Butty gave the address of the publisher. After all, he’d still be there for another month, even if he was fired. The publisher would make him work out his time. He went back, happy. One up on his mortal enemy.
The only thing that worried the M.O. was the car that had veered into Jolly’s window. Uneasily he remembered that the driver had spoken only a few words when he regained consciousness, just before dying. And no one could have got at him with suggestion.
“The bus…damned thing.… All across the road.… Driver laughing. Mad, mad.…”
The M.O. decided to forget about the motorist. It made Butty’s theory inconsistent and he needed it.
THE DILETTANTES, by E. C. Tubb
Artrui was admiring Bulem’s new nail varnish when Velenda joined them in the breakfast room. Listlessly, she sat down, punched the button for fruit juice, and scowled at the two men. Neither of them paid her the slightest attention.
“I like it,” said Artrui enviously. “There’s something quite fascinating about the way all those tiny flecks of color shimmer when you move your hands. Prador?”
“Yes.” Bulem moved his fingers and smiled at the result, “He is experimenting with photon-trapping compounds and sent me this as a sample. Neat, isn’t it?”
“Very.” Artrui glanced distastefully at his own emerald-tipped fingers then smiled as Marya entered the room. Marya was the latest addition to the composite group, and so was extremely popular. She sat down and punched for a full meal.
“What are we doing today?”
“I’ve no idea.” Artrui sat down beside her and, with blatant intimacy, sipped from her glass. “I suppose we could go over and see Tobol. They tell me that he’s worked up some wonderful new fabrics, gossamer with iridescent panels. He’s got some new models, too, from Atheon, I believe. Atheon or maybe Xenadath, some outlandish planet like that.”
“Yolande,” corrected Velenda. No one took any notice of her.
“I’ve seen Tobol’s collection,” protested Bulem. “He hasn’t anything really new, just reworks of his old ideas. I found them intensely boring.” He looked thoughtful. “We could go to the Stadium.”
“No,” said Marya decisively. “I wouldn’t like that.”
“No?” Bulem shrugged. “Well, I must admit that the spectacle of trained animals fighting each other to the death begins to pall after a while. What would you suggest?”
“I don’t know,” snapped Marya impatiently. “Can’t you think of anything?”
“The races?” Artrui sighed at her expression. “No?” He frowned, resting the tips of his fingers against his temples in an exaggerated gesture of concentration. “Calthin? He can usually be relied on to supply something interesting. Helstart? They say that his tingle-dreams are out of this universe. Malpiquet? He has some interesting exhibits in aborted mutation which should prove interesting if you like that sort of thing.”
“I don’t,” said Marya curtly.
“We could go underworld,” suggested Bulem. Like Artrui, he was worried by Marya’s lack of response. “From what I hear it would be most interesting.”
“Is that all you can think of?” Marya didn’t trouble to hide her impatience. “I’d rather be immolated than have to wear one of those awful suits. What’s the good of going to a place where you can’t do anything?” She stretched, lifting her slender arms until the sheer gossamer of the robe she wore fell back along their smooth perfection. “What I need is something novel and exciting. Maybe.…”
“A hunt,” said Bulem quickly, before she could finish what she was going to say. “We’ve never been on a hunt before. It should prove amusing.”
“Where?” Artrui sounded dubious.
“Alpace. The entire planet is a game reservation, and we should have some good sport.”
“Killing things, you mean?” Artrui still didn’t sound too eager.
“Yes.” Bulem warmed to the idea as he thought about it. “We can get guns and things from the Warden. How about it?”
“Well.…” Artrui looked at Marya. “It’s not such a bad idea at that. It would be novel, and might turn out to be amusing. Does the idea appeal to you, Marya?”
She yawned.
“We could ask Chendis and Ardella,” continued Bulem desperately. “They would be pleased to join us, and both are amusing company. Please say yes, Marya.”
The Warden was an old man from the Cappellian system and he had a proper awe of the stellar aristocrats. He received them in his office and awaited their pleasure as they wrangled among themselves.
“Well make this a proper expedition,” said Chendis. He was a coarse type and held peculiar theories of his own.
He consistently refused to wear nail varnish and accepted his social inferiority with a blatant carelessness which irritated rather than amused.
“That is why we are here,” said Marya coldly. She stared at the Warden. “Your advice?”
“I would suggest the hunting grounds close to the lodge.” He bowed as he spoke. Titles weren’t necessary when dealing with the stellar aristocrats, but abject politeness was. “There is easy sport there, small animals without fang or claw. They are harmless and easily killed. The grounds are within easy flying distance so that you could reside at the lodge during your stay.”
“We want none of that,” snapped Chendis decisively. “We came here for proper sport, not the emasculated version of your target ranges.” He looked at the others. “I suggest that we take some provisions and attendants, and have a heli drop us where there is some real game.” He bared his teeth.
“Big game. I want to hear something yell when I pull the trigger.”
“How revolting!” Marya accentuated a yawn with her ringed fingers. “Really, Chendis, must you be so primitive?”
“Why not? The whole idea behind a hunt is to go primitive.” He leered at her as he spoke. As he was not in the same composite as Marya, he saw no reason to pander to her whims, and he knew that he was too far down the social scale for his discourtesy to make the slightest difference.
He even winked at Velenda and she, responding to his friendship, winked back. They smiled at each other to Ardella’s annoyance and the pleased approval of the other two men.
With any sort of luck at all they might be able to persuade Chendis to take Velenda off their hands. Ardella, while no great acquisition, couldn’t possibly be as boring as Velenda.
Artrui mentally decided to sound Chendis out on the subject as soon as possible.
“I suppose that it would be safe enough,” said Bulem dubiously. As the hunt had originally been his suggestion, he was eager to see it work out to everyone’s satisfaction. “As you say, Chendis, half the fun is in getting away from luxury and really roughing it. You agree, Artrui?”
“What?” Artrui blinked. “Oh, yes. Yes, of course.”
“That’s settled then.” Bulem glanced at the Warden. “See to it.”
“At once.” The man hesitated. “You would have no objection to one of the attendants carrying weapons?”
Chendis looked annoyed. “Is that necessary?”
“The beasts are dangerous, sir. They have been especially bred so, for the benefit of seasoned hunters. The man, a warrior he is called, will be armed for the sole purpose of protecting you from harm.”
“I don’t like it,” said Chendis. “As the hunters, we should be the only ones to carry weapons.”
“It is merely a precaution, sir,” the Warden explained. He hesitated. “A party similar to yourselves went out shortly before my arrival here. They refused to take a warrior with them and were severely mauled. Two women died and two men are still undergoing plastic surgery. Naturally, the Warden responsible has been immolated, but the damage was done.”