VIII
Two thousand kilometers north of Kompong Timur, a mountain range heaved itself skyward. It was dominated by Gunung Utara, which was also a city.
The morning after he arrived, Flandry stepped out on the ledge fronting his hostel. Behind him, a tunnel ran into black basalt, looping and twisting and branching, for it was an ancient fumarole. Rooms had been excavated along that corridor; airblowers and fluorescent tubes had been installed; plastisurfacing and tapestries softened bare rock. Most of the city was built into such natural burrows, supplemented with artificial caves—up and down the slopes of Gunung Utara.
Flandry could just see the cliff behind him, and about ten meters downward where the ledge tumbled below his feet. Otherwise his world was thick white mist. It distorted sounds; he heard machines and voices as if from far away and from impossible directions. The air was thin and cool, his breath smoked. He shivered and drew tighter about him the hooded cloak which local people added to kilt, stockings, and shirt. After all, they lived a good 2,500 meters above sea level.
There was a rumbling underfoot, deeper than any engine, and the ground quivered a little. Gunung Utara dreamed.
Flandry lit an atrocious native cigarette. Luang had promptly sold all his Terran supply. Presently he would go look for some breakfast. Food in the lowlands had been heavy on rice and fish, but Luang said meat was cheaper in the mountains. Bacon and eggs? No, that would be too much to hope for. Flandry sighed.
It had been a pleasant trip here, though. Extremely pleasant, on admirably frequent occasions. The girl had not merely sent him off to hide, but come along herself, with Kemul at heel. They had been ferried across the lake at night by someone who would keep his mouth shut. At the depot on the far side, she engaged a private cabin on one of the motorized rafts which plied the Ukong River. He stayed inside that, and she spent most of her time with him, while the raft chugged them slowly northeast to Muarabeliti. (Kemul slept outside the door, and said little in waking hours, spending most of his time with a marijuana pipe.) There they could have gotten an airliner, but since that was only for the wealthy, it seemed safer to go by monorail. Not that they jammed themselves into a third-class car like ordinary peasants; they got a compartment, suitable conveyance for petty bourgeoisie. Across a continent of jungle, plantation, and drowned lowland, Flandry had once more paid less attention to the scenery than a dutiful tourist should. And now they were holed up in Gunung Utara until the heat went off, with Biocontrol certain that Flandry must be dead.
And then?
He heard the lightest clack of shoes on stone and turned around. Luang emerged from the tunnel. She had yielded to this climate with a flame-red tunic and purple tights, but the effect was still remarkable, even before breakfast. “You should have called me, Dominic,” she said. “I rapped on Kemul’s door, but he is still snoring.” She yawned, curving her back and raising small fists into the fog. “This is no town for long naps. Here men work hard and wealth flows quickly. It has grown much since I visited it last, and that was only a few years ago. Let me get well established, and I can hope to earn—”
“Oh, no, you don’t!” Somewhat to his own astonishment, Flandry discovered that he retained a few absurd prejudices. “Not while we’re partners.”
She laughed, deep in her throat, and took his arm. It was not a very gentle gesture, though. She was curt and fierce with him, and would never say much about herself. “As you wish. But what then shall we do?”
“Live quietly. We’ve more than enough funds.”
She let him go and snatched a cigarette out of a pocket. “Bah! Gunung Utara is rich, I tell you! Lead, silver, gems, I know not what else. Even a common miner may go prospecting and gain a fortune. It’s soon taken from him. I want to do some of the taking.”
“It is quite safe for me to show myself?” he asked cautiously. .
She looked at him. With his beard still inhibited, he needed only to shave his upper lip each day. Dye had blackened his hair, whose shortness he explained to the curious as due to a bout of jungle fungus, and contact lenses made his eyes brown. The harsh sunlight had already done the same for his skin. There remained his height and the unPulaoic cast of his face, but enough caucasoid genes floated around in the population that such features, though rare, were not freakish. “Yes,” she said, “if you remember that you are from across the ocean.”
“Well, the chance must be taken, I suppose, if you insist on improving the shining hour with racketeering.” Flandry sneezed. “But why did we have to come here, of all drizzly places?”
“I told you a dozen times, fool. This is a mining town. New men arrive each day from all over the planet. No one notices a stranger.” Luang drew smoke into her lungs, as if to force out the mist. “I like not the god-hated climate myself, but it can’t be helped.”
“Oh, right-o.” Flandry glanced up. A light spot showed in the east, where sun and wind were breaking the mists. A warm planet like Unan Besar could expect strong moist updrafts, which would condense into heavy clouds at some fairly constant altitude. Hereabouts, that was the altitude at which the mines happened to lie. The area was as foggy as a politician’s brain.
