The Distilcord, leaving Yellow Rose astern, set a course away from the glimmer of the galaxy and out into the void. Far ahead glittered Night Lamp, a vagabond star which had broken free of galactic gravity to wander alone, without orbit or destination.

Time passed; Night Lamp grew bright and the Distilcord approached the world Fader. Maihac, searching the HANDBOOK TO THE PLANETS, found no entry. Other references works were also devoid of information. The ship's macroscope computed the diameter to be slightly less than Earth-standard, with an approximately equal gravity. A single continent occupied much of the southern* hemisphere, with an ocean covering the remainder of the planet. Mountains corrugated the southern edge of the continent, with a dark forest shrouding the central area and a vast steppe sprawled across north, east and west. Neither the city Romarth nor any other settlement was immediately evident. Maihac finally noticed an agglomeration of white structures in the forest, camouflaged by the trees which grew among the structures and lined the avenues. A radio beacon located the spaceport Flad, alone in the middle of the northern steppe. The macroscope showed a desolate splatter of wind-blown sheds and warehouses. Maihac dispatched a notification of arrival, but received no response. He tried again, with the same result. Without further ado he set the Distilcord down upon the landing field near the terminal office. To either side were warehouses, a dormitory for staff, a makeshift machine shop, miscellaneous sheds: all in various stages of dillapidation. The steppe spread away in all directions, marked only by a road leading off to the south.

The terminal building baked in the sunlight. No one came out to inspect the Distilcord.

Maihac and Gaing alighted, and noticed in the open dorway of the machine shop a large man with a tangle of black curls and a balck beard, who watched incuriously as the two men crossed the field to the terminal office. They pushed through a door of molded sinter and entered a dingy lobby. The single occupant sat at a counter, hands clasped before him, apparently in a state of profound reverie. He was middle-aged, thin, with a scholar's pallor, ascetic features and a fastidious droop to his mouth. He wore a crisp gray tunic with a blue medallion clipped to his shoulder. He was, thought Maihac, an odd sort to be minding the counter at this remote and dusty outpost.

The terminal manager, if sush he were, became aware of Maihac and Gaing. His face changed; apparently he had been asleep with his eyes open. Rising to his feet, he looked through the window at the Distilcord. He turned back to the newcomers. "That is neither the Liliom nor the ; who are you?"

"The ship is the Distilcord." Maihac supplied registration particulars, which the manager looked over without any real interest. He examined Maihac and Gaing again, more closely tahn before. "Then you are not from the Lorquin Agency?"

"No; we represent ourselves exclusively."

"So why do you come to Fader? It is a far voyage."

"We carry a cargo of small tools which we hope to sell at Romarth."

The manager asked dubiously, "Are these weapons, or can they be used as weapons?"

Absolutely not; they are usefull only in the construction business. We want to discharge our cargo at Romarth, which would be both efficient and convenient."

The manager showed a sour smile. "Those words have no currency at Romarth. The Roum do not work; hence no one cares much for convenience or efficiency."

Gaing spoke impatiently: "If only for our own convenience, may we proceed to Romarth?"

The manager shook his head. "Not without a special warrant, lacking which, you would be placed under instant arrest, and lose both ship and cargo."

"In that case, please issue the proper warrant."

Again the manager shook his head. "It is not as easy as all that. My authority is nil, or even less, since I am here for purposes of penal cogitation -- now, happily, at an end."

Maihac asked, "Who then has the authority?"

The manager pulled at his chin. "The only person with authority around here is Arsloe, at the machine shop."

"The man with the black beard?"

"Yes; a surly sort of fellow, and an off-worlder like yourselves. He talks to Asrubal by radio when he wants something; even so, he can't do anything for you. The warrant is available only at Romarth itself."

Gaing asked ruffly: "How do we get the warrant if we are not allowed to go after it?"

"Aha!" the manager exclaimed. "You think you have posed a tricky paradox, but you are wrong. You travel to Romarth for the warrant, then return"

"Fair enough," said Gaing. "We will fly there in our flitter."

"No," said the manager. "Nothing is easy on Fader. Such an act is also illegal."

"Why is that?"

"Because the flitter might fall in the hands of the Loklor, and become a dangerous weapon. They are enough trouble already, we take pains to deny them weapons and other such equipment. If you wish to go to Romarth, you must use the regular transport, like anyone else. There is in fact a train departing Flad tomorrow morning." For the first time the manager showed a trace of animation. "I will be travelling aboard this train myself; my term of penitence is over and tomorrow I leave this dust hole and that sullen beast Arsloe behing -- forever, or so I hope. I must take pains, of course, to avoid my previous faults."

"What did you do?" asked Gaing. "Did you--" and he coarsely suggested an act of sexual perversion committed upon the young daughter of the Chief Magistrate.

"No, nothing like that. What I did was worse. I gave voice to unpopular opinions."

Copyright © 1996 by Jack Vance