“There are other folk, also considered quant, who lack all menace: most notably the clans of vagabond jesters who roam the world in gaudily decorated caravans, performing eccentric dances, farces and burlesques, feats of musical virtuosity, comic ballads, operettas, and whatever else enters their minds.”
The HANDBOOK offered a summation, to the effect that Nion was a world of unique touristic interest, though it lacked much in the way of creature comforts and the tourist must be prepared to make concessions, especially in connection with pold. Tanjaree, the entry port and tourist headquarters, was a small city of no great distinction, regulated by standard Gaean laws and conventions; elsewhere the folk were so strange and their conduct so incomprehensible that they might have been members of indigenous or alien races. Such was the information provided by the HANDBOOK.
In due course the Madelle Azenour landed at Star Home on Aspidiske IV This was his first and most important junction point and immediately his schedule, so meticulously crafted at Tammeola, failed him; by reason of a rerouted carrier but two days later he secured passage aboard a cargo ship to Mersey on Anthony Pringle's World at the edge of the Jingles. Here his connections were favorable, and he boarded the Argo Pilot, which took him through the Jingles, a region of bright and dim stars, gas balls, dark scoriated hulks, sullen spheroids of neutron metal, orphan planets and orphan moons, to the back of the sector and down to Tanjaree on Nion.
The Spaceport occupied a strip along the edge of a low plateau, with the city Tanjaree at its base surrounding a small lake.
Glawen underwent entry formalities, which included dosages of universal prophylactic, fungicide, anti-virals and buffers to absorb the first shock of the toxic local proteins. He was also subjected to an unusually careful search of his travel bag and his person, which resulted in the seizure of his handgun. “Weapons of this sort are not allowed on Nion, he was informed. There are too many situations which become volatile in the blinking of an eye, and the knives and kurkris of Nion are bad enough."
“All the more reason to allow me my gun for self-defense.”
The complaint went unheeded. Glawen was tendered a receipt. “You may reclaim the weapon upon your departure.”
Leaving the terminal building, Glawen stepped out into the glare of light from the sun Pharisse. The sky, a cloudless expanse of purple-blue, seemed tremendously wide, by reason of the far horizons. He went to the railing which guarded the brink of the plateau and looked down over Tanjaree. It was a city of modest size, separated by a circular lake. To the west was the old town or native quarter, a random scatter of low white domes and slender spires, almost dwarfed beneath a dozen or so prodigious dendrons growing among the structures. They stood, so Glawen estimated, over two hundred feet tall, on massive black boles which separated into a sprawl of heavy branches, bending at the tips to the weight of blue fruiting globes, about ten feet in diameter.
The new town, to the east of the lake, showed a street layout only marginally more rational than the unabashed chaos of the old town. An avenue skirted the lake. Where it passed in front of the large tourist hotels and other tourist services, it broadened and was known as ‘The Mall'. Narrow streets and alleys slanted away in all directions through the rather shabby districts away from the waterfront. The structures, large and small alike, were fabrications of lumpy plaster, apparently wadded into place by hand, with all dimensions and measurements being estimated by eye. There were no sharp corners, neither right angles nor verticality save in those instances which occurred by accident. The effect was one of organic growth and — initially, at least — not unpleasant. Most of the structures were two stories high, though the tourist hotels fronting on the lake were often of three or even four stories.
Glawen turned away from the view. A small structure nearby displayed a sign: TOURIST INFORMATION. Glawen went to the structure and entered. The premises were furnished with a long table, chairs, a rack of brochures. Behind the table sat a pair of young women, dressed, in sleeveless white frocks and sandals. They were appealing creatures, thought Glawen, strikingly similar, with delicate features in pale faces, chestnut curls and slight small-breasted bodies. Both wore ribbons in their hair: pink on the girl sitting to the left, blue on the one to the right. They took note of Glawen with similar expressions of polite inquiry. The girl with the blue ribbon asked: “How best can we serve you, sir?”
“First of all," said Glawen, “I need a hotel. Can you make me a recommendation and — if possible — book me a room?”
"Of course! That is our function!” The girls exchanged smiles, as if at a private joke. Pink Ribbon said: “There are twenty hotels in Tanjaree. Six are rated 'First Class'; five are 'Second Class’. The others are somewhat less convenient. There are also shelters where lodging is provided the penurious."
Blue Ribbon said: "Before we can accommodate you to your precise taste, we must learn your preferences. Which category do you prefer?”
“Naturally, I prefer the best," said Glawen. “The question becomes, can I afford it?"
Blue Ribbon handed him a sheet of paper. "Here are the hotels and their rates."
Glawen glanced down the list. “I see nothing to alarm me. Which is the best?"
Pink and Blue exchanged smiles. "That is a hard question to answer," said Blue. “Departing tourists have much more definite opinions upon which is the worst.”
“Hm," said Glawen. "Perhaps I should ask which hotel provokes the fewest angry complaints?”
Pink and Blue considered a moment, then took counsel with each other. “The Cansaspara, perhaps?" suggested Pink. '"The Cansaspara would be my guess,"' said Blue. "Unfortunately three ships have arrived during the last three days, and none have departed. The Cansaspara is booked solid."
“A pity,” sighed Pink. “I like the Cansaspara Arcade.”
“It is nice," agreed Blue.
Glawen looked from one girl to the other. Both were charming, he thought, though a bit languid and indirect in the conduct of their duties; He said: “I have some business I must transact as soon as possible, so book me anywhere you can.”
"The Superbo and the Haz Warrior are about equal in their amenities, “said Pink. “Do you have a preference?"
“Not really. The Superbo would seem a bit more relaxed than the Warrior.”
“You are a thoughtful man,” said Blue. “Evidently you know something of the Haz. Am I correct?”
“I'm afraid not. But for the moment — “
“The Haz are, almost extinct. A few remain, under the Croo Cleeks, but they no longer sail their desert-boats. In the old days they captured tourists and forced them to fight duels."