silence again, and the pressure of imminence then a second burst of lightning, and for an instant every detail of the compound was illuminated in brilliant lavender light, followed as before by another clap of thunder. After a moment the rain started again, in a new torrent.

Glawen asked Chilke: “What happened in the shed that was so peculiar?”

“I live a very peculiar life,” said Chilke. “If you think of it like this, the business in the shed is just a typical incident, even though the average man might be astounded.”

“What happened?”

“First, a Yip in a black uniform took the bag from my head. I saw a table with some documents arranged in a neat pile. The Yip told me to sit down, which I did.”

”It seems that I was under surveillance from a lens across the room. A voice came from the speaker ‘You are Eustace Chilke, native to Big Prairie on Earth?’ “

“I said, yes, that was the case, and to whom was I talking?”

“The voice said: ‘Your single concern at the moment must be the set of documents you see in front of you. Sign them where indicated.’ “

“The voice was harsh and distorted, and not at all friendly. I said: ’I suppose it is pointless to complain of the outrage represented by this kidnapping.‘ “

“The voice said: 'Eustace Chilke, you have been brought here for good and sufficient reason. Sign the documents and be quick about it!' “

“I said: ’It sounds like Madame Zigonie talking, but not in a kindly voice. Where is the money you owe me for six months work?’ “

“The voice said: 'Sign the papers at once, or it will be the worse for you.' “

“I looked the papers over. The first deeded all my property, without exception or reservation, to Simonetta Zigonie. The second was a letter to whom it might concern authorizing the delivery of my property to the bearer. The third, which I liked the least, was my will, bequeathing everything I owned to my friend Simonetta Zigonie. I tried to protest. ‘I'd like to think things over, if you don't mind. I suggest that we go back to Araminta Station and settle the matter like ladies and gentlemen.’ “

“ 'Sign the papers,' said the voice, 'if you value your life!' “

“ I saw that there was no reasoning with the woman. I said: ‘I'll sign if you like, but it’s all a great puzzle, since I own little more than the shirt on my back.’ “

“ 'What of the articles you inherited from your grandfather?’ “

“ They don’t amount to much. The stuffed moose is a bit shabby. There is a small rock collection, with bits of gravel from a hundred planets, a few oddments of bric-a-brac including some purple vases, and probably more junk of the same sort out in the barn. I seem to remember a rather nice stuffed owl with a mouse in its beak.”

” ‘What else?’ “

“That's hard to say, since the barn has been so thoroughly burgled that I almost feel ashamed offering the stuff to you.”

“ ‘Let us have no more delay. Sign the papers, and be quick about it.' “

“I signed the three documents. The voice then said: 'Eustace Chilke, you have saved your life, which henceforth shall be spent repenting your fleering and cavalier attitudes, and your disregard for the sensitivities of those who might have wished to befriend you.' “

“I decided that Madame Zigonie was referring to my stand-offish conduct at Shadow Valley Ranch. I told her I didn’t mind apologizing if it would do any good, but she said that it was too late for that, and what must be, must be. I was taken out and dropped into the doghole, where I instantly got busy repenting. I assure you I was glad to hear your voice."

Glawen asked: "You have no idea what she is looking for?”

“It must be that some of Grandpa Swaner's belongings have more value than I supposed. I wish he had let me know while he was still alive.”

“Someone must know something. Who could it be?"

“Hmf. Hard to say. He dealt with lots of strange people — junk dealers, thieves, antiquarians, book dealers. I remember one chap in particular, who was Grandpa's friend, colleague, rival and accomplice, all at the same time. I think they were both members of the Naturalist Society. He traded Grandpa a set of exotic bird feathers and three Pandango soul masks for a parcel of old books and papers. If anyone knew Grandpa s affairs inside-out, it would be this chap.”

“Where is he now?"

“I couldn't say. He got into trouble over some illicit tomb-robbing and fled off-planet to evade the authorities."

Glawen, chancing to look over his shoulder, saw the pale glimmer of Kathcar's face, much closer than he had realized. It was evident that Kathcar had been listening to the conversion.

The rain returned in another drumming downpour, and persisted until a hint of wet gray light indicated the coming of dawn.

Light seeped into the sky, and the length and breadth of the prison strip became visible. The four men departed the tree hut and started downhill through the dripping jungle. Glawen went first, followed by Chilke, both with guns at the ready. Presently they arrived at the gully, to find it hip deep in running water, which could not be waded because of the presence of water-snappers. Glawen selected a tall tree, sheared its trunk with energy from his gun and dropped it across the gully to create a slippery bridge.

The men found the crawler as Glawen had left it; they clambered aboard and headed down the slope slowly to avoid sliding out of control. Almost at once they were attacked by a splay-legged creature twenty feet long, with eight clashing mandibles and tail curled forward that it might project a noxious fluid at its prey. Chilke killed it even as it aimed its tail, and the creature fell to the slide, mandibles gnashing and the tall waving back and forth, discharging a dark fluid into the air.