It seemed reckless to build a town right into a volcano. But Luang said Gunung Utara was nearly extinct. Smoldering moltenness deep underneath it provided a good energy source, and thus another reason for this settlement; but the crater rarely did more than growl and fume. It was unusually active at the present time. There was even a lava flow. But the same engineers whose geophysical studies proved there would never again be a serious eruption, had built channels for such outpourings.
As the fog lightened, Flandry could see the ledge below this one, and the head of a crazily steep trail which wound down past tunnel mouths. He caught a sulfurous whiff.
“We should find it interesting for a while,” he said. “But what do we do afterward?”
“Go back to Kompong Timur, I suppose. Or anywhere else in the world that you think there may be a profit. Between us we will always do well.”
“That’s just it.” He dropped his cigarette butt and ground it under his sandal. “Here I am, the man who can free your whole people from Biocontrol—I don’t believe in false modesty, or even in true modesty—”
“Biocontrol never troubled me very much.” Her tone grew sharp. “Under a new arrangement . . . oh, yes, I can easily foresee what an upheaval your cheap antitoxin would bring . . . would I survive?”
“You could prosper in any situation, my dear.” Flandry’s grin died away. “Until you get old.”
“I don’t expect to reach old age,” she snapped, “but if I do, I’ll have money hoarded to live on.” The clouds rifted, and one sunbeam dashed itself blindingly along the mountainside. Far down the slope, among ledges and crags and boulders, a rolling road was being installed to carry ore from a minehead to a refinery. Antlike at this distance, men crawled about moving rock by hand. Flandry had no binoculars, but he knew very well how gaunt those men were, how often they lost footing and went over a cliff, how their overseers walked among them with electric prods. But still the sunbeam raced downward, splitting the fog like a burning lance, until it touched the valley under the mountain. Impossibly green that valley was, green fire streaked with mist and streams, against the bare red and black rock which surrounded it. Down there, Flandry knew, lay rice paddies, where the wives and children of the construction gang stooped in the mud as wives and children had since the Stone Age. Yet once upon a time, for a few generations, it wasn’t done this way.
He said, “The hand labor of illiterates is so cheap, thanks to your precious social system, that you’re sliding back from the machine era. In another several centuries, left to yourselves, you’ll propel your rafts with sweeps and pull wagons with animals.”
“You and I will be soundly asleep in our graves then, Dominic,” said Luang. “Come, let’s find a tea house and get some food.”
“Given literacy,” he persisted, “machines can work still cheaper. Faster, too. If Unan Besar was exposed to the outside universe, labor such as those poor devils are doing would be driven off the market in one lifetime.”
She stamped her foot and flared: “I tell you, I don’t care about them!”
“Please don’t accuse me of altruism. I just want to get home. These aren’t my people or my way of life . . . good God, I’d never find out who won this year’s meteor ball pennant!” Flandry gave her a shrewd glance. “You know, you’d find a visit to some of the more advanced planets interesting. And profitable. D’ you realize what a novelty you’d be to a hundred jaded Terran nobles, any of whom could buy all Unan Besar for a yo-yo?”
Her eyes lit up momentarily. Then she laughed and shook her head. “Oh, no, Dominic! I see your bait and I won’t take your hook. Remember, there is no way off this planet.”
“Come, now. My own spaceship is probably still at the port, plus several left over from pioneering days, plus the occasional Betelgeusean visitor. A raid on the place—or, more elegantly, the theft of a ship—”
“And how long until you returned with a cargo of capsules?”
Flandry didn’t answer. They had been through this argument before. She continued, jetting smoke between phrases like a slender dragon: “You told me it would take several days to reach Spica. Then you must get the ear of someone important, who must come investigate and satisfy himself you are right, and go back, and report to his superiors, who will wrangle a long time before authorizing the project. And you admitted it will take time, perhaps many days, to discover exactly what the antitoxin is and how to duplicate it. Then it must be produced in quantity, and loaded aboard ships, and brought here, and—Oh, by every howling hell, you idiot, what do you think Biocontrol will do meanwhile? They will destroy the vats the moment they know you have escaped. There is no reserve supply worth mentioning. No one here could hope to live more than a hundred of our days, unless he barricaded himself in a dispensary. Your precious Spicans would find a planetful of bones!”
“You could escape with me,” he said, chiefly to test her reaction.
It was as he had hoped: “I don’t care what happens to all these stupid people, but I won’t be a party to murdering them!”
“I understand all that,” he said hastily. “We’ve been over this ground often enough. But can’t you see, Luang, I was only talking in general terms. I didn’t mean anything as crude as an open breakaway. I’m sure I can find a way to slip off without Biocontrol suspecting a thing. Smuggle myself aboard a Betelgeusean ship, for instance.”
“I’ve known Guards, some of whom have been on spaceport duty. They told me how carefully the Red Star folk are watched.”
“Are you sure Biocontrol will pull the switch?”
“Sure enough. They can take a final dose of medicine and flee in the other ships.”
