Wyst: Alastor 1716 by Jack Vance

half-smiles. Esteban inquired in a light voice: “And then, when
your mind has been ordered?”
    “This is what I don’t know. In essence I want to create
something remarkable and beautiful, something that is my very own… I want
to indicate the mysteries of life. I don’t hope to explain them, mind you; I
wouldn’t, even if I could. I want to reveal their dimensions and their wonder,
for people who are interested or even people who aren’t… I’m afraid I don’t
explain myself very well.”
    Skorlet said in a rather cool voice, “You explain well
enough, but no one quite understands.”
    Tanzel, listening with knitted eyebrow, said: “I understand
a little of what he’s saying, I wonder about these mysteries too. For instance,
why am I me, and not somebody else?”
    Skorlet said roughly: “You’ll wear your brain out, thinking along
those lines.”
    Esteban told her earnestly: “Remember, my dear, that Jantiff isn’t an egalist lie the rest of us; he wants to do something quite
extraordinary and individualistic.”
    “Yes, partly that,” said Jantiff, wishing that he had never
ventured an opinion. “But it’s more like this: here I am, born into life with
certain capabilities. If I don’t use these capabilities and achieve my utmost
then I’m cheating myself, and living a soiled life.”
    “Hmm,” said Tanzel sagely. “If everyone were like you, the
world would be a very nervous place.”
    Jantiff gave an embarrassed laugh. “No cause for worry;
there don’t seem to be many people like me.”
    Tanzel gave her shoulders a jerk of somber disinterest, and
Jantiff was pleased to drop the subject. A moment later her mood changed; she
tugged at Jantiff’s sleeve and pointed ahead. “‘There’s Uncibal River! I do so
love watching from the bridge! Oh, please come, everyone! Over to the deck!”
    Tanzel ran out upon the prospect deck. The others followed
more sedately, and all stood leaning on the rail as Uncibal River passed below;
a pair of slideways, each a hundred feet wide, crowded close with the folk of
Arrabus. Tanzel told Jantiff excitedly: “If you stand here long enough you’ll
see everyone in the world!”
    “That of course isn’t true,” said Skorlet crisply, as if she
did not altogether approve of Tanzel’s fancies.
    Below passed the Arrabins: folk of all ages, faces serene
and easy, as if they walked alone, rapt in contemplation. Occasionally someone
might raise his eyes to look at the line of faces along the deck; for the most
part the crowds passed below oblivious to those who watched from above.
    Esteban began to show signs of restlessness. He straightened,
slapped the rails and, with a thoughtful glance toward the sky, said “Perhaps rd
better be moving along. My friend Hester will be expecting me.”
    Skorlet’s black eyes glittered. “There is no need
whatever for you to rush off.”
    “Well, in a way—”
    “Which route do, you go?”
    “Oh—just along the River.”
    “We’ll all go, together and take you to Nester’s block. She’s
at the Tesseract, I believe.”
    Dignity struggling with annoyance, Esteban said curtly, “Shall
we move along then?”
    A ramp curved down and around to the boarding platform;
they stepped out, into the crowd, and were carried away to the west. As
they moved across to the faster lanes, Jantiff discovered an odd effect. When
he looked, over his shoulder to the right, faces in his immediate ,vicinity receded
and fell away into the blur. When he looked back to his left, the faces surged
up from nowhere, drew abreast and passed ahead into an equally anonymous beyond.
The effect was disturbing for reasons he could not precisely define; he began
to feel vertigo and turned away to face forward, to watch the blocks move past,
each a different color: pinks and browns and yellows; greens of every description:
moss, mottled green-white, cadaverous blue-green, black-green; faded reds and
orange-purples: all augmented to a state of clarity by the