A few moments later Glawen halted the crawler, the better to select a route and in the silence an ominous sound could be heard through the underbrush. Scharde gave a croak of alarm; Glawen looked up to see a triangular head six feet across, split into a gaping fanged maw, descending through the foliage at the end of a long arching neck. Glawen fired his gun by reflex, destroying the head. A moment later something bulky toppled and crashed into the jungle.

As best he could Glawen guided the crawler downhill the way he had come. The slope at last began to flatten and the jungle foliage became thin. The vehicle began to splash through water where the river had overflowed the slime. A tribe of mud-walkers watched from across the swamp, hooting and screaming. The water deepened; the crawler began to lose contact with the slime and float on the swirling water.

Glawen halted the crawler. He turned to his three companions and pointed to a clump of vegetation. “This is where I left, the flyer, tied to a tree in that clump yonder. The tree must have broken away last night in the storm and carried the flyer away.”

“That is bad news,” said Chilke. He looked eastward along the face of the swollen river. “I see lots of snags and dead trees, but no flyer.”

Kathcar gave a hollow groan. “We were better off at the prison.”

"You, perhaps, were better off,“ said Glawen. “Go on back if you like.”

Kathcar said no more.

Chilke spoke ruminatively: “With a few tools and a few materials I could contrive a radio. But there are neither on the crawler."

“It is disaster!” lamented Kathcar. “Sheer disaster!”

“Not just yet," said Scharde.

“How can you say differently?”

“I notice that the current moves about three miles an hour, no more. If the tree fell in the middle of the night — let us say, six hours ago — it will have drifted eighteen miles or less. The crawler can move five or six miles an hour on the water. So if we set off now, we should overtake the tree and the attached flyer in three or four hours.”

Without further words Glawen started up the crawler and set off downstream.

The crawler floated across a wilderness of water, through a swelter of heat and glare reflected from the surface, humidity which seemed to stifle the breath and make every movement an effort of monumental proportion. As Syrene rose, the heat and glare became actively painful. Glawen and Chilke rigged an awning using branches and foliage salvaged from the stream, after first shaking away the insects and small serpents watch might be clinging to the leaves. The awning provided a large measure of relief. From time to time great heads or ocular process rose from the water with evident latent to attack; constant vigilance was necessary to avoid sudden overwhelming disaster.

For three hours the crawler churned down the river, passing by dozens of snags, dead trees, rafts of detritus, floating reed tussocks. Despite earnest and anxious search, the Skyrie failed to show itself. Kathcar at last asked: “And what if we go another two hours and still don't find the flyer?”

“Then we start thinking very carefully,“ said Chilke.

"I have already been thinking carefully,“ said Kathcar sourly. I do not believe thinking is helpful in this case."

The river widened; Glawen steered a course keeping the left shore always within range of vision, with the main sweep of the river to the right.

Another hour passed. Ahead appeared a spot of white: the Skyrie. Glawen heaved a great sigh and sank down on the bench, feeling an extraordinary emotion mixed of lassitude, euphoria and an almost tearful gratitude for the favorable workings of Destiny. Scharde put his arm around Glawen’s shoulders. “I cannot find words for what is in my mind."

"Don't be too grateful too fast," said Chilke. “It looks like we have pirates aboard the craft.”

“Mud-walkers!" said Glawen.

The crawler approached the flyer. The tree to which it had been moored apparently had been caught in an eddy and swung into a bank of muck, where it lodged. A tribe of mud-walkers, fascinated by the curious floating object, had run across mud and water and climbed through tangles of debris to approach the craft. At the moment they were prodding at the bag of animal segments Glawen had left on deck, and pushed it into the river.

A vagrant breeze wafted the odor to the crawler, prompting an exclamation from Chilke. “What in the world is that?"

“The odor is from a bag of bad-smelling animal pieces,” said Glawen, "which I left on the deck to keep mud-walkers off.” He went to the front of the crawler and waved his arms. “Go away! Get off! Go!”

In response the mud-walkers screamed in fury and threw mud-balls at the crawler. Glawen aimed his gun at the tree and blasted away a great branch. With startled outcries the mud-walkers ran off across the mud, spindly legs pumping furiously, knees held high. At a safe distance they halted and attempted another barrage of mud-balls, without success.

The four men climbed aboard the flyer. Glawen threw buckets of water down the deck hoping to allay the lingering stink of the sacked animal parts and to wash overbroad the litter left by the mud-walkers. The crawler was hauled aboard and made secure. “Goodbye, Vertes River," said Glawen. “I have had all I want of you. He went to the controls, took the flyer aloft and flew down river at a low altitude.

At dusk the four dined on the provisions Glawen had stowed aboard. The river broadened and spilled into the ocean. Lorca and Sing disappeared and the Skyrie flew across the Western Ocean through the starlight.

