Vance, Jack - The Killing Machine

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The Killing Machine

By Jack Vance

Book 2 in the "Demon Prince" Series

Tot pag 7

From "How the Planets Trade," by Ignace Wodleckt:

Cosmopolis, September, 1509:

In all commercial communities, the prevalence or absence of counterfeit money,

spurious bills of exchange, forged notes-of-hand, or any of a dozen other

artifices to augment the value of blank paper is a matter of great concern.

Across the Oikumene, precise duplication and reproducing machines are readily

available; and only meticulous safeguards preclude the chronic debasement of our

currency. These safeguards are three: first, the single negotiable currency is

the Standard Value Unit, or SVU, notes for which, in various denominations, are

issued only by the Bank of Sol, the Bank of Rigel, and the Bank of Vega. Second,

each genuine note is characterized by a 'quality of authenticity.' Third, the

three banks make widely available the so-called fake-meter. This is a pocket

device that, when a counterfeit note is passed through a slot, sounds a warning

buzzer. As all small boys know, attempts to disassemble the fake-meter are

futile; as soon as the case is damaged, it destroys itself.

Regarding the 'quality of authenticity' there is naturally a good deal of

speculation. Apparently in certain key areas, a particular molecular

configuration is introduced, resulting in a standard reactance of some nature:

electrical capacity? magnetic permeability? photo-absorption or reflectance?

isotopic variation? radioactive doping? a combination of some or all of these

qualities? Only a handful of persons know and they won't tell.

Gersen first encountered Kokor Hekkus at the age of nine.

Crouching behind an old barge, he watched slaughter, pillage, enslavement.

This was the historic Mount Pleasant Massacre, notable for the unprecedented

cooperation of the five so-called Demon Princes. Kirth Gersen and his

grandfather survived; five names became as familiar to Gersen as his own: Attel

Malagate, Vtole Falushe, Lens Larque, Howard Alan Treesong, Kokor Hekkus. Each

had his distinctive quality. Malagate was insensate and grim, Viole Falushe

gloried in sybaritical refinements, Lens Larque was a megalomaniac, Howard Alan

Treesong a chaoticist. Kokor Hekkus was the most mercurial, fantastic, and

inaccessible, the most daring and inventive. A few folk had reported their

impressions: uniformly they found him affable, restless, unpredictable, and

infected with what might have seemed utter madness, except for his demonstrable

control and strength. As to his appearance, all had different opinions.

He was, by popular repute, immortal.

Gersen's second encounter with Kokor Hekkus occurred in the course of a

routine mission Beyond, and was indecisive-or so it seemed at the time. In early

April of 1525, Ben Zaum, an official of the IPCC,* arranged a clandestine

interview with Gersen and proposed a stint of "weaseling"-that is to say, an

IPCC investigation Beyond. Gersen's own affairs had come to a standstill; he was

bored and restless, and so agreed at least to listen to the proposition.

The job, as Zaum explained it, was simplicity itself. The IPCC had been

commissioned to locate a certain fugitive: "Call him 'Mr. Hoskins,' " said Zaum.

So urgently required was Mr. Hoskins that at least thirty operatives were being

despatched to various sectors of the Beyond. Gersen's job would be to survey the

inhabited localities of a certain planet: "Call it 'Bad World,' " said Zaum,

with a knowing grin. Gersen must either locate Mr. Hoskins or establish as a

definite certainty7 that he had not set foot on Bad World.

Gersen reflected a moment. Zaum, who reveled in mystification1, on this

occasion seemed to be outdoing himself. Patiently Gersen began to chip away at

the exposed part of the iceberg, hoping to float new areas into view. "Why only

thirty weasels? To do the Job right, you'd need a thousand."

Zaum's wise expression gave him the semblance of a large blond owl. "We've

been able to narrow the area of search. I can say this much, Bad World is one of

the likelier spots-which is why I want you to take it on. I can't overemphasize

how important all this is."

Gersen decided he didn't want the job. Zaum had determinedor was under

orders-to maintain as much reticence as possible.

Working in the dark irritated Gersen, distracted him, and so reduced his

effectiveness-which meant that he might not return from the Beyond. Gersen

wondered how to turn down the job without alienating Ben Zaum and so drying up a

pipeline into the IPCC.

"What if I found Mr. Hoskins?" he asked.

"You have four options, which I'll name in order of decreasing desirability.

Bring him to Alphanor alive. Bring him to Alphanor dead. Infect him with one of

your horrible Sarkoy mind-drugs. Kill him outright."

"I'm no assassin."

"This is more than simple assassination! This is-confound it,

I'm not permitted to explain in detail. But it's truly urgent, I assure you

of this!"

"I don't disbelieve you," said Gersen. "Still, I won't-in fact, I can't-kill

without knowing why. You'd better get someone else."

