Free The Shores of Death by Michael Moorcock

up.
    “How are you feeling? ” the man said. “I’m Retorsh.”
    “I feel better than I did.” Clovis squeezed the grav-strap under his arm and stepped out of the lock, drifting down towards the short man. “My name is Clovis Marca.”
    Retorsh seemed surprised. “An honour, Clovis Marca,” he waved a hand towards the building. “Come inside. You’ll feel better there—more like Earth.”
    Marca felt enervated and depressed. He drifted behind Retorsh as the man led the way to the spacefield building. “Glad you didn’t need any help from me,” Retorsh lifted the kit-box. “Sometimes I have to fight with new arrivals. They’re not all as sensible as you. How they manage to get here without using the automatic system, I don’t know. We had another distinguished visitor a little while ago ...” They reached the door of the building and he stepped aside to let Marca go in first. It was artificially lighted in the reception hall and there were no windows.
    “This is better.” Clovis switched off his gravestrap and walked with weak legs into a pleasantly furnished room decorated in quiet pastel colours. “ Your planet’s certainly impressive.”
    Retorsh shrugged. “I suppose so. I was born here and I’ve committed suicide three times.”
    “Three times? That’s unusual.”
    “I suppose I was unlucky. Each time I was found in time and revived. I’ve no wish to for death, yet—” Retorsh smiled wistfully and walked over to a low chest. He lifted the lid. “Drink? ”
    “Not alcohol, I think,” Marca same over to the chest “I don’t know how it will effect me so soon after the trip. Better make it a coaci.” He took the beaker Retorsh handed him and sat down on one of the comfortable couches. He sipped the drink. “You say you’ve had another visitor recently.”
    “Yes, the madman.” Retorsh brought his large scotch over and sat at the other end of the couch. “As you know, we’ve got something of a regular population here, such as it is. There’s a whole small town about four hundred kilometres north-west—and we have our rugged individualists. Most of them are self-sufficient, so I don’t know how they get on.”
    “You never visit anyone? ”
    “There are a couple of women I see occasionally— religious cranks, but quite attractive—you know. Only one’s any good for anything at all and the other’s wired herself up so much she looks more like a gravcoil than a woman. Luckily the one I’m interested in prefers internal re-wiring, but she can’t last much longer and stay human. Apart from them, I see one old man who lives in the nearest mountains—Sadivan. He was a member of your predecessor’s cabinet I believe.”
    Clovis thought the name was familiar. “I believe so. What’s he doing here? ”
    “He’s writing philosophical essays and setting them to subsonic music. He’s tougher than the girls, manages to keep going on drugs mainly, though most of die time these days he believes he’s on Earth. He’s got a very elaborate set-up—trees, grass, the lot—and and the highest wall around them you’ve ever seen. Sometimes he doesn’t mind our sky intruding, sometimes he rigs up a blue force-curtain and keeps it all out. I thought you might have come to see him. Who have you come to see, Clovis Marca? ”
    Marca decided to be frank. He had already burnt his boats on Earth. “I heard of a scientist who was living here. He had a name something like Zarvis.”
    Retorsh frowned. “Sharvis—Olono Sharvis. He’s been on Klobax some time.”
    “How much time? ”
    Retorsh laughed. “Well, he was here when my father and mother landed in 57 and there was some sort of legend that he had been here since Klobax was discovered. That would make him pretty old wouldn’t it.”
    “About three-hundred-fifty.”
    “Yes, about that.” Retorsh shrugged. “But you know how unreal everything is away from Earth. Things get mixed up.”
    “Yes.” Marca finished his drink and