Glawen spoke to Kathcar “I am still not clear in my mind as to why you were brought to Shattorak. You must have done something to annoy Smonny, since Titus Pompo himself apparently counts for little.”

Kathcar said coldly: “The matter is over and done with, and I do not wish to go into it any further.”

“Nevertheless, we are all interested, and there is ample time for you to go into full detail.”

“That may be,” said Kathcar. "Still, the affair is personal and private.”

Scharde said gently: “Under the circumstances, I don’t think you can expect to keep affairs of this sort private. It is much too close to all of us, and we are justifiably interested in what you can tell us."

Chilke said: “I must point out to you that both Scharde and Glawen are Bureau B personnel, and their questions have an official tinged to them. As for me, I want to find out how best to make Smonny pay, and also Namour and Benjamie and anyone else who thought that I might not resent being dropped into a doghole.”

“I resent it as well," said Scharde. “I am working to keep my rage under control.”

"Everything considered," said Glawen, “you had better explain to us what we want to know.”

Kathcar was mulishly silent. Glawen prompted him. "You are a member of the LPF faction at Stroma. How did you become acquainted with Smonny Clattuc, or Madame Zigonie — or whatever else she may call herself?”

"It is nothing to marvel at,” said Kathcar with great dignity. "The LPF is concerned with conditions at Yipton, and wishes to bring Cadwal into modern times, and out of the sleep of centuries."

"So. You traveled to Yipton?"

"Naturally. I wished to observe the factual state of conditions."

"You went alone?"

Kathcar again became testy. "What possible difference does it make with whom I went?"

"Identify these persons, and allow us to be the judge.”

"I went with a deputation from Stroma."

"Who was in the deputation?"

“Several members of the LPF”.

"Was Dame Clytie one of them?"

Kathcar was silent a long ten seconds. Then he made a furious gesture of frustration" "If you must know, yes!" “And Julian?"

"Naturally," said Kathcar with a sniff. “Julian is energetic and insistent. I have even heard him described as a bit bumptious, though perhaps I should not characterize him in this fashion."

"We are discreet, and will not report your condemnation to Julian," said Scharde with a grin. “So what happened at Yipton?"

"You must understand that, while the LPF uniformly and unanimously agrees on the need for progressivism, there are several concepts as to which direction the changes must go. Dame Clytie speaks for one of these philosophies and I represent another, and our conferences are not always harmonious.”

Glawen asked: "How do your views differ?"

"It is mainly a matter of emphasis. I favor a carefully structured leadership organization for the new Cadwal and I have designed the system in careful detail. Dame Clytie, I fear, is a bit impractical and imagines a new society of happy peasants, singling at their toil, dancing and playing tambourines up and down the village commons every night. Everyone will be story-teller or musician; everyone will take joy in producing beautiful artifacts. How is the new community to be governed? Dame Clytie endorses a concept where everyone, young and old, male and female, dolt and sage, all alike are supposed to debate issues at conclaves, then agree by glad hurrahs and vocal acclamations. In short, Dame Clytie opts for a democracy in its purest, most basic and amorphous form.” Glawen asked: “And the native beasts? What happens to them?”

Kathcar spoke airily. “The wild animals? Dame Clytie is not over-interested in the problem. They must learn to live with the new order. Only the truly nasty and repellent creatures will be driven away or exterminated.”

“And your views are different?"

“Very much so. I call for a structured centrality, with authority to formulate policy and establish regulations."

“So then, you and Dame Clytie composed your differences and went together to Yipton?"

Kathcar draw back his lips in a sardonic grimace, half-smile, half-sneer. “The junket to Yipton was not my idea. I don’t know for certain where the idea originated, but I suspect that Julian, who is always in favor of intrigue, the more devious the better, evolved the notion. I know that he consulted a certain Namour during one of his visits to Araminta Station, and then possibly broached the idea to Dame Clytie. Whatever the case, the plans were made. When I learned how the wind was blowing, I insisted upon joining the deputation, to ensure that my point of view be made known.”

“We flew to Yipton. I knew nothing of Simonetta or her status; I thought that we would be conferring with Titus Promo, and so I was astounded when we went into conference with Simonetta. Neither Julian nor Dame Clytie showed the same surprise, and I am sure that Namour briefed them in advance as to what to expect. I was naturally offended by what I considered a breach of diplomatic courtesy, and I resolved to make my displeasure clear at the first opportunity.”

“In any event, Namour took us into an office with a floor of woven bamboo mat, walls of split bamboo, and a ceiling of intricately carved wood, evidently smuggled in from the mainland. We waited fifteen minutes before Simonetta chose to show herself — a delinquency which irritated Dame Clytie, so I could see.”