Under normal circumstances, Zaum would have terminated the interview, but he

persisted. Gersen thereby was given to understand that either qualified weasels

were hard to come by or that Zaum regarded his services highly.

"If money is any object," said Zaum, "I think I can arrange-"

"I think I'll pass this one up."

Zaum made a half-serious display of beating his forehead with his fists.

"Gersen-you're one of the few men whose competence I'm sure of. This is a

murderously delicate operation-if, of course, Mr. Hoskins visits Bad World,

which I myself think is likely. I'll tell you this much: Kokor Hekkus is

involved. If he and this Mr.

Hoskins make contact-" He flung up his hands.

1 IPCC-Intemorld Police Coordination Company in theory, a private organization providing

the police systems of the Oikumene specialized consultation, a central

information file, cnminological laboratories, in practice, a supergovernmental

agency occasionally functioning as a law in itself

Gersen maintained his attitude of disinterest, but now all was changed. "Is

Mr. Hoskins a criminal?"

Zaum's bland brow creased in discomfiture. "I can't go into details."

"In that case, how do you expect me to identify him?"

"You'll get photographs and physical characteristics; this should suffice.

The job is perfectly simple. Find the man: kill him, confuse him, or bring him

back to Alphanor."

Gersen shrugged. "Very well. But since I'm indispensable I want more money."

Zaum made a peevish complaint or two. "Now as to definite arrangements: when

can you leave?"

"Tomorrow."

"You still keep your spacecraft?"

"If you call the Model 9B Locater a spacecraft."

"It gets you there and back, and it's suitably inconspicuous.

Where is it docked?"

"At Avente Spaceport, Area C, Bay 10."

Zaum made a note. "Tomorrow go to your spaceship, make departure. The ship

will be provisioned and fueled- The monitor will be coded to Bad World. You will

find a folder with information regarding Mr. Hoskins in your Star Directory. You

need only personal effects-weapons and the like."

"How long am I to search Bad World?"

Zaum heaved a deep sigh. "I wish I could tell you. I wish I knew what was

going on. ... If you don't find him within a month after arrival, it's probably

too late. If we only knew for sure where he was going, what were his

motivations. .. ."

"I gather he's not a known criminal then."

"No. He's lived a long, useful life. Then he was approached by a man named

Seuman Otwal, who we suspect to be an agent of Kokor Hekkus. Mr. Hoskins,

according to his wife, thereupon seemed to go to pieces."

"Extortion? Blackmail?"

"In these circumstances-impossible."

Gersen was able to elicit no more information.

Arriving at Avente Spaceport somewhat before noon of the following day,

Gersen found matters as Zaum had stated. Boarding the spartan little spacecraft,

he went first to the Star Directory, where he found a manila envelope containing

photographs, plus a printed description. Mr. Hoskins was shown in various

costumes, headgear, and skin-toning. He appeared a man in his late maturity,

with a big loose body, affable large eyes, a wide mouth with heavy teeth, a

small rapacious nose. Mr. Hoskins was an Earthman: so much was clear from his

clothes and skin-toning, which were generally similar but different in detail to

those of Alphanor. Gersen put the folder aside, reluctantly decided against a

visit to Earth, where he probably could identity Mr. Hoskins. Such a detour

would take too much time-and undoubtedly get him into the IPCC's blackbook. He

made a final check of the boat, called Port Control for departure processing.

Half an hour later, Alphanor was a shining orb astern. Gersen engaged the

monitor, and watched as the nose of the boat swept across the sky, finally to

point in a direction sixty degrees off the baseline between Rigel and Sol.

The Jarnell Coverdrive now seized the ship, or, more accurately, created

conditions where a few pounds of thrust caused nearinstantaneity of transfer.

Time passed. Random photons curling and seeping through the Jarnell laminae

entered the ship, to allow the outside universe to be seen: stars by the

hundreds and thousands, drifting past like sparks on the wind. Gersen kept a

careful astrogational record, fixing on Sol, Canopus, and Rigel. Presently the

ship crossed the separation between the Oikumene and the Beyond, and now law,

order, civilization had no formal existence. Projecting the line of travel,

Gersen finally was able to identify Bad World: Carina LO 461 IV in the Star

Directory, Bissom's End in the terminology of Beyond. Henry Bissom was seven-

hundred-years dead; the world, or at least the region surrounding the principal

town Skouse, was now the preserve of the Windle family. Bad World was no

misnomer, thought Gersen; in fact, should he put down at Skouse without good

reason-offhand he could think of none-he would without fail be picked up by the

local platoon of the Deweaseling Corps.2*

The single inter-world organization of Beyond, existing only to identify and

destroy undercover agents of the IPCC.

