Free The Dogtown Tourist Agency by Jack Vance Page A

“especially since the Gomaz must be removed from the list. Far better that an addle-brained zealot be declared the assassin, whether he is guilty, as I believe him to be, or not.”
    “Dirby might concede this point of view,” said Hetzel, “if he were granted safe-conduct away from Maz and recompensed for his inconvenience. At the moment, he is annoyed and unhappy, and he is anxious to bring the facts to light.”
    “This, of course, is his option. How does he propose to perform the illumination?”
    “The Gomaz was present; why not question him?”
    Sir Estevan leaned back in his chair and pondered. “Gomaz make poor witnesses. They are unresponsive—contemptuously unresponsive, I should say—to our laws and customs. They will say what they wish to say, and no more. It is impossible to coerce a Gomaz, and it is also impossible to appeal, shall we say, to his better nature.”
    “Incidentally, what was their business with the Triarchy?”
    “Before a statement could be made, the assassinations occurred.”
    Hetzel thought to detect evasiveness. “Did they not state their business for your agenda?”
    “No.” Sir Estevan’s reply was curt.
    “And you yourself do not know what their business might have been?”
    “I would not care to speculate.”
    “From Dirby’s point of view, the surviving Gomaz is a prime witness. It would seem that if a Gomaz testified at all, he would speak the truth.”
    “The truth as he saw it. By no means the truth as we see it.”
    “Still, in all fairness, we should hear what he has to tell us.”
    Sir Estevan hesitated a moment, then took up a schedule, which he studied a moment. He punched a button on his telephone. The screen became bright; a face looked forth; a voice spoke. “Maz Transport. Yes, Sir Estevan.”
    “Has the Route Five carrier left on schedule?”
    “Yes, sir, half an hour ago.”
    “How many passengers were aboard?”
    “One moment sir…Seven passengers: two Kaikash, two Ironbellies, a Ubaikh, an Aqzh, and a Yellow Hellion.”
    “Look out into the corral. Do you see any Ubaikh?”
    “It’s empty, sir. Everyone left on the transport.”
    “Thank you.” Sir Estevan switched off the screen. “The Gomaz has returned to his castle, and must be considered inaccessible.”
    “Not necessarily. I can be on hand when the carrier puts him down, and interview him there.”
    “Hmmf.” Sir Estevan studied Hetzel a long ten seconds. “How will you communicate with him?”
    “You must have a suitable translator.”
    “Naturally. A valuable piece of equipment.”
    “I’ll post bond on it, if you wish.”
    “That’s not necessary. Zaressa will get it for you. You can rent an air-car from the tourist agency in Dogtown.” He scribbled a note, handed it to Hetzel. “That’s your permit. They’ll send one of their personnel with you; that’s our invariable rule, to keep inexperienced people out of trouble. Maz is a dangerous planet, and naturally you go out at your own risk. The agency man will know how to find the Ubaikh depot. Don’t go near the castle; they’ll kill you. At the depot you’re safe enough.” He looked at the schedule. “You’ve got ample time. The carrier won’t arrive at Ubaikh until tomorrow afternoon. I’ll want to look over the tape of the interview; is that understood?”
    “Certainly. Now, one other matter…”
    Sir Estevan glanced at his watch. “I’m a bit pressed for time.”
    “I came here to Maz to inquire about Istagam, as the concern is known. My principals are concerned by Istagam’s low prices; they fear that the Liss and the Olefract are using Maz as a port of entry from which to flood the Gaean markets.”
    Sir Estevan’s lip curled. “You can assure them otherwise. Neither Liss nor Olefract want contact with the Gaeans, or with each other.”
    “Then who or what is Istagam?”
    Sir Estevan spoke almost primly. “I have heard the word mentioned, and I believe that there is no illegality involved. You