“Simonetta at last condescended to appear, and I was amazed, as I have already indicated. Instead of the earnest, just and dignified Titus Pompo of my expectations, here was a woman as massive and strong as Dame Clytie herself. Simonetta, I must say, is a strange looking woman. She wears her hair in a massive pile atop her head, like a coil of old rope. Her skin is like white wax. Her eyes glitter like amber beads. There is a sense of wildness and unpredictability about her that is most disturbing. She is clearly a woman of a hundred passions, which she disciplines as much as needful, but no more. Her voice is somewhat harsh and peremptory, but she can pitch it almost to a musical softness when she chooses. She seems to be guided by an instinctive or subconscious shrewdness, rather than formal intelligence; like that of Dame Clytie. On this occasion neither woman wasted any affability on the other, and there was only a cursory attempt at simple and ordinary courtesy. But no matter: we had not come to Yipton for the exchange of pleasantries but, rather, to discover how best to coordinate our efforts toward the common goal.”

“I regarded myself as the senior member of the delegation, and started to speak, that I might express the philosophy of the LPE as I saw it, in an orderly, coherent and definite manner, so that Simonetta should be under no illusions as to our basic point of view. Dame Clytie, however, conducted herself with absolutely vulgar and unforgivable rudeness, interrupting my remarks and shouting me down when I remonstrated and pointed out that I spoke with the authoritative voice of the LPF. Dame Clytie, using her most bluff and boisterous manner, pretended to regard Simonetta as a comrade-in-arms, and a stout paladin in the cause of virtue and truth. Once again I tried to bring the discussion back to its proper channels, but Simonetta instructed me to hold my tongue, which I considered absolutely egregious and insulting conduct. Dame Clytie, rather than taking note of the insult, made offensive remarks of her own, something like: 'Excellent! If Kathcar will stop his braying for a few moments, we will get on with our business.’ Something on that order.”

“In any event Dame Clytie began to speak. Simonetta listened for a few moments, then once more became impatient. She said: 'I will be quite candid! I have been done grievous wrongs by the folk of Araminta Station, and the whole thrust of my life is retribution. I intend to sweep down on Deucas like an angel of wrath, and I shall be Mistress of Araminta Station. My revenge will be so sweet as to transcend all other pleasures I have known! AII shall know the sting of my fury!' “

Dame Clytie found it necessary to chide her, though she tried to be judicious. ‘This is not quite the emphasis or the thrust of the LPF. We intend to break the tyranny of the Charter, and allow the human spilt scope to flourish and grow!' “

'’ ‘So it may be,' said Simonetta. 'Still, eventually the Charter will be replaced by the Monomantic Credence, which will guide the future of Cadwal.' “

“Dame Clytie said: 'I know nothing about this Credence, and I would deplore the introduction of some freakish cult.' “

“ ‘This is an unkind description,' said Simonetta. ‘The Monomantic Credence is the Ultimate Pansophy: the Way of Existence and the Vital Perfection!' “

“At this, Dame Clytie became a trifle bleak. Julian leapt into the breach. He discoursed upon the new Cadwal and stated that, where true democracy was the watchword, every person’s beliefs must be and should be sacred. He declared that he, personally, would defend such a precept to the death, or some such blather. Simonetta tapped her fingers on the table and barely listened. I saw the way the wind was blowing, directly toward recriminations and bad feelings. I decided to set the matters straight, once and for all.”

“I pointed out that absolute democracy — sometimes known as 'nihilism' — is equivalent to utter confusion. Further, everyone knew that rule by committee was only slightly less chaotic than rule by a mob. For true progress, authority must be exercised by a single resolute man of unquestioned quality and judgment. I announced that, while I had no overweening lust for power the exigencies of the situation demanded that I take on this great responsibility, with all its challenges and trials. I felt that at this very moment we should agree to this program and proceed with full dedication in this direction.”

“Simonetta sat staring at me. In a pleasant voice she asked if I were definitely convinced that the person in authority should be a man.”

“I answered affirmatively. This, I said, was the lesson of history. Women were valuable adjuncts to society, with unique functions and irreplaceable instinctive skills. In men however resided that peculiar quality composed of wisdom, strength, persistence and charisma necessary for leadership.”

“Simonetta asked: ‘And what function do you plan for Dame Clytie in your new kingdom?' “

“I saw that perhaps I had spoken too expansively, and had stated my case a trifle too earnestly. I replied that 'kingdom' was perhaps not quite the correct terminology, and that certainly I had full and great respect for both the ladies on hand. Dame Clytie might well be in charge of arts and crafts and Simonetta perhaps might do well as Minister of Education — both highly important posts.”

Chilke laughed. “Kathcar, you are a marvel."

“I stated what I considered to be no more than universally accepted truisms.”

“So you did,” said Chilke. “But that made the cheese no less blinding.”

“In retrospect, I see that I exceeded caution. I had assumed both Dame Clytie and Simonetta to be rational and realistic persons, aware of the fundamental facts of history. I was wrong.”

"Quite so," said Chilke. “What happened next?"