Ahead a greenish-yellow star of no great luminosity clung to the crosshairs,

waxing brighter and larger. Presently the intersplit kicked off; ether

collapsing in upon the ship sighed and shuddered through all the atoms of ship

and Gersen himself: a sound to set the teeth on edge, but which perhaps wasn't

even real.

The old Model 9B coasted through space. Nearby hung Bissom's End-Bad World.

It was a smallish planet, cold at the poles, with a chain of low mountains

forming a cincture of the equator, like a weld joining the two hemispheres. To

north and south ran belts of sea, shallowing somewhere near 50 degrees latitude

to bayous and jungles, beyond which were swamps and morasses all the way to the

permafrost.

On a windy plateau sat the town Skouse, an irregular huddle of dingy stone

buildings. Gersen was puzzled. Why would Mr. Hoskins want to come to Bissom's

End? Far more pleasant refuges existed- Brinktown was almost gay.. . . But he

was taking too much for granted: Mr. Hoskins might never come near Bissom's End,

with the whole mission a mare's nest; indeed, Zaum had emphasized as much.

2 He would be rigorously questioned. After which, if he were lucky, he would be

allowed ten minutes to leave the planet. Ifweaseling were suspected, he would be

killed. Gersen thought harsh thoughts concerning Ben Zaum and his overelaborate

secrecy. Had he known his destination, he might conceivably have set up some kind

of cover.

Gersen examined the planet under the macroscope, finding little of interest.

The equatorial mountains were dusty and barren, the oceans were gray and mottled

with the shadows of low scudding clouds. He turned his attention back to Skouse,

a town of perhaps three or four thousand population. Nearby was a scorched field

bordered by sheds and warehouses; evidently the spaceport. Nowhere were

luxurious mansions or castles to be seen, and Gersen remembered that the Windles

inhabited caves in the mountains behind the town. A hundred miles to east and

west, evidences of habitation finally dwindled to wilderness. There was a single

other town, beside a dock extending into the North Ocean. Nearby was a metal-

processing plant, so Gersen deduced from slag tailings and several large

buildings. Elsewhere the planet showed no signs of human occupation.

If he could not visit Skouse overtly, he must do so surreptitiously. He

picked out an isolated ravine, waited till evening shadows crossed the area,

then settled as swiftly as possible.

He spent an hour adjusting to the atmosphere, then stepped out into the night.

The air was cool; like that of almost every planet it had a distinctive tang, to

which the nostrils quickly become dulled: in this case a bitter chemical

exhalation mixed with something like burnt spice, the one apparently derived

from the soil, the other from the native vegetation.

Gersen invested himself with various tools of the weasel trade, winched down

his platform flyer, set forth to the west.

The first night Gersen reconnoitered Skouse. The streets were unpaved and

aimless; there was a commissary, several warehouses, a garage, three churches,

two temples, and a tramway with spindly tracks leading down toward the ocean. He

located the inn; a square three-story structure built of stone, fiber panels,

and timber. Skouse was a dull town, exuding a sense of boredom, sluggishness,

and ignorance; Gersen assumed the population to have little more status than

serfdom.

He concentrated his attention on the inn, where Mr. Hoskins, if he were

present, would almost certainly take up residence. He was unable to find a

window to look through; the stone walls resisted his eavesdrop microphone. And

he dared not speak to any of the patrons who at various times during the night

staggered out and away through the twisting streets of Skouse.

The second night he had no better success. However, across from the inn, he

found a vacated structure: apparently at one time a machine-shop or fabricating

plant, but now given over to dust and small white insects unnervtngly like

minuscule monkeys. Here Gersen ensconced himself and through the entirety of the

greenishyellow day kept watch upon the inn. The life of the town moved past him;

dour men and stolid women wearing dark jackets, loose flapping trousers of brown

or maroon, black hats with upturned brims, went about their affairs. They spoke

in a broad flat dialect that Gersen could never hope to imitate; so died a

tentative plan to secure native-style garments and enter the inn. In the late

afternoon, strangers came into town: spacemen by their costumes, from a ship

that apparently had only Just landed. Gersen fought off drowsiness with an

antisleep pill. As soon as the sun descended, bringing a mud-colored twilight,

he left his hiding place and hurried through the dim streets to the spaceport.

Sure enough, a large cargo-ship had put in and was now discharging bales and

crates from its hold. Even as Gersen watched, three members of the crew left the

ship, crossed the floodlit fore-area, showed passes to the guard at the wicket,

and turned down the road toward town.

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TheKillingMachineByJackVanceBook2inthe"DemonPrince"SeriesTotpag7From"HowthePlanetsTrade,"byIgnaceWodleckt:Cosmopolis,September,1509:Inallcommercialcommunities,theprevalenceorabsenceofcounterfeitmoney,spuriousbillsofexchange,forgednotes-of-hand,oranyofadozenothe artificestoaugmentthevalueofblankpap...

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Vance, Jack - The Killing Machine

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