The Potter of Firsk and Other Stories

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Authors: Jack Vance
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, adventure
“Come along. I’ll show you.”
    Ten minutes later they stood staring down at the naked body of Foreman Jelson. He had been taking a shower and his body still glistened with the wet. A red and blue bruise ringed his neck, his eyes popped, and his tongue lolled from the side of his mouth.
    “We was right here, sittin’ in the dressin’ room,” babbled a red-headed mechanic. “We didn’t see a thing. Jelson went in to shower. The next thing, we heard him flop—and there he was!”
    Rogge turned to Magnus Ridolph. “You see? That’s what’s been going on. Do you still think that building a fence will stop the murders?”
    Ridolph mused, a hand at his white beard. “Tonight, if I am not mistaken, there will be a murder attempted at Diggings A.”
    Rogge’s mouth opened slackly, then snapped shut. From behind came the sobbing breath of the red-headed mechanic.
    “Diggings A? How? Why do you say that?”
    “No one will be killed, I hope,” said Magnus Ridolph. “Indeed, if I’m wrong my theory has been founded on a non-comprehensive survey of the possibilities, and there may be no attempt upon my life.” He stared thoughtfully at the corpse. “Perhaps I overestimate the understanding and ability of the murderer.”
    Rogge turned away. “Call the medics,” he snapped to the mechanic.
    They rode back to Diggings A in a jeep, and Rogge took Captain Julic and Magnus Ridolph to his apartment for the evening meal.
    “I could easily clear the land,” he told Ridolph, “but I can’t understand what you have in mind.”
    Magnus Ridolph smiled slowly. “I have an alternate proposal.”
    “And what’s that?”
    “Armor the necks of your personnel in steel bands.”
    Rogge snorted. “Then the murderer would go to smashing skulls or poisoning.”
    “Bashing heads, no—poisoning, possibly,” said Magnus Ridolph. He reached for an enormous purple grape. “For instance, it would be an easy matter to poison the fruit.”
    “But why—
why!
” cried Rogge. “I’ve pounded my brain night after night, and all I can get is ‘homicidal maniac’.”
    Magnus Ridolph shook his head, smiled. “I think not. I believe that these killings have a clear, very simple purpose behind them. So simple perhaps that you overlook it.”
    Rogge grunted, glared at the benign countenance. “Suppose you
are
murdered tonight—then what?”
    “Then you’ll know that my recommendation was founded on a correct analysis of the problem, and you’ll do as I suggested.”
    Rogge grunted again, and for a moment there was silence.
    “How long a job do you have here, Superintendent?” Magnus Ridolph asked mildly.
    Rogge stared sourly out the window past the gray, black, white foliage, out to where a knife-edge horizon divided the bright white sea from the dark-blue sky. “About five years if I can keep men working. Another week of these killings, they’ll break their contract.”
    Captain Julic chuckled. Rogge turned snapping black eyes on him.
    “Already,” said Captain Julic, “I’ve refused twenty men passage back to Starport.”
    “Contract-jumpers, eh?” snorted Rogge. “Just point them out to me, and I’ll make them toe the mark!”
    Captain Julic laughed, shook his head.
    At last Magnus Ridolph rose to his feet. “If you’ll show me to my quarters, I think I’ll take a little rest.”
    Rogge pushed a button to summon the steward, quizzically eying the white-bearded sage. “You still think your life is in danger?”
    “Not if I’m careful,” said Magnus Ridolph coolly.
    “So far there’s been no killings at Diggings A.”
    “For an excellent reason—if my hypothesis is correct. A very manifest reason, if I may say so.”
    Rogge leaned back in his chair, curled his lip. “So far it has not been manifest to me, and I have been intimately concerned with the matter since we broke ground at Diggings B.”
    “Perhaps,” said Magnus Ridolph, “you are too close to the problem. You must remember that this is not

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