“Julian said that he thought that all of us had expressed our views, and now we must reconcile what seemed to be relatively minor differences. Our mutual goal was to throw off the dead weight of the Charter and it was not an easy task. Simonetta seemed to agree and suggested that we adjourn for lunch. We went out on a terrace overlooking the lagoon, and here we were served a lunch of mussels, fish paste, a bread of seaweed flour and kelp, along with wine from Araminta Station. Apparently I drank more wine than usual, or perhaps the wine was drugged. In any event, I became drowsy and fell asleep.”

“I awoke to find myself in a flyer. I assumed that I was returning to Stroma, though neither Dame Clytie nor Julian was on hand. It seemed a very long flight, which ended, to my utter astonishment, on Shattorak. I protested with great indignation; nevertheless, I was taken to a doghole and immured. Two days passed. I was told I could either become station cook or remain in the doghole, and I became cook. That is essentially all there is to tell.”

“Where are the flyers kept?"

Kathcar grimaced. “These are not my secrets. I am reluctant to discuss such matters."

Scharde spoke in a measured voice. "You are a reasonable man, are you not?"

"Of course! Have I not made this clear?”

“There will be an attack on Shattorak by such forces as we can muster at the station. If you have failed to provide us exact and detailed information, and any of our personnel is killed, you will be deemed guilty of murder by default, and you will be executed."

“That is not just!" cried Kathcar.

“Call it whatever you like. At Bureau B we interpret justice as loyalty to the terms of the Charter."

“But I am LPF and a progressive! I consider the Charter an archaic piece of rubbish!"

“We will consider you not only a Peefer but also a renegade and a murderer and execute you with no remorse whatever.”

"Bah,” muttered Kathcar. ”It makes little difference one way or the other. The flyers are in an underground hangar on the eastern slope of Shattorak, where a lava cave was enlarged."

“How are they guarded?”

“I cannot tell you, since I never ventured in that direction, nor do I know how many flyers are in the hangar.”

“How much staff is on hand?”

“A dozen or so.”

“All Yips?”

“No. The best mechanics are off-world folk. I don’t know much about them.”

“What about Titus Pompo's space yacht? How often does that appear?"

“Twice during my time."

“Have you seen Namour since you went with Dame Clytie to Yipton?”

“No.”

“And Barduys, what is his function?"

Kathcar responded haughtily: “As I stated, I know nothing of this person.”

“He seems to be a friend of Dame Clytie.”

“So it may be.”

“Hmf,” said Glawen. “Dame Clytie may not be quite so democratic as she would like us to believe.”

Kathcar was puzzled. “Why do you say that?"

“In this new society of equals, Dame Clytie no doubt intends to be more equal than anyone else."

“I do not altogether grasp your meaning," said Kathcar with dignity. ”Still, I suspect that you derogate the LPF.”

“Possibly so,” said Glawen.

The Skyrie approached Araminta Station from the southwest, flying very low to avoid observation, and landed in a wooded area south of the River Wan.

Shortly after sunset Glawen approached Riverview House, and knocked at the front door. He was admitted into the reception hall by a maid-servant, who announced him to Egon Tamm. “You have returned in good health! How went your mission?" Egon Tamm’s welcome was almost effusive.

Glawen glanced toward the maid, who was still in the room. Egon Tamm said: “Come, we will talk in my office. Will you take some refreshment?”

“I would be happy for a cup of strong tea."

Egon Tamm instructed the maid and took Glawen into his office. "So, were you successful?"

"Yes. I rescued not only Scharde, but also Chilke and another prisoner, a Naturalist named Kathcar. They are waiting outside in the dark. I did not want to bring them in, and show them to your guests."

“They left yesterday, I am happy to say."

"I would like you to notify Bodwyn Wook and ask him to come here to Riverview House; otherwise he will be offended and sarcastic when he sees me.”

Egon Tamm spoke into his telephone and was answered by Bodwyn Wook. "Glawen is here," said Egon Tamm. "Everything seems to have gone well, but he asks that you come to Riverview House to hear his report."

“I will be there at once.”

The maid entered with tea and biscuits. She placed the tray on the table. “Will there be anything more, sir?"

“Nothing; you may retire for the evening."

The maid departed. Glawen looked after her, "She may be innocent and honest, or she might be one of Smonny's spies. Apparently they are everywhere. It is important that Smonny is not notified that Scharde, Chilke and Kathcar have escaped Shattorak.“

“Surely she knows they are gone by now!”

"But she cannot be sure that they simply did not try their luck in the jungle, or perhaps are hiding, hoping to seize one of the flyers."

“You may bring the three around the side of the house into the door at the end of the hall. I will make sure that Esme is not where she can observe them.”

Bodwyn Wook arrived and was admitted by Egon Tamm, who conducted him to the office. He looked from face to face. “Scharde! I am happy to see you alive, though I must say that you look a bit peaked. Chilke, you as well. And who is this gentleman?”

"He is a Peefer from Stroma,” said Glawen. “His name is Rufo Kathcar, and he represents a faction somewhat at odds to Dame Clytie.”

“Interesting, indeed! Well then: let us hear the news.”

