Дэймон Найт - Orbit 4

Tatja Grimm looked up from the dorfox. “Men, this is Svir Hedrigs. Svir, meet Brailly Tounse, Rey Guille, and Kederichi Maccioso. They are respectively the First Proofreader, General Fiction Editor, and Ship’s Captain for Fantasie magazine. I serve as the Science Editor.”

Like hell, thought Svir. He knew he was being taken. Svir was a naturally gullible person. Once, in this very tavern, a couple of netscrapers had managed to convince him they were hot-air balloonists. Since then, he had been always on his guard. There were several good reasons why his new “friends” were frauds. In the first place, the Tarulle Publishing Barge wasn’t due in the Krirsarque area for another three days. Svir had been very upset to learn that bis ship would stay a day ahead of the Tarulle fleet as the publishing company sailed slowly east along the Chainpearl Archipelagate. He wouldn’t receive the latest copies of Fantasie— all two years’ worth—until he reached Bayfast in Crownesse. In the second place, the Tarulle Barge rarely landed at minor places like Krirsarque. The Barge dispatched its hydrofoil sailing boats for such contacts. These boats delivered the company’s publications, and took aboard supplies and manuscripts. People like Rey Guille and Ked Maccioso were far too important and busy to leave the Barge. Hie frauds at his table had aimed far too high in their impersonation. Of all the literary corporations in the world—fiction or nonfiction, periodical or book— Fantasie was perhaps the most prestigious. Hedrigs had always admired Rey Guille and the managing editor, Spektr Ramsey. And never had he seen a Science Section in Fantasie, or heard of Tatja Grimm.

Well, determined Svir Hedrigs, I can trade them lie for lie. Aloud he said, “So happy to meet you. I find a lot of your stuff especially provocative since my specialty is astronomy.”

“An astronomer?” They were obviously impressed.

Even the over-muscled bruiser identified as Ked Maccioso seemed interested.

“That’s right,” Svir affirmed. And, actually, he was an astronomer. But the others naturally assumed from his unmodified assertion, that he was one of those intrepid souls who manned the ninety-inch reflector in the Doomsday Mountains on The Continent. Life at the Doomsday Observatory was a constant struggle against asphyxiation, cold, mountain apes, and Hurdic tribesmen. “I came out here to deliver some speeches at Krirsarque University.” This last was an inversion of the truth. Svir was a graduate student in astronomy at Krirsarque. For the last two years he had worked with the thirty-inch telescope at the university. The most recent publisher coming west from The Continent had brought news that the men at Doomsday had duplicated some of Hedrigs’ work. Now Svir had to journey all the way to the coast of The Continent to meet with one of the Doomsday astronomers and thrash the problem out.

“What’s your preference in astronomy?” asked Tatja. “Seraphy?”

“No,” replied Svir. “Seraph’s not visible from Doomsday. I’m in a new field—parallax astronomy. Using very delicate trig techniques, I’ve measured the distances to some of the nearer stars.”

“Really! I bought an article on that very subject for the latest issue.” She snapped her fingers. “Brailly Tounse” reached into a side pouch and handed Tatja a magazine. She gave it to Svir. “See.”

Svir gasped. There was the familiar masthead of Fantasie. In small letters beneath it were the words: “Issue of the 162nd Meridian. Whole Number 10,039.” Here was physical proof that the Tarulle fleet had already arrived. With the quivering ecstasy of a long-time addict, he drooled over the Togoto cover, and then the table of contents. Beneath the magazine’s famous motto, “Things are not as they seem,” were listed fifteen stories and novelettes by authors from all over the world. A new short by Ivam Alecque, a serial by Tsumish Kats . . . Svir flipped through the pages and came across one that caught on his fingers. It wasn’t made of the usual seaweed pulp, but of some heavier, lacquer-coated material. At the top of that page was written: “Meet the Fantasie staff.” Below were six portraits done in tones of green. But they weren’t acid-etch prints, or even hand paintings. These pictures were green-tinted windows revealing perfect likenesses of Tatja Grimm and the men seated at Svir’s table.

Hedrigs wondered if he looked as embarrassed as he felt. These people were everything they claimed to be. And now Tatja Grimm was even more desirable—if that were possible—than she had been before.

Grimm placed her hand on his forearm as she saw what Svir was looking at. “How do you like those pictures? That’s a development we picked up in the Osterlei Archipelagate. Those pictures are made by a machine that looks at its subject and instantly ‘paints’ the picture, just like in the Diogens stories.” Tatja slipped her hand down onto his. For a moment Svir’s vision blurred. A warm glow spread through his body. “My picture is at the bottom there because the Science Department was only introduced last year, when dear old Spektr gave in to the increased popularity of contrivance fiction.

“I can tell you are a fan. How long have you been reading Fantasie?”

“Ever since I was seven. Twenty years. The Tarulle Barge has come through the Archipelagate ten times in that period. I’ve looked forward to each arrival more and more eagerly. I’ve even collected some issues from the last century.”

Tatja laughed, a friendly, intimate chuckle. The men at the table receded into the back of Svir’s consciousness. “That’s a worthwhile project. Do you know that in all the world, there is only one complete collection of Fantasie!”

“You mean the proof copies on the barge?”

“No. Not even the Tarulle Company has a complete set. Remember, there was a fire on Old Barge three hundred years ago, and all the copies to that date were lost. Up to twenty years ago, there were more than twenty-five complete collections, but a series of accidents has destroyed all but one.” She put a faint accent on the word “accidents.”

Hedrigs had never thought about it, but it certainly was possible that only one complete collection existed. As the Tarulle Company toured the world, they sold their magazines, and printed extra copies to drop off at later island chains. Delivery was quite unreliable compared to a subscription service, such as some island magazines used. Thus it was very difficult to get a continuous sequence of issues. And Fantasie was seven hundred years old. Even though most issues had been recopied and their stories anthologized, so that any major library contained thousands of stories from the magazine, there were still “lost” issues unavailable on the Chainpearls.

The person or government that possessed the complete set must be very wealthy and dedicated to culture. “Who has the collection?” asked Svir.

“The Regent of Crownesse, Tar Benesh,” Tatja answered.

Svir frowned. Tar Benesh had never impressed him as a man of high taste. He almost missed what Tatja Grimm said next. She was looking directly at him, and her lips barely moved. She seemed to be preoccupied with something far away.

“It’s too bad Benesh is going to destroy them.”

“What! Why? Can’t he be stopped?” His shocked questions tumbled over each other. Why would anyone want to destroy seven hundred years of Fantasie? The epic cycles, the ingenious short stories—all those glimpses into worlds-that-are-not—would be lost.

Tatja’s hand tightened around his. Her face came near his and he heard her say, “Perhaps there is a way to stop him. With you and your dorfox perhaps—”