Jack Vance - The Many Worlds of Magnus Ridolph

"Well," said Joe, "you never know how a person takes things. Sometimes they'll sue you, ha, ha, for a hair in the soup. Of course, in your case - well," he finished lamely, "we hadn't really thought about it."

Ridolph frowned thoughtfully. "Ah, if I had an exaggerated sense of dignity, a sop of five thousand munits might only further offend me. But since I am what I am, I'm sure we can let events adjust themselves naturally."

"Sure," said Lucky enthusiastically. "Gentlemen to gentlemen."

Joe Blaine twirled the cigar in his mouth, looked into space trying to trace the implications of the words.

"Well, suits me," he said reluctantly. He wrote. "Here's your fee, then."

"Thank you." Magnus Ridolph pocketed the check. He looked out the window. "I believe your franchise ends about a half-mile up the beach?"

Blaine nodded. "Just about where I came out of the jungle this morning. Maybe a little this way."

Magnus Ridolph said abstractedly, "The closer to the Mollie village, the better."

"Eh? How's that?"

Magnus Ridolph looked up in surprise. "Haven't I described my plans for the bottling and processing plant? No? Today I applied via space-wave for a use permit of the beach."

Joe and Lucky had turned their heads simultaneously, staring. Their faces wore the expressions seen on small animals, who, tripping a baited trigger, snap their own flash-light photographs.

"Processing plant?"

"For what?"

Magnus Ridolph said in a pedantic tone, "I've tentatively decided on the name Mephitoline - which to some extent describes the product."

"But-"

"But-"

"It has been my experience," continued Magnus Ridolph, "that the more noxious a salve, an unguent, or a beauty aid, the more eagerly it is purchased, and the greater its therapeutic or psychological value. In this respect, that unspeakably vile liquid which you used this afternoon in your experiment can hardly be improved upon. Mephitoline, suitably bottled and attractively packaged, will be a valuable specific against psychosomatic disorders."

"But-"

"Possibly Mephitoline may be used as a fixative in the perfume industry, as being more positive than either ambergris, musk, or any of the synthetics. I also anticipate a large and steady sale to college fraternities, lodges, and secret organizations, where it might become an important adjunct to their rituals."

Magnus Ridolph turned a grave glance upon Joe and Lucky.

"I have you two to thank for putting this opportunity in my way. But then, the Spa of the Stars will doubtless share in any prosperity which might come to the Mephitoline Bottling Works. Plant workers will no doubt spend part of their pay at your bars, only three minutes walk away..."

"Look here," said Blame, in a voice like an old-fashioned wagon crossing a graveled road, "you know darn well that a plant bottling that black stuff a few hundred yards upwind from the hotel would chase every guest back on the same packet that brought him!"

"Not at all," argued Magnus Ridolph. "The Mephitoline plant would add a great deal of color and atmosphere. I believe that the plant and the Spa would complement each other very well. I'm sure you must have thought of it yourself: 'Spa of the Stars, Health Center of the Cluster. If You've Got It, Mephitoline Will Cure It' - something of the sort. But, as you see" - and Magnus Ridolph smiled apologetically - "I'm a dreamer. I have no head for business. You two are really better suited to managing a modern medical laboratory. I suppose it would be better for us all if I sold out to you for - say, twenty-five thousand munits. Cheap at the price."

Joe Blaine spat in a wordless futility of anger and disgust.

"Pah!" snorted Lucky. "You're selling us a gold brick. You haven't got a plant, you don't even know whether the stuff is any good."

Magnus Ridolph seemed impressed with Lucky's reasoning. He rubbed his beard thoughtfully.

"That's a very good point. After all, how can we be sure of Mephitoline's efficacy? The sensible solution is to test it. Hm - I see that you have a rather severe case of acne. And - yes - Mr. Blairie appears to be suffering from - is it heat-rash? or some sort of itch?" "Heat-rash!" snapped Joe.

"We'll put Mephitoline to a test. Each of you can rub Mephitoline over your lesions - or better yet, submerge yourselves in a Mephitoline bath. Give it a fair chance. Then if your conditions are not alleviated, we'll know that Mephitoline is useful only in a psychological sense, and my price will drop to fifteen thousand munits. If your ailments are cured, and Mephitoline has a specific value, the price remains at twenty-five thousand munits. Of course, if you and Mr. Woolrich do not avail yourselves of this opportunity, I personally can't afford to give it up."

There was a short silence.

''Well, Joe," said Lucky wearily, "he's got us over a barrel."

"Not at all," protested Magnus Ridolph. "By no means! I am offering you a valuable property at a ridiculously - "

Blaine interrupted him. "Ten thousand munits is our top price. Take it or leave it."

"Very well," said Magnus Ridolph readily. "Ten thousand - if the Mephitoline does not cure your itch. But unless the test is made, I'll have to hold out for twenty-five thousand."

In a tight-lipped atmosphere the Mephitoline was gingerly swabbed over the afflicted parts. Magnus Ridolph, however, insisted on a liberal application.

"If the job is scamped, we will never be sure in our own minds."

But when the Mephitoline was finally scraped off with sticks, the itch and the acne were found still to be in evidence.

"Now are you satisfied?" asked Joe, glaring from behind the application like a tiger made-up with grease-paint. "It don't work. I itch like fury. It's even worse than before."

"The substance is evidently no cure-all," said Magnus Ridolph regretfully.

Lucky had been scrubbing himself with alcohol. "How do you get this stuff off? Soap and water I guess would be better..."

But thorough scouring still did not entirely erase the Mephitoline; a strong odor still clung to the persons of Joe Blaine and Lucky Woolrich.

"Cripes," muttered Joe, "how long does this stuff last?" He looked suspiciously at Magnus Ridolph. "How did you get it off you?"

Magnus Ridolph, standing carefully aloof, said, "That's a rather valuable bit of information, I'm sorry to say. I arrived at the formula after considerable - "

"All right," said Joe brutally. "How much?"

Magnus Ridolph drew his fine white eyebrows up into an injured line. "Oh, negligible. I'll make only a token charge of a thousand munits. If you perform - ah, further experiments with Mephitoline, you'll need the solution time and time again."

There were several bitter statements, but finally Joe wrote Magnus Ridolph a check, eleven thousand munits in all.

"Now, how do we get rid of this horrible stench?"

"Apply a ten percent solution of hydrogen peroxide," said Magnus Ridolph.

Joe started to bellow; Lucky stifled him, and went off to the hotel dispensary. He returned with an empty gallon jug.

"I can't find any!" he said querulously. "The bottle's empty!"

"There is no more," said Magnus Ridolph frankly. "I used it all myself. Of course, if you wish to retain me as a consultant, I can outline a simple chemical process..."

THE HUB, a cluster of bubbles in a web of metal, hung in empty space, in that region known to Earthmen as Hither Sagittarius. The owner was Pan Pascoglu, a man short, dark and energetic, almost bald, with restless brown eyes and a thick mustache. A man of ambition, Pascoglu hoped to develop the Hub into a fashionable resort, a glamor-island among the stars - something more than a mere stopover depot and junction point. Working to this end, he added two dozen bright new bubbles - "cottages," as he called them - around the outer meshes of the Hub, which already resembled the model of an extremely complex molecule.