Glawen spoke for half an hour. Bodwyn Wook turned to Scharde. “What, in your opinion, should we do next?"

“I believe that we should strike” as quickly as possible. If Smonny receives a hint that her secret is known, it will be too late. In my opinion, we cannot act soon enough.”

“Is Shattorak defended?"

Glawen turned to Kathcar, "What can you tell us?"

Kathcar tried to control the peevishness in his voice. “You put me in a most uncomfortable position. Even though I was treated badly by Simonetta, I cannot claim that my interests run parallel to yours. At the basis I intend to throw off the tyranny of the Charter, while you intend to prolong it as best you can."

“It is true that we hope to maintain the Conservancy villains that we are,” said Bodwyn Wook. “Well, I can see a single solution which is fair to all parties. You need tell us nothing, and we will return you to Shattorak and leave you as we found you. Chilke, how many flyers can we put into the air?"

“Four new flyers, three trainers, two carry-alls, and the Skyrie. Our problem is espionage. Smonny will hear of the first move we make and be ready for us. Which reminds me, I want to seek out Benjamie this very instant, and there will be one spy the less to concern us.”

Bodwyn Wook spoke to Egon Tamm: “Kathcar must also be regarded as an adversary, and he must be confined until we take him back to Ecce."

“I will lock him in the shed," said Egon Tamm. “He will be secure. Come, Kathcar this is the necessity which circumstances have thrust upon us.”

"No!" cried Kathcar desperately. “I do not wish to be locked up and I certainly do not want to return to Shattorak. I will tell you what I know."

“As you wish,” said Bodwyn Wook. "Where are the Shattorak defenses?"

"There are a pair of guns at either side of the communications shed. There are two more to either side of the hangar. If you approach the summit by the route Glawen took, flying up the river, then up the slope at very low altitude, you should escape detection and be able to destroy the communications shed with no risk of damage from the guns. That is the best I can do for you, since I know no more."

"Very good," sold Bodwyn Wook. “We will not return you to Shattorak, but you must be confined until our return, for obvious reasons."

Kathcar expostulated further but to no avail; Egon Tamm and Glawen led him away and locked him into a storage shed to the side of Riverview House.

Bodwyn Wook, meanwhile, dispatched a squad of Bureau B personnel to take Benjamie into custody, but, to Chilke's disappointment, Benjamie could not be found and, indeed, had departed Araminta Station aboard the spaceship Dioscamedes Translux, bound down the Wisp toward the junction city on Watertown, on Andromeda 6011 IV.

“Alas", said Chilke. “Benjamie has the danger tendrils of a Tancred firefox. I doubt if we shall lay eyes on Benjamie again.”

During the darkest, quietest hours between midnight and dawn, four patrol flyers departed Araminta Station, armed with such weaponry as the armory was able to provide. At high speed they darted around the curve of the world; across Deucas, over the Western Ocean, then slanted down so as to approach Ecce at low altitude. Up the Vertes River they flew, barely skimming the surface of the water, the better to evade whatever detectors might be operating on the summit of Mount Shattorak.

Where Glawen had landed the Skyrie, the raiding party veered away from the river to fly low over the swamp and up the slope of the volcano, and so arrived at the summit.

Twenty minutes later the operation was over. The Communications shed had been destroyed, along with a gun emplacement. The hanger sheltered seven flyers, including the two most recently captured from Araminta Station. The base personnel offered no resistance; twelve captives were taken: nine Yips of the elite police corps — 'Oomps’, attired in black uniforms. The remaining three were hired technicians from off-world. How was it that they had been surprised and captured so easily? None of the Yips would supply an answer, but one of the off-world technicians reported that the escape of Scharde and Chilke, along with the disappearance of Kathcar, had aroused neither suspicion, alarm nor any attempt at increased vigilance; the personnel felt secure in their isolation, and the perils of escape were considered insurmountable. The raid, so he remarked, had preceded a Yip occupation of the Marmion Foreshore by only a week or two, and orders had arrived to arm all the flyers with such weapons as were at hand. In short, the raid could not have occurred at a more opportune time.

At Araminta Station the Conservator, in company with Bodwyn Wook and Scharde Clattuc, subjected Kathcar to a long and careful inquisition.

Egon Tamm thereupon summoned thee six Wardens of Stroma to Riverview House, to confer upon a matter of grave importance.

The meeting took place in the parlor at Riverview House, immediately upon arrival of the six Wardens. Also present at the meeting were Bodwyn Wook, Scharde and Glawen, at the insistence of Egon Tamm. Wardens Ballinder, Gelvink and Fergus sat to one side, facing Dame Clytie Vergence, Jory Siskinn — both LPFers — and Lona Yone, who professed neutrality, on the other.

The Conservator, wearing formal robes, called the meeting to order. “This is perhaps the most important session you will have ever attended,” he told the Wardens. “A disaster of enormous dimension had threatened us, which we have averted, but only for the nonce. I refer to an armed attack by Yips upon Ararninta Station, followed by an invasion of the Marmion Foreshore by thousands of Yips, which of course would signal the end of the Conservancy.”

