Arriving at Uncibal on a rainy night Jantiff was reminded of
a paragraph in the
Alastrid Gazeteer:
“Across many years wise travelers
have learned to discount their first impression of a new environment. Such
judgments are derived from previous experience in previous places and are
infallibly distorted.” On this dismal evening Uncibal Space-port lacked every
quaint or charming quality, and Jantiff wondered why a system which for a
century had gratified uncounted Arrabins could not better promote the comfort
of a relatively few visitors.
Two hundred and fifty passengers, debarking from the
spaceships, found themselves alone in the gloom, a quarter-mile from a line of
low blue lights which presumably marked the terminal building. Muttering and
grumbling the passengers squelched off through the puddles.
[9]
Jantiff walked to the side of the straggling troop,
thrilling to contact with alien soil. From the direction of Uncibal drifted a
waft of odor, oddly sour and heavy, yet half-familiar, which only served to
emphasize the strangeness of the world Wyst.
At the terminal a droning voice addressed the newcomers: “Welcome
to Arrabus. We distinguish three types of visitors: first, commercial representatives
and tourists intending brief visits; second, persons planning sojourns of less
than a year; third, immigrants. Please form orderly queues at the designated
doorways. Attention: the import of food-stuffs is prohibited. All such items
must be surrendered at the Contraband Property desk. Welcome to Arrabus. We
distinguish three types of visitors…”
Jantiff pushed through the crowds; apparently several
hundred arrivals from a previous ship still waited in the reception hall.
Eventually he discovered the file marked 2, which snaked back and forth across
the room in a most confusing manner, and took his place in the line. Most
arriving persons, he noted, intended immigration, and the queue in File 3
stretched several times as far as that in File 2. The queue in File 1 was very
short indeed.
Step by sidling step Jantiff crossed the room. At the far
end an array of eight wickets controlled the movement of the new arrivals, but
only two of these wickets were in operation. A corpulent man, immediately behind
Jantiff, thought to hasten the motion of the line by standing close to Jantiff
and pressing with his belly. When Jantiff, to avoid the contact, moved as close
as convenient to the person ahead, the corpulent man promptly inched forward,
to squeeze Jantiff even more closely. The man ahead at last looked around at
Jantiff and said in a cold voice: “Really, sir, I am as anxious as you to negotiate
this file; no matter how you press the line moves no faster.”
Jantiff could offer no explanation which would not offend
the corpulent man, who now stood so close that his breath warmed Jantiff’s
cheek. Finally, when the man ahead stepped forward, Jantiff resolutely held his
ground, despite the fat man’s breathing and jostling.
Ultimately Jantiff arrived at the wicket, where he presented
his landing pass. The clerk, a young woman with extravagant puffs of blond hair
over her ear, thrust it aside. “That’s not correct! Where is your green clearance
card?”
Jantiff fumbled through his pockets. “I don’t seem to have
any green card. They gave me no such document.”
“Sir, you’ll have to go back to the ship for your green
clearance card.”
Jantiff chanced to notice that the fat man carried a white
card similar to his own. In desperation he said: “This man here has no green
card either.”
“That’s a matter of no relevance. I can’t allow you entry
unless you present the proper documents.”
“This was all they gave me; surely it’s sufficient?”
“Sir, please, you’re obstructing the line.”
In numb dismay Jantiff stared at his white card. “It says here,
‘Landing pass and clearance card’.”
The clerk looked at it sidelong, and made a clicking sound
with her tongue. She went to the second booth and conferred with the clerk, who
made a telephone call.
The blond girl returned to the wicket. “This is a new form;
it was introduced only last month. I haven’t drudged this office for a year and
I’ve been sending everyone back to the ship. Your questionnaire, please—no, the
blue sheet.”
Jantiff produced the proper document: an intricate form
which he had painstakingly completed.
“Hm… Jantiff Ravensroke .. Frayness, on Zeck. Occupation:
technical graphics expert. Reason for visit: curiosity.” She glanced at him
with raised eyebrows. “Curiosity? About what?”
Jantiff hurriedly said: “I want to study the Arrabin social
system.”
“Then you should have written ‘study.’”
“I’ll change it.”
“No, you can’t alter the document; you’ll have to fill out a
new form. Somewhere in the outer chambers you’ll find blank forms and a desk;
at least that’s how it went a year ago.”
