Free The Shores of Death by Michael Moorcock Page A

refused another when Retorsh went to the chest for a refill.
    Coming back to the couch, Retorsh asked: “I don’t know your preference — whether you’ve got anything aboard your ship—but I’ve got a wire kit here that would last you for a couple of months, or drugs, or ... ”
    “No thanks,” said Marca. “At least, I don’t think I’ll need them. I had a cocoon job done on me in the ship.”
    “They’re the best for a short stay. But at least you’ll need some of these.” Retorsh pointed at his large black eyes. “Lenses,” he explained. “They help a bit to subdue the colours. I’ve worn mine most of my life.” Marca nodded. “I’d appreciate a pair. Have you been on Klobax all your life? ”
    “One trip to Earth was enough for me. I nearly stayed, of course, when I got there. I thought it was bad here— but it’s a thousand times worse in space. I’m well looked after, I’m as adapted to Klobax as anyone could ever be.”
    “How do you spend your time? ”
    Retorsh grinned. “ I’m an artist, like so many here. I spend my time working out the funniest ways of killing myself. I’m nuts I suppose.”
    Marca said nothing. Retorsh was, in fact, one of the sanest permanents he had met. He sat back on the couch knowing that he would not be able to relax completely. He needed to keep tight control of himself. To weaken would be to allow his body to remember that they were not on Earth. It was best to pretend as much as possible. The drugs, coils or radiation processes helped as well, but only a very small percentage of people—usually born away from Earth—could make any kind of permanent life on another planet.
    Now that he knew for certain that the scientist was here, he felt no further need to rush. Perhaps he would take a trip to the village Retorsh had mentioned, try to find out a bit more about Olono Sharvis before he went to see him. But the rumours, the half-legends, the drunken ramblings and space-maddened ravings had meant something. That was the important thing. A scientist who lived alone on Klobax and had been there for 350 years—an immortal. A tiny piece of information which had taken him a year’s careful work to find. It was a whisper of this that had sent him into space when he had resigned his position as Cabinet Leader, along with the other members of his government.
    Soon he would be facing Olono Sharvis. And now that this was imminent, he realised that he was not prepared for the confrontation. How would he approach the man? How would he ask him what he wanted to know? What kind of man would he meet? A man who had spent 350 years in solitude on an alien planet. Yes, he decided, he would visit the village first. Make his way gradually. He had been moving swiftly until now and he must rally his mind, restore his self-control.
    Retorsh said: “I lead a philosophical sort of life, really. It may be aimless, but I’m used to it. I once felt I could terminate it whenever I chose—but things seem to be against me. Three times unlucky. Do you know anything about Sharvis that I don’t know? ”
    Marca shook his head. “What don’t you know? ”
    “Everything. You’re never very curious here. As I say, things are so unreal that what you don’t come in direct contact with doesn’t really have any existence for you. I hardly believed Sharvis was here.”
    “I hope you’re wrong.” Marca looked around the room. “Isn’t it all right to sleep here for a while? ”
    “I don’t advise too much sleep. If I were you I’d take a session in the revivobath.”
    “That would probably be best.”
    Retorsh got up. “I’ll show you where it is.” He led the way.
    Lying in the familiar timeless, spaceless, weightless comfort of the revivo, Clovis Marca was doing some heavy thinking.
    Since the resignation of the government, he had felt his integrity slipping away, and with it he had slewed off many other qualities—his self-control and his selflessness, his principals . . .