“As I say, we thwarted this action, and captured seven Yip aircraft along with a quantity of weapons.”

“In this connection, I am sorry to report that one of your number is guilty of conduct which is very close to traitorous, though I am sure that she will claim that her acts are motivated by idealism. Dame Clytie Vergence is the person in question and I now expel her from the Board of Wardens.”

“That is impossible and illegal as well,” snapped Clytie. “I am duly elected by the people's vote."

"Nevertheless, the office is established by the Charter. You cannot work to destroy the Charter and derive your franchise from it at the same time. The same considerations apply to Jory Siskinn, also are LPFers, I order his immediate resignation from the Board. And now, Warden Yone, I must ask if you support the Charter without reservation, in all of its aspects. If not, then you too must resign. We can no longer afford the luxury of divisiveness and controversy. The Charter is in danger, and we must act with decision."

Lona Yone, a tall thin woman of late middle years, with white hair cut short to frame a sharp bony face, said: "I dislike the authoritarian posture you have assumed, and I resent the need for defining what I consider my private habits of thought. However I appreciate that this is not a normal occasion and that I must range myself either to one side or the other. Very well, then. I consider myself independent and uncommitted to partisan intrigue, but I state with conviction that I support the Charter and the concept of Conservancy. I believe, however, that the precepts of the Charter are not being rigorously applied, nor has this ever been more than approximately the case."

Lona Yone drew a deep breath and was about to speak further, but Egon Tamm intervened. "That is good and sufficient."

Dame Clytie spoke with scorn: “You can issue as many fiats as you like. The fact remains that I represent a large constituency of Naturalists, and we defy your harsh and ultimately inhumane principles. "

“Then I must warn you and your constituents that if you attempt to interfere with, or circumvent, the implementation of Conservancy law, you all will be considered criminals. This includes consorting with

Simonetta Zigonie, and any facilitation of her activities."

“You cannot dictate my choice of companions."

“She is a kidnapper and worse. Scharde Clattuc, who sits yonder, is one of her victims. Your associate Rufo Kathcar is another."

Dame Clytie laughed. “If she is such a villain, why do you not apprehend her and bring her to justice?”

“If I could extricate her from Yipton without violence or bloodshed, I would do so on the instant,” said Egon Tamm. He turned to Bodwyn Wook: “Do you have any ideas on the subject?”

“If we start deporting Yips to Chamanita Planet where their labor is in demand, sooner or later we will come upon Smonny.”

“That a heartless statement,” said Dame Clyde. “How will you persuade the Yips to leave Yipton?”

"Persuasion perhaps is the wrong word,” said Bodwyn Wook. Incidentally, where is your nephew? I expected to find him among those present.”

“Julian is off-world, on important business.”

“I advise both of you to obey the Charter," said Bodwyn Wook. “Otherwise you too will be persuaded off-world.”

“Bah! sneered Dame Clytie. First you must demonstrate that this decrepit old shibboleth has a real existence, and is not merely a rumor."

“Eh? That is easy enough. Look over at the wall yonder. That is a facsimile of the Charter. There is one in every household."

“I will say no more."

Evening had come to Riverview House. The Wardens and ex-Wardens had made departure for Stroma. Rufo Kathcar had wished also to return to Stroma, but Bodwyn Wook was not yet satisfied that Kathcar had revealed all he knew, and certainly not all of what he suspected. In the dining room Bodwyn Wook, Scharde, Glawen and The Conservator lingered at the table over wine, discussing the events of the day. Bodwyn Wook mentioned that Dame Clytie had shown no great agitation at the turn of affairs. "And, certainly, very little remorse."

“The position of Warden is a largely symbolic honor," said Egon Tamm. "There are few real benefits. Dame Clytie was one of the Stroma Wardens because she seemed to define the post; also, it regularized her penchant for meddling into everyone else’s affairs.”

"She made a rather curious remark,” said Scharde.” I have the impression that she said more than she intended, but could not resist the thrust."

Egon Tamm frowned in puzzlement. "Which remark was this?"

"She implied that the Charter was imaginary: a rumor, a legend, a disembodied shibboleth — whatever that might be.”

Bodwyn Wook grimaced and poured wine down his scrawny throat with a grand flourish. "This extraordinary woman seems to believe that she can expunge the document rom existence by the sheer exercise of her will."

Glawen started to speak then fell silent. He had undertaken to reveal nothing of Wayness’ discovery that the Charter had disappeared from the Society vault, but now it appeared that the knowledge was not as secure as Wayness had hoped. Smonny’s efforts to gain control of Chilke’s property and now Dame Clytie’s angry remarks suggested that the news was secret only from the loyal conservationists themselves.

Glawen decided that the Station’s best interests would be served if he now shed light on the situation. He spoke in a tentative voice: “ It may be that Dame Clytie’s remarks are more significant than you suspect.”

