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Authors: Jack Vance
Tags: Science-Fiction
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has reduced his debt only two hundred and ten florins. How is this possible?"
"The men run up irresponsible charges at the canteen—drinking, for the most part."
"To the extent of five hundred florins?" Etzwane pointed to an entry.
"Gans committed an unruly act and was put into a disciplinary cell. After a month Gans decided to pay a fine."
"Where is the disciplinary annex?"
"It is an annex behind the stockade," Hillen's voice had taken on a rough edge. "We will inspect this annex."
Hillen strove to keep his voice pitched in a tone of calm rationality. "This is not a good idea. We have serious disciplinary problems here. The interference of an outsider can create a turmoil."
"I am sure this is true," said Etzwane. "On the other hand, abuses, if such exist, come to light only when someone notices them."
"I am a practical man," said Hillen. "I merely enforce company regulations."
"Conceivably the regulations are unreasonable," said Etzwane. "I will inspect the annex."
Etzwane said in a stifled voice: "Get these men out into the air at once."
Hillen's face was like a stone. "What are your plans here at Camp Three?"
"You'll learn in due course. Bring the men up from those holes."
Hillen gave a terse order to the guards. Etzwane watched as fourteen haggard men came forth from the annex. He asked Hillen: "Why did you remove the name Jerd Finnerack from the roster?"
Hillen apparently had been waiting for the question. "He is no longer on the work force."
"He paid out his indenture?"
"Jerd Finnerack has been transferred to civil custody."
In a mild voice Etzwane asked, "Where is he now?"
"In criminal detention."
"And where is that?"
Hillen jerked his head toward the south. "Yonder."
"How far?" "Two miles." "Order a diligence."
The way to the detention house led across a dreary flat, mounded with rotting waste from the withe processing, then entered through a grove of enormous gray shagbarks. After the stockade, and in anticipation of the detention compound, the beauty of the way seemed weird and unreal. Masses of pale green foliage floated far overhead, ethereal as clouds; the cool spaces below were like grottoes. A few thin beams of sunlight impinged in a trefoil of circles upon the dust of the road: pale blue, pearl white, pink.
Etzwane broke the silence: "Have you seen Roguskhoi in the neighborhood?"
"No."
The forest dwindled into a thicket of aspen, tape leaves, and stunted similax; the road broke out upon a soggy, black heath, steaming with aromatic vapors. Insects glinted past, whining like darts. Etzwane at first tended to flinch and duck; Hillen sat sternly erect.
They approached a low concrete structure, almost windowless. "The detention house," said Hillen.
Etzwane, noticing a peculiar aliveness to his expression, became instantly suspicious. "Stop the diligence here."
Hillen turned him a burning, narrow-eyed glance, lie looked in angry frustration toward the detention hall, then hunched his shoulders. Etzwane jumped quickly to the ground, now certain that Hillen had planned mischief. "Get to the ground," he said. "Walk to the hall, call forth the guards. Have them bring out Jerd Finnerack and send him here to me."
Hillen gave a fatalistic shrug; stepping down to the road, he trudged to the blockhouse, halting a few yards from the entrance. He called brusquely. From within came a short, fat man with unkempt wads of black hair hanging down past his cheeks. Hillen made a sharp, furious motion; the two looked back at Etzwane. The fat man asked a sad question; Hillen gave a terse reply. The fat man returned within.
Etzwane waited, his mind charged with tension. At Angwin Junction Finnerack had been a sturdy blond youth, mild and trusting. From sheer goodness, so it then had seemed, Finnerack had urged escape upon Etzwane and had even offered assistance. Certainly he had never envisioned Etzwane's dramatic act, which after the event had cost Finnerack dearly. Etzwane now realized that he had bought
"The men run up irresponsible charges at the canteen—drinking, for the most part."
"To the extent of five hundred florins?" Etzwane pointed to an entry.
"Gans committed an unruly act and was put into a disciplinary cell. After a month Gans decided to pay a fine."
"Where is the disciplinary annex?"
"It is an annex behind the stockade," Hillen's voice had taken on a rough edge. "We will inspect this annex."
Hillen strove to keep his voice pitched in a tone of calm rationality. "This is not a good idea. We have serious disciplinary problems here. The interference of an outsider can create a turmoil."
"I am sure this is true," said Etzwane. "On the other hand, abuses, if such exist, come to light only when someone notices them."
"I am a practical man," said Hillen. "I merely enforce company regulations."
"Conceivably the regulations are unreasonable," said Etzwane. "I will inspect the annex."
Etzwane said in a stifled voice: "Get these men out into the air at once."
Hillen's face was like a stone. "What are your plans here at Camp Three?"
"You'll learn in due course. Bring the men up from those holes."
Hillen gave a terse order to the guards. Etzwane watched as fourteen haggard men came forth from the annex. He asked Hillen: "Why did you remove the name Jerd Finnerack from the roster?"
Hillen apparently had been waiting for the question. "He is no longer on the work force."
"He paid out his indenture?"
"Jerd Finnerack has been transferred to civil custody."
In a mild voice Etzwane asked, "Where is he now?"
"In criminal detention."
"And where is that?"
Hillen jerked his head toward the south. "Yonder."
"How far?" "Two miles." "Order a diligence."
The way to the detention house led across a dreary flat, mounded with rotting waste from the withe processing, then entered through a grove of enormous gray shagbarks. After the stockade, and in anticipation of the detention compound, the beauty of the way seemed weird and unreal. Masses of pale green foliage floated far overhead, ethereal as clouds; the cool spaces below were like grottoes. A few thin beams of sunlight impinged in a trefoil of circles upon the dust of the road: pale blue, pearl white, pink.
Etzwane broke the silence: "Have you seen Roguskhoi in the neighborhood?"
"No."
The forest dwindled into a thicket of aspen, tape leaves, and stunted similax; the road broke out upon a soggy, black heath, steaming with aromatic vapors. Insects glinted past, whining like darts. Etzwane at first tended to flinch and duck; Hillen sat sternly erect.
They approached a low concrete structure, almost windowless. "The detention house," said Hillen.
Etzwane, noticing a peculiar aliveness to his expression, became instantly suspicious. "Stop the diligence here."
Hillen turned him a burning, narrow-eyed glance, lie looked in angry frustration toward the detention hall, then hunched his shoulders. Etzwane jumped quickly to the ground, now certain that Hillen had planned mischief. "Get to the ground," he said. "Walk to the hall, call forth the guards. Have them bring out Jerd Finnerack and send him here to me."
Hillen gave a fatalistic shrug; stepping down to the road, he trudged to the blockhouse, halting a few yards from the entrance. He called brusquely. From within came a short, fat man with unkempt wads of black hair hanging down past his cheeks. Hillen made a sharp, furious motion; the two looked back at Etzwane. The fat man asked a sad question; Hillen gave a terse reply. The fat man returned within.
Etzwane waited, his mind charged with tension. At Angwin Junction Finnerack had been a sturdy blond youth, mild and trusting. From sheer goodness, so it then had seemed, Finnerack had urged escape upon Etzwane and had even offered assistance. Certainly he had never envisioned Etzwane's dramatic act, which after the event had cost Finnerack dearly. Etzwane now realized that he had bought
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