They were on the lip of a funnel, at the truncated tip of the double cone. The rim was only a foot across. Louis’s breath caught in his throat. With his flying belt dead, he had reason to fear heights. Wind rushed past him, whipping Whil’s sheet into a fluttering multicolored flag.
Laliskareerlyar asked, “Well? Can you fix it?”
“Not from here. There must be machinery below.”
There was, but it wasn’t easy to reach. The crawl space was inches wider than Louis Wu. Whil crawled ahead of him, opening panels, as instructed.
The crawl space was doughnut-shaped, circling the machinery that must circle the funnel. And the water was supposed to precipitate on the funnel, no doubt. By refrigeration? Or had they something more sophisticated?
The widgetry concealed by the panels was tightly packed, and a total mystery to Louis Wu. It was sparkling clean, except for… yah. He peered closer, not breathing. A wire-thin worm trail of dust had fallen through the widgetry. Louis tried to guess where it had fallen from. He’d have to assume the rest of the machinery was still functional.
He backed out. From Whil he borrowed thick gloves and a pair of needle-nosed pliers. He cut a strip from the edge of the black cloth in his vest and twisted it. He strung it between two contacts and fastened them.
Nothing obvious happened. He continued around the circle, following Whil. In all he found six worm trails of dust. He fastened six twisted strips of superconductor where he thought they belonged.
He wriggled out of the crawl space. “Of course your power source could be long dead,” he said.
“We must see,” said the old woman. She went up the stairs to the roof. Louis and Whil followed.
The smooth face of the funnel seemed misted over. Louis knelt and reached to touch it. Wet. The water was warm. Already it was beading and flowing downslope to the pipes. Louis nodded thoughtfully. Another good deed that wouldn’t matter in fifteen falans.
Chapter 20 — Economics In Lyar
Just below the thick waist of Lyar Building was what seemed to be a combination audience chamber and bedroom. A huge circular bed with a curtained canopy, couches and chairs around small and large tables, a picture-window wall facing the nearer edge of the shadow farm, a bar built to offer a wide variety of potables. That variety was gone. Laliskareerlyar poured from a crystal decanter into a two-handled goblet, sipped, and passed it across to Louis.
He asked, “Do you hold audiences in here?”
She smiled. “Of a sort. Family gatherings.”
Orgies? Very likely, if rishathra was what held the Lyar family together. A family fallen on hard times. Louis sipped from the goblet, tasted nectar-and-fuel. The sharing of cups and food dishes — was fear of poison behind that? But she did it so naturally. And there were no diseases on the Ringworld.
“What you have done for us will increase our status and our funds,” said Laliskareerlyar. “Ask.”
“I need to reach the Library, enter it, and persuade the people who rule there to let me make free use of all their knowledge.”
“That would be very expensive.”
“Not impossible? Good.”
She smiled. “Too expensive. The relationship among the buildings is complicated. The Ten rule the tourist trade—”
“Ten what?”
“Ten large buildings, Luweewu, the most powerful among us. Nine still have lights and water condensers. Together they built the bridge to Sky Hill. Well, they rule the tourist trade, and they pay fees to the lesser buildings to cover hospitality for their alien guests, the use of all public places, and special fees for events in private buildings. They make all agreements with other species, as with the water the Machine People pump up to us. We pay fees to the Ten for water and for special concessions. Yours would be a very special concession although we pay the Library a general fee for education.
“The Library is one of the Ten?”
“Yes. Luweewu, we do not have the money. Is there a chance that you can do the Library a service? Perhaps your research would help them.”
“It’s possible.”
“They would return some of the fee for a service rendered. Even more than we gave, possibly. But we don’t have it. Would you sell them your light weapon or the machine that talks for you?”
“I think I’d better not.”
“Can you repair more water condensers?”
“Maybe. Did you say one of the Ten does
“Orlry Building has been among the Ten since the Fall of the Cities. Tradition.”
“What were they when the cities fell?”
“A military installation, a storehouse for weapons.” She ignored Louis’s chortling. “They have a fondness for weapons. Your light-projector—”
“I’d be afraid to let it go. But maybe they’d like their water condenser fixed.”
“I will learn what fee they ask to let you into Orlry Building.”
“You’re joking.”
“No. You must be guarded, to prevent your carrying away weapons. You pay an entertainment fee to see the ancient weapons, and more if they are to be demonstrated. If you see their maintenance facilities, you may learn weaknesses. I will ask.” She stood. “Shall we indulge in rishathra?”
Louis had been expecting that, a little, and it wasn’t Laliskareerlyar’s odd appearance that made him hesitate. It was the terror of taking off his armor and his tools. He remembered an old sketch of a king brooding on his throne.
But he was far overdue for sleep! He was simply going to have to trust the Lyars. “Good,” he said. He began to strip off his armor.
Age had treated Laliskareerlyar oddly. Louis knew ancient literature, plays and novels that predated boosterspice. Age was a crippling disease… but this woman wasn’t crippled. Her skin was loose on her, and her limbs didn’t bend as far as Louis’s. But she had an endless interest in love, and in the strangeness of Louis’s body and reflexes.
It was a long time before he slept. He had begged off telling her about the plastic under his hair. He wished she hadn’t reminded him of that. The Hindmost had a working droud… and he hated himself for wanting it.
He was awakened near nightfall. The bed jolted twice, and he blinked and rolled over. He faced Laliskareerlyar and a City Builder man who had also been touched by age.
Laliskareerlyar introduced him as Fortaralisplyar, her mate of record and Louis’s host. He thanked Louis for his work on the building’s old machinery. Dinner was already on one of the tables, and Louis was invited to share it with them: a large bowl of stew, too bland for Louis’s taste. He ate.
“Orlry Building asks more than we have,” Fortaralisplyar told Louis. “We have bought for you the right to enter three of our neighbors’ buildings. If you succeed in repairing even one of their water condensers, we can get you into Orlry Building. Is that satisfactory?”
“Excellent. I need machines that haven’t worked in eleven hundred years, and haven’t been tampered with either.”
“My mate told me.”
Louis left them to their sleep as dark was falling. They had invited him to join them, and the great bed was roomy enough, but Louis was slept out and restless.
The great building was like a tomb. From the upper floors Louis watched for activity in the maze of bridges. He saw nothing but an occasional big-eyed Night Hunter. It figured. If the City Builders slept ten hours out of thirty, it might as well be during the dark. He wondered if they were an asleep in the lighted buildings too.