“Wait!” cried Jantiff. “After ‘curiosity’ I’ll write: ‘about
Arrabin social system.’ There’s plenty of room, and that’s not alteration.”
“Oh, very well. It’s not regular, of course.”
Jantiff quickly made the entry and the clerk reached for the
validation stamp. A gong sounded; she dropped the stamp, rose to her feet and
went to the back of the wicket where she tossed a cape around her shoulders. A
young man entered the wicket: round-faced, boyish, his eyelids drooping as if
from lack of sleep. “Here I am!” he told the blond girl. “A trifle late, but
that’s not too bad; I’ve only just returned from a swill at Serce and directly
to drudge. Still, I might as well recover on drudge as off. Come to think, it’s
the best way.”
“Lucky you. I’m low tomorrow. I’ll probably draw sanitation
or greasing the rollers.”
“I drew a shoe machine last week; it’s really rather amusing
once you learn which handles to pull. Halfway through my stint the circuits
went wrong and the shoes all came away with funny big toes. I sent them on
anyway, in hopes of launching a new style. Think of it! Maybe I’ll be famous!”
“Small chance. Who wants to wear funny shoes with big toes?”
“Somebody had better want to wear them; they’ve gone into
boxes.”
The fat man called over Jantiff’s shoulder: “Can’t we hurry
things just a bit? Everyone’s anxious to rest and have a bite of food.”
The two clerks turned him identical stares of blank incomprehension.
The girl picked up her handbag. “Off to bed for me. I’m too tired eve4 to copulate.”
“I know those days… Well, I suppose I’d better be earning
my gruff.” He stepped forward and picked up Jantiff’s papers. “Now then, let’s
see… First, I’ll need your green entry card.”
“I don’t have any green card.”
“No, green card? Then, my friend, you’d better get one. I
know that much, at least. Just run back to the ship and locate the purser; he’ll
fix you up in a jiffy.”
“This white card supersedes the green card.”
“Oh, is that how they do it now? Good enough then. So now,
what else? The blue questionnaire: I won’t bother with that; it’s boring for
both of us. You’ll want a housing assignment. Do you have any preferences?”
“Not really. Where would you suggest?”
“Uncibal, of course. Here’s a decent location.” He gave
Jantiff a metal disk. “Go to Block 17-882 and show this disk to the floor
clerk.” He lifted the stamp and gave Jantiff’s papers a resounding blow. “There
you are, my friend! I wish you the enjoyment of your bed, the digestion of your
gruff and lucky draws from the drudge barrel.”
“Thank you. Can I spend the night in the hotel? Or must I go
to Block 17-whatever-it-is?”
“The Travelers Inn by all means, if you’ve got the ozols.
[10]
The man-ways are wet tonight. It’s no time to be seeking out a block.”
The Travelers Inn, an ancient bulk with a dozen wings and
annexes, stood directly opposite the terminal exit. Jantiff entered the lobby
and applied at the desk for a chamber. The clerk handed him a key: “That will
be seven owls, sir.”
Jantiff leaned back aghast. “Seven ozols? For one room with
one bed? For a single night?”
“Correct, sir.”
Jantiff reluctantly paid over the money. When he saw the
chamber he became more indignant than ever; in Frayness such a room would be considered
minimal and rent for an ozol or less.
Returning downstairs to the restaurant, Jantiff seated himself
at one of the enameled concrete counters. An attendant placed a covered tray in
front of him.
“Not so fast,” said Jantiff. “Let me look at the menu.”
“No menu here, my friend. It’s gruff and deedle, with a bit
of wobbly to fill in the chinks. We all eat alike.”
Jantiff lifted the cover from the tray; he found four cakes
of baked brown dough, a mug of white liquid and a bowl of yellow paste. Jantiff
tasted the “gruff”; the flavor was mild and not unpleasant. The “deedle” was tart
and faintly astringent, while the “wobbly” seemed a simple custard.
Jantiff finished his meal and the attendant gave him a slip
of paper. “Please pay at the main desk.”
Jantiff glanced at the slip in wonder. “Two ozols. Can this
price be correct?”
“‘The price may not be ‘correct,’” said the attendant. “Still
it’s the price we exact here at the Travelers Inn.”
A cavernous bathroom was shared by both sexes, personal
modesty having succumbed to egalism. Jantiff diffidently made use of the
facilities, wondering what his mother would say, then thankfully retired to his
chamber.
