one of the twigs with extreme care and handed it over for Vykor to inspect. “Don’t know what it is, huh?” he said.
Vykor shook his head.
“It’s dream weed,” said Larwik succinctly. “Our stock in trade.”
“Now see here!” said Vykor, getting up with his face white. “I don’t know what the hell you’re playing at, but if there’s dreamweed mixed up in it I want out—and quickly!” Larwik waited, unmoved. “What do you know about dreamweed, anyway?” he said. “You didn’t recognize it.”
"I’ve seen enough of its effects not to like it,” said Vykor harshly. “Those poor devils you get over in the Alchmid section sometimes—who’ve run away from their Pag slave- masters under the influence, and who die by inches because their supply has been withdrawn.”
“Not any more,” said Larwik levelly. “We keep them supplied, out of charity. They got us the stuff in the first place, you see—risked their lives to snitch seed-pods and smuggle them in.”
“But . . . but what the hell for ? ” exploded Vykor. “What do you want to soil your hands with it for?”
“The Pags use it to keep the Alchmids tamed,” said Larwik. “It’s the most powerful hallucinant and intoxicant we know. It’s habit-forming as hell; addicts will pay everything they have in the galaxy for a shot when they’re really strung out.” He paused. “The Cathrodynes are really getting worried about the number of addicts they’re getting these days. It’s a very profitable business, Vykor—and it puts Cathrodyne money in our pockets.”
Slowly Vykor relaxed. “I don’t like it,” he said grudgingly. “But . . . okay, it’s a logical idea. I’d rather see the Alchmids giving it back to the Pags, because bad as they are the Cathrodynes never did anything like that to us.”
“They did to the Lubarrians,” said Larwik. “Seen that fat slob of a chaplain that’s been dumped on them this time? To infect them with that phoney creed was near as bad as dreamweed.”
“I’ll give you that,” said Vykor reluctantly. “Okay— you wanted to know about this man Lang.”
He couldn’t add anything to what he had told Raige; he did not even have a new theory to account for Lang’s presence in Glaithe-reserved territory. And the whole affair mystified Larwik.
“Maybe he’s genuine, then,” Larwik said thoughtfully. “Or —no, he can’t be, because he knows his way around the station too well, on your showing. Or . . . You see, I was afraid he might be a Cathrodyne plant—a real stranger, bought for the occasion, or a ringer near-perfectly disguised, whose job was to make like a susceptible tourist eager to try all the sights and entertainments and splashing money around everywhere. If such a character really did come here, we might be tempted to offer him a shot of dreamweed and milk him till his purse was dry. Shove him on an outgoing ship and who’s the wiser when his withdrawal symptoms kill him? That’s the way Cathrodynes work, anyway . . . This Ferenc who came in with you is a spy for sure, but he’s mixed up in Cathrodyne-Pag high politics, and not in anything as incidental as tracing a source of drug addiction.”
“Do the Glaithes know about this?” queried Vykor.
“Know?” said Larwik in tones of high amusement, getting off his stacked crates and stretching uncomfortably. “Where do you think we grow the stuff? They gave us a whole bank of hydroponic tubes to play with. Of course they know! They practically pushed us into it.”
“Oh. If they objected, Lang might have been a plant from them, but since they don’t . . Vykor frowned. “Who the—?”
VIII
There was a long pause. Finally Larwik went over to the elevator door again and pushed the call button. “I should dearly like to introduce Dardaino to dreamweed,” he said in a meditative tone as he waited for the car to arrive. “But I don’t think I can risk it. If the Cathrodynes discovered that the source of
Vykor shook his head.
“It’s dream weed,” said Larwik succinctly. “Our stock in trade.”
“Now see here!” said Vykor, getting up with his face white. “I don’t know what the hell you’re playing at, but if there’s dreamweed mixed up in it I want out—and quickly!” Larwik waited, unmoved. “What do you know about dreamweed, anyway?” he said. “You didn’t recognize it.”
"I’ve seen enough of its effects not to like it,” said Vykor harshly. “Those poor devils you get over in the Alchmid section sometimes—who’ve run away from their Pag slave- masters under the influence, and who die by inches because their supply has been withdrawn.”
“Not any more,” said Larwik levelly. “We keep them supplied, out of charity. They got us the stuff in the first place, you see—risked their lives to snitch seed-pods and smuggle them in.”
“But . . . but what the hell for ? ” exploded Vykor. “What do you want to soil your hands with it for?”
“The Pags use it to keep the Alchmids tamed,” said Larwik. “It’s the most powerful hallucinant and intoxicant we know. It’s habit-forming as hell; addicts will pay everything they have in the galaxy for a shot when they’re really strung out.” He paused. “The Cathrodynes are really getting worried about the number of addicts they’re getting these days. It’s a very profitable business, Vykor—and it puts Cathrodyne money in our pockets.”
Slowly Vykor relaxed. “I don’t like it,” he said grudgingly. “But . . . okay, it’s a logical idea. I’d rather see the Alchmids giving it back to the Pags, because bad as they are the Cathrodynes never did anything like that to us.”
“They did to the Lubarrians,” said Larwik. “Seen that fat slob of a chaplain that’s been dumped on them this time? To infect them with that phoney creed was near as bad as dreamweed.”
“I’ll give you that,” said Vykor reluctantly. “Okay— you wanted to know about this man Lang.”
He couldn’t add anything to what he had told Raige; he did not even have a new theory to account for Lang’s presence in Glaithe-reserved territory. And the whole affair mystified Larwik.
“Maybe he’s genuine, then,” Larwik said thoughtfully. “Or —no, he can’t be, because he knows his way around the station too well, on your showing. Or . . . You see, I was afraid he might be a Cathrodyne plant—a real stranger, bought for the occasion, or a ringer near-perfectly disguised, whose job was to make like a susceptible tourist eager to try all the sights and entertainments and splashing money around everywhere. If such a character really did come here, we might be tempted to offer him a shot of dreamweed and milk him till his purse was dry. Shove him on an outgoing ship and who’s the wiser when his withdrawal symptoms kill him? That’s the way Cathrodynes work, anyway . . . This Ferenc who came in with you is a spy for sure, but he’s mixed up in Cathrodyne-Pag high politics, and not in anything as incidental as tracing a source of drug addiction.”
“Do the Glaithes know about this?” queried Vykor.
“Know?” said Larwik in tones of high amusement, getting off his stacked crates and stretching uncomfortably. “Where do you think we grow the stuff? They gave us a whole bank of hydroponic tubes to play with. Of course they know! They practically pushed us into it.”
“Oh. If they objected, Lang might have been a plant from them, but since they don’t . . Vykor frowned. “Who the—?”
VIII
There was a long pause. Finally Larwik went over to the elevator door again and pushed the call button. “I should dearly like to introduce Dardaino to dreamweed,” he said in a meditative tone as he waited for the car to arrive. “But I don’t think I can risk it. If the Cathrodynes discovered that the source of
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