Marune: Alastor 933 by Jack Vance

slip of paper, which he handed to Pardero. “The results of my inquiries. I asked myself, what ship leaving Port Mar would land you at Carfaunge Spaceport on tenth Mariel Gaean? Traffic Central’s computer provided a name and a date. On 2 Ferario Gaean the Berenicia of the Black and Red Line departed Port Mar. More than likely you were aboard.”
    Pardero tucked the paper into his pocket. “Another matter which concerns me: how do I pay my passage to Marune? I have no money.”
    Kolodin made an expansive gesture. “No difficulties there. Your rehabilitation includes an extra thousand ozols for just this purpose. Any more worries?”
    Pardero grinned. “Lots of them.”
    “You’ll have an interesting time of it,” said Kolodin.
     
    The Dylas Extranuator drove out past the Pentagram, circled the diadem in the horn of the Unicorn, and coasted into Tsambara, Alastor 1317. Here Pardero made connection with a ship of the Black and Red Line which, after touching into a number of remote little places, veered off along the Fontinella Wisp and presently approached an isolated system of four dwarfs respectively orange, blue, green, and red.
    Marune, Alastor 933, expanded below, to show a surface somewhat dark and heavy textured below its fleets and shoals of clouds. The ship descended and settled upon the Port Mar Spaceport. Pardero and a dozen other passengers alighted, surrendered their last ticket coupon, passed through the lobby and out upon the soil of Marune.
    The time was isp. Osmo glared blue halfway up the southern sky; Maddar rode at the zenith; Cirse peered over the northeast horizon. The light was a trifle cold, but rich with those overtones provided by Maddar and Cirse, so that objects cast a three-phase shadow.
    Pardero halted before the terminal, looked around the landscape, across the sky, inhaled a deep breath, exhaled. The air tasted fresh, cool, and tart, unlike both the dank air of Bruse-Tansel and the warm sweet air of Numenes. The suns sliding in different directions across the sky, the subtle lights, the taste of the air, soothed an ache in his mind he had not heretofore noticed. A mile to the west the structures of Port Mar stood clear and crisp; beyond the land fell away. The view seemed not at all strange. Whence came the familiarity? From research in Chamber 933? Or from his own experience? To the east the land swelled and rose in receding masses of ever higher mountains, reaching up to awesome heights. The peaks gleamed white with snow and gray with granite scree; below, bands of dark forest muted the slopes. Mass collided with light to create shape and shadow; the clarity of the air as it swept through the spaces was almost palpable.
    The waiting bus sounded an impatient chime; Pardero slowly climbed aboard, and the bus moved off along the Avenue of Strangers toward Port Mar.
    The attendant made an announcement: “First stop, the Traveler’s Inn. Second, the Outworld Inn. Then the Royal Rhune Hotel. Then over the bridge into New Town for the Cassander Inn and the University Inn.”
    Pardero chose the Outworld Inn which seemed sufficiently large and impersonal.
    Imminence hung in the air, so heavy that his enemy must also be oppressed.
    Pardero cautiously surveyed the lobby of the Outworld Inn, but saw only off-world folk who paid him no heed. The hotel personnel ignored him. So far, so good.
    He took a lunch of soup, cold meat, and bread in the dining room, as much to compose himself as to appease his appetite. He lingered at the table reviewing his plans. To broadcast the fewest ripples of disturbance, he must move softly, delicately, working from the periphery inward.
    He left the hotel and sauntered back up the Avenue of Strangers toward the green-glass dome of the spaceport terminal. As he walked, Osmo dipped low and sank behind the western edge of Port Mar. Isp became rowan, with Cirse and Maddar yet in the sky, to produce a warm soft light that hung in the air like haze.
    Arriving at the