“If those were sabotaged, though—?”
“Oh, not every man of them would ruin the world for sheer spite. Perhaps not even most. Especially if it meant their own deaths. But they all stand watches at the vats . . . and Dominic, all it needs is one fanatic, and there is more than one. No!” Luang discarded her cigarette and took his arm again, digging sharp nails into his flesh. “If ever I find you scheming any such lunacy, I will tell Kemul to break your neck. Now I am starving, and this is also the day when I should get my pill.”
Flandry sighed.
He let her go first down the ladder to the trail. They walked precariously, unused to such steepness, and entered the crowds at lower levels. An engineer, in gaily embroidered tunic and the arrogance of a well-paid position, had a way cleared for him by two brawny miners. A yellow-robed priest walked slowly, counting his beads and droning a charm; from a cave mouth several meters above the path, a wrinkled wizard in astrological cloak made faces at him. A vendor cried his wares of fruit and rice, carried up from the valley at the ends of a yoke. A mother screamed and snatched her child from the unfenced edge of a precipice. Another woman squatted in a tunnel entrance and cooked over a tiny brazier. A third stood outside a jabbering joy cave and propositioned a gaping yokel from some jungle village. A smith sang invocations as he thrust a knife blade into the tempering solenoid. A rug seller sat in a booth and called his bargains to every passerby. High overhead, a bird of prey soared among the last ragged mists. Sunlight struck its wings and made them gold.
From a vantage point Flandry could see how the city came to an end and the raw mountain slope stretched northward: cinders, pinnacles, and congealed lava flows. Across a few kilometers of wasteland he spied a concrete dyke, banking the magma channel. Smoke hazed it, as the liquid rock oozed downward and froze. Above all tiers of city and all naked scours lifted the volcanic cone. The wind was blowing its vapors away, which was one thing to thank the lean cold wind for.
“Oh. This is the dispensary. I may as well get my medicine now.”
Flandry stopped under the Biocontrol insigne. Actually, he knew, Luang had a couple of days’ grace yet, but the law permitted that much overlap. He also knew she had illicit pills and didn’t really need to buy her ration—but only a dead man could fail to do so without drawing the instant notice of the authorities. He accompanied her through the rock-hewn entrance.
The office beyond was small, luxuriously furnished in the low-legged cushions-and-matting style of Unan Besar. A door led to the living quarters which went along with this job; another door was built like a treasury vault’s. Behind a desk sat a middle-aged man. He wore a white robe with an open hand pictured on the breast, and his pate was shaven; but the golden brand was not on his brow, for employees like him were not ordained members of Biocontrol.
“Ah.” He smiled at Luang. Most men did. “Good day. I have not seen you before, gracious lady.”
“My friend and I are newly arrived.” With her to look at, Flandry didn’t think the dispenser would notice him much. She counted ten silvers, the standard price, down on the table. The dispenser didn’t check them for genuineness, as anyone else would have. If you passed bad money to Biocontrol, you’d be in trouble enough the next time! He activated a small electronic machine. Luang put her hands flat on a plate. The machine blinked and hummed, scanning them.
Flandry could imagine the system for himself. Her print pattern was flashed by radio to a central electronic file in Kompong Timur. In seconds the file identified her, confirmed that she was indeed ready for her ration, established that she was not wanted by the Guards, made the appropriate addition to her tape, and sent back its okay. As the machine buzzed, Luang removed her hands from it. The dispenser took her money and went to the vault, which scanned his own fingers and opened for him. He came back without the coins, the door closed again, he gave Luang a blue capsule.
“One moment, my dear, one moment. Allow me.” He bustled over to fill a beaker with water. “There, now it will go down easier. Eh-h-h?” Flandry doubted if he was as attentive to the average citizen. At least, not judging from the way he used the opportunity to do a little pinching.
“Where are you staying in our city, gracious lady?” he beamed.
“For now, noble sir, at the Inn of the Nine Serpents.” Luang was plainly unhappy at having to linger—but, equally plainly, you were never impolite to a dispenser. In law he had no rights over you. In practice, it was not unknown for a dispenser to block the signaler, so that GHQ never recorded a given visit, and then hand his personal enemy a capsule without contents.
“Ah, so. Not the best. Not the best. Not suitable at all for a damsel like yourself. I must think about recommending a better place for you. Perhaps we could talk it over sometime?”
Luang fluttered her lashes. “You honor me, sir. Alas, business compels me to hurry off. But . . . perhaps, indeed, later—?” She left while he was still catching his breath.
Once outdoors, she spat. “Ugh! I’ll want some arrack in my tea, to get the taste out!”
“I should think you would be used to that sort of thing,” said Flandry.
He meant it in all thoughtless innocence, but she hissed like an angry snake and jerked free of him. “What the blue deuce?” he exclaimed. She slipped into the crowd. In half a minute, he had lost sight of her.