In the morning, after Wyst’s short night, Jantiff rose from
his bed to find Dwan already halfway up the sky. Jantiff looked out across the
city in great interest, studying the play of light among the blocks and along
the man-ways. Each of the blocks showed a different color, and, possibly
because Jantiff was bringing to bear an expectant vision, the colors seemed
peculiarly rich and clean, as if they had just been washed.
Jantiff dressed and, descending to the ground floor, took
advice from the desk clerk as to the location of Block 17882. Giving the
restaurant and its two-ozol breakfast a wide berth, Jantiff set off along the
man-way: a sliding surface thronged with Arrabins, rapid toward the center,
slow at the edges.
Dwan-light illuminated the city-scape to either side in a manner
Jantiff found entrancing, and his spirits rose.
The man-way curved westward; the blocks in lines to right
and left marched away to the horizon, dwindling to points. Laterals poured
human streams upon the man-way; Jantiff had never imagined such vast crowds: a
marvelous spectacle in itself! The city Uncibal must be reckoned one of the wonders
of the Gaean universe! Across his course at right angles slid another of the
mighty Arrabin man-rivers: a pair of boulevards flowing in opposite directions.
Jantiff glimpsed rank behind rank of men and women riding with faces curiously
serene.
The man-way swerved and joined another, larger, man-way.
Jantiff began to watch the overhanging signs which gave warning of lead-offs.
He diverted to a slow neighborhood feeder and presently stepped off in front of
a weathered pink block, two hundred feet square and twenty-three stories high.
Block 17-882, his designated home.
Jantiff paused to inspect the face of the structure. The surface
paint, peeling off in areas, showed blotches of pink, old rose and pale pink
which gave the block a raffish and restless air, in contrast to its neighbor,
which was painted a supercilious blue. Jantiff found the color congenial and
congratulated himself on the lucky chance of his allotment. Like all the other
blocks, the walls showed no windows, nor any openings except for the entrance.
Over the parapet surrounding the roof hung foliage from the roof garden. Constant
traffic passed in and out of the portal: men, women and a few children in identical
garments, of colors somewhat too garish for Jantiff’s taste, as if the folk
were dressed for a carnival. Their faces likewise were gay; they laughed and
chattered and walked jauntily; Jantiff’s spirits rose to look at them, and his misgivings
began to dwindle.
Jantiff passed into the lobby and approached the desk. He
presented his requisition to the clerk, a short round-bodied man with gingery
hair arranged in ear-puffs and elaborate love-locks. The round cheerful face instantly
became petulant “My aching bowels! Is it yet another immigrant?”
“No, indeed,” said Jantiff with dignity. “1 am a visitor.”
“What’s the odds? You’re one more cup of water in the full
bucket. Why don’t you start an Egalism Society on your own world?”
Jantiff replied politely: “People aren’t so inclined on
Zeck.”
“Neither Zeck nor the whole elitist covey! We can’t absorb
their ne’er-do-wells indefinitely. Our machines break down, so what happens
when the sturge stops and there’s no more wump? We’ll all go hungry together.”
Jantiff’s jaw dropped. “Are there really that many immigrants?”
“Too true! A thousand each and every week!”
“But surely some of them leave?”
“Not enough! Only six hundred, or hopefully seven; still,
hope won’t mend machines.” He handed Jantiff a key. “Your roommate will show
you the wumper, and explain the rules. You’ll receive a drudge schedule this
afternoon.”
Jantiff said tentatively: “I’d prefer a single apartment, if
any are available.”
“You’ve got a single apartment,” said the clerk. “It comes
with two beds. If the population rises another billion well put in hammocks.
Floor 19, Apartment D 18. I’ll call up and mention that you’re coming.”
The ascensor conveyed Jantiff to the nineteenth floor. He
found Corridor D and presently arrived at Apartment 18. He hesitated, raised
his hand to knock, then decided that under the circumstances he was entitled to
effect his own entry; accordingly he touched his key to the latch plate. The
door slid aside to reveal a sitting room furnished with a pair of low couches,
a table, a set of cases and a wall screen. A patterned beige and black rug covered
the floor; from the ceiling hung a dozen globes fashioned from wire and colored
paper. On one of the couches sat a man and a woman, both considerably older
than Jantiff.