Bodwyn Wook glanced at him sharply. “Indeed! What do you know of the situation?”

"I know enough to find Dame Clytie’s remarks troublesome. I worry even more to find that Julian Bohost has taken himself off-world.”

Bodwyn Wook sighed. "As usual, all the world revels on full knowledge regarding dire emergencies and imminent disasters, save only the dozing Bureau B officials.”

Egon Tamm said: "Allow me to suggest, Glawen, that you explain to us what is going on.”

“Certainly,” said Glawen. “I have not done so previously because I was pledged to secrecy."

“Secrecy from your own superiors?" roared Bodwyn Wook. “Is it your theory that you know better than the rest of us?”

"Not at all, sir! I simply agreed with my informant that secrecy was to everyone's advantage.”

“Aha! And who is this infinitely cautious informant?"

“Well, sir, it is Wayness.”

“Wayness!”

“Yes. She is now on Earth, as you know.”

"Proceed."

“To make a long story short, she discovered, during a previous, sojourn on Earth with Pirie Tamm, that the Charter and the Grant-in-Perpetuity was nowhere to be found. Sixty years before a certain Secretary of the Society named Frons Nisfit quietly plundered the Society and sold everything of value to document collectors — including, so it seems, the Charter. Wayness hoped to trace the sale of the Charter, and thought that she could function better if no one knew that the Charter was missing.”

“That seems reasonable enough," said Scharde. “But is she not taking a great responsibility upon herself?”

“Rightly or wrongly, that was her decision. But it appears that Smonny is also aware of the situation, and perhaps knows more about it than does Wayness."

"Why, do you say that? “

“A collector by the name of Floyd Swaner might have ended up with some of the Society documents. He died and left everything to his grandson, Eustace Chilke. Smonny traced down Chilke took him to the planet Rosalia. Namour brought him here, and Smonny meanwhile attempted to find where either Chilke or Grandpa Swaner had hidden the Charter she had no success. Smonny then ordered Chilke kidnapped, took him to Shattorak and forced him to sign over all his possessions. It seems that

Smonny and her allies, the Yips, are serious.”

“So then, what of Dame Clytie. How would she know?”

"I suggest that we talk once again to Kathcar,” said Glawen.

Egon Tamm summoned the maid and instructed her to fetch Kathcar from the room which had been put at his disposal.

Kathcar presently appeared and for a moment stood in the doorway, appraising the persons in the room. He had carefully trimmed his black hair and his beard and had dressed himself in somber black and brown garments, in the conservative style of old Stroma. His black eyes darted back and forth, then he came forward. “What is it now, sirs? I have told you everything I know; any further questioning is sheer harassment."

Egon Tamm said: “Sit down, Rufo; perhaps you will take a glass of wine?”

Kathcar seated himself but brushed away the wine. “I consume very little vinous liquor.”

“We are hoping that you may illuminate a puzzling circumstance in relation to Dame Clytie.”

"I can't imagine what more I could tell you.”

“When she conferred with Smonny Zigonie, did the subject of Eustace Chilke arise?"

“The name was not mentioned.”

“What of the name Swaner”?

“I heard no such name.”

“Odd," said Bodwyn Wook.

Glawen spoke: “Either Dame Clytie or Julian Bohost made contact with Smonny’s sister Spanchetta, here at Araminta Station. Were you aware of this?"

Rufo Kathcar showed a petulant frown. “Julian spoke with someone at the Station; I am not certain as to whom it might have been. He reported the occurrence to Dame Clytie and I seem to recall that he used the name 'Spanchetta.' His mood was one of excitement, and Dame Clytie said: ‘I think you should investigate this matter it might prove of the greatest importance' or words to that effect. Then she noticed that I was within earshot and said no more.”

“Anything else?"

“Julian went off somewhere immediately afterward."

"Thank you, Rufo."

"Is that all you wish?"

“For now yes."

Kathcar stalked from the room. Glawen told the others: "Spanchetta showed Julian the letters Wayness wrote me. She did not refer to the Charter directly but she probably said enough to set Spanchetta thinking.”

Egon Tamm asked: “Why should Spanchetta show the letters to Julian? This is a puzzle.”

Scharde said: "If Spanchetta had wanted to inform Smonny she would have notified Namour. She might well prefer Dame Clytie’s plans for the future to those of her sister."

Glawen rose to his feet. He addressed Bodwyn Wook. "Sir, I request a leave of absence starting now."

“Hmf. Why this sudden whim?"

"It is not sudden, sir. The Shattorak operation has been successful and I am anxious to see to another matter.”

“Your request is denied," said Bodwyn Wook. “I am assigning you to a special mission. You must proceed to Earth at best speed and there clarify this matter we have been discussing to the best of your ability.”

“Very good, sir.” said Glawen, “I withdraw my request.”

“Quite so,” said Bodwyn Wook.