Jack Vance - The Houses of Iszm

“I have given you no orders. Why do you sail west?”

The captain shifted the gaze of one segment of his eyes. “Our destination is Jhespiano. Is this not Farr Sainh’s desire?”

“No,” said Farr from sheer perversity. “We will head south, toward Vhejanh.”

“But, Farr Sainh, should we not make directly for Jhespiano, you may well miss the departure of the spaceship!”

Farr could hardly speak for astonishment. “What is this to you?” he said at last. “Have I expressed a desire to board the spaceship?”

“No, Farr Sainh. Not to my hearing.”

“Then kindly make no further assumptions regarding my wishes. We will sail for Vhejanh.”

The captain hesitated. “Your orders, Farr Sainh, of course must be weighed carefully. There are also the commands of the Szecr to be considered. They desire that the Lhaiz proceed to Jhespiano.”

“In that case,” said Farr, “the Szecr can pay the charter fee. You will collect nothing from me.”

The captain turned slowly away and went to consult the Szecr. There was a brief discussion, during which the captain and the Szecr turned to examine Farr who sat aloof on the fan-tail. At last the Lhaiz swung south on a reach, and the Szecr went angrily forward.

The voyage proceeded. Farr’s relaxation soon vanished. The crew was as vigilant as ever, and less punctilious. The Szecr watched his every move and searched his cabin with an insolent casualness. Farr felt more like a prisoner than a tourist. It was almost as if he were being subjected to deliberate provocation, as if the aim were to make him disgusted with Iszm. “No difficulty in that case,” Farr told himself grimly. “The day I leave this planet will be the happiest day of my life.”

Vhejanh Atoll rose above the horizon, a group of islands which might have been the twin of Tjiere. Farr forced himself to go ashore but found nothing more interesting to do than sit on the terrace of the hotel with a goblet of narciz , a sharp, faintly salty beverage derived from seaweed, consumed in quantities by the Iszics of the Pheadh. As he departed he noticed a placard displaying a photograph of a spaceship, and a schedule of arrivals and departures. The SS Andrei Simic was scheduled to leave Jhespiano in three days. There were no other scheduled departures for four months. Farr considered the placard with great interest. He then returned to the dock, resigned his charter of the Lhaiz , after which he took air passage to Jhespiano.

He arrived the same evening, and at once booked passage aboard the SS Andrei Simic to Earth, whereupon he felt great comfort and peace of mind. “Ridiculous situation,” he told himself in half-humorous self-contempt. “Six months ago I could think of nothing but travel to strange planets; now all I want is to go home to Earth.”

The Spaceport Hotel at Jhespiano was an enormous rambling growth of a dozen interlinked trees. Farr was assigned a pleasant pod overlooking the canal leading from the lagoon into the heart of Jhespiano Town. With the time of his departure established Farr once more began to enjoy himself. His meals at the restaurant, prepackaged and imported, were again palatable. The guests were a varied group, with representatives of most of the anthropoid races, including a dozen Earthers.

The sole annoyance was the continued surveillance by the Szecr, which became so pervasive that Farr complained first to the hotel management, then to the Szecr lieutenant, in both cases receiving only bland shrugs for his trouble. He finally marched across the compound to the little concrete bungalow which housed the office of the District Treaty Administrator, one of the few nonorganic buildings on Iszm. The Administrator was a pudgy little Earther with a beak nose, a ruff of black hair and a fussy manner, to whom Farr took an immediate aversion. Nevertheless he explained his grievance in a reasonable measured manner and the Administrator promised to make inquiries.

Farr called the next day at the Administrative Mansion, a massive and dignified house overhanging the central canal. On this second visit the Administrator was only formally cordial, although he grudgingly asked Farr to lunch. They ate on a balcony, with boat-pods laden with fruit and flowers passing along the canal below.

“I called the Szecr Central about your case,” the Administrator told Farr. “They’re ambiguous, which is unusual. Usually they say bluntly, so-and-so is objectionable; he has been spying.”

“I still don’t understand why they should persecute me so intensely.”

“Apparently you were present when a company of Arcturians—”

“Thord.”

The Administrator acknowledged the correction. “… when the Thord made a massive raid on Tjiere plantation.”

“I was there, certainly.”

The Administrator fiddled with his coffee cup. “This has been enough, evidently, to arouse their suspicions. They believe that one or more spies in the guise of tourists have planned and controlled the raid, and apparently have selected you as one of the responsible parties.”

Farr leaned back in his chair. “That’s incredible. The Szecr dosed me with hypnotics, questioned me. They know everything I know. And afterwards the head planter at Tjiere had me as his house-guest. They can’t believe that I’m involved! It’s unreasonable!”

The Administrator gave a wry, noncommittal shrug. “This may be. The Szecr admit they have no special charge to bring against you. But, in some way or another you’ve managed to make yourself an object of suspicion.”

“And so, guilty or innocent, I have to be molested by their attentions? This isn’t either the letter or the spirit of the Treaty.”

“That may well be.” The Administrator was annoyed. “I fancy that I am as familiar with the provisions of the Treaty as you are.” He passed Farr a second cup of coffee, darting a curious glance at him as he did so. “I assume you’re not guilty… But perhaps there’s something you know. Did you communicate with anyone they might suspect?”

Farr made an impatient motion. “They threw me into a cell with one of the Thord. I hardly spoke to him.”

The Administrator was obviously unconvinced. “There must be something you’ve done to bother them. The Iszics, no matter what you care to say, have no interest in harassing you or anyone else from sheer caprice.”

Farr lost his temper. “Who are you representing? Me? Or the Szecr?”

The Administrator said coldly, “Try to see the situation from my viewpoint. After all it’s not impossible that you are what they seem to think you are.”

“First they have to prove it. And even then you are my legal representative. What else are you here for?”

The Administrator evaded the question. “I only know what you’ve told me. I spoke to the Iszic Commandant. He is noncommittal. Perhaps they regard you as a dupe, a decoy, a messenger. They may be waiting for you to make a false move or lead them to someone who will.”

“They’ll have a long wait. In fact, I’m the aggrieved party, not the Iszics.”

“In what sense?”

“After the raid, they dropped me into a cell. I mentioned that they imprisoned me—threw me down a hollow root into an underground cell. I banged my head rather badly. In fact I’m still wearing scabs.” He felt his scalp, where hair at last was beginning to grow, and sighed. It was evident that the Administrator would take no action. He looked around the balcony. “This place must be tapped for sound.”

“I have nothing to conceal,” said the Administrator stiffly. “They can listen night and day. They probably do.” He rose to his feet. “When does your ship leave?”

“In two or three days, depending on cargo.”