Hard-Luck Diggings: The Early Jack Vance, Volume One Read Online Free PDF

this method of writing. I returned to my old system, which meant first draft, second draft; and if I were lucky I would find this second draft acceptable.
    Just then, I received startling news from my agent. 20th Century Fox had picked up one of these stories, “Hard Luck Diggings”, for compensation which at the time seemed phenomenal. Furthermore they invited me to write a treatment and possibly a screenplay at an inordinate weekly salary, if I would report to Hollywood at once.
    Norma and I jumped in the Packard and drove south. We presented ourselves to 20th Century Fox, where we were introduced to Julian Blaustein, the producer. I was installed in an office with my name on the door in gold, a secretary, and told to get to work.
    We rented a spacious house with a swimming pool in Coldwater Canyon. Every morning I drove to my office at Fox and tried to produce the kind of material which Blaustein expected of me. In truth I found this sort of work unfamiliar and not particularly agreeable. For one thing, the money, while gratifying at first, frightened me a little: I did not want to become dependent upon sucking at this golden tit.
    Luckily, my fears came to naught. Julian Blaustein was promoted to become an executive producer, and all his projects were shelved. I was told, “Don’t call us, we’ll call you.” The golden letters of my name were scraped from the door, my secretary bade me farewell, and everything else was restored to as before I had arrived. Without overmuch regret I took my leave of Fox Studios.
     
    —Jack Vance

The Temple of Han

 
    In the nip-and-tuck business of keeping himself alive, Briar Kelly had not yet been able to shed his disguise. The adventure had turned out rather more ruggedly than it had started. He hadnot bargained for so much hell.
    Up to the moment he had entered the queer dark temple at North City, the disguise had served him well. He had been one with the Han; no one had looked at him twice. Onceinside the temple hewas alone and disguise was unnecessary.
    It was an oddly impressive place. A Gothic web of trusses supported the ceiling; alcoves along the walls were crammed with bric-a-brac. Red and green lamps cast an illumination which was stifled and absorbed by blackdrapes.
    Walking slowly down the central nave, every nerve tingling, Kelly had approached the tall black mirror at the far end, watching his loomingreflection with hypnotic fascination. There were limpid depths beyond, and Kelly would have looked more closely had he not seen the jewel: aball of cool green fire resting on a black velvet cushion.
    Withmarvellingfingers Kelly had lifted it, turned it over and over—and then tumult had broken loose. The red andgreen lights flickered; an alarm horn brayed like a crazy bull. Vengeful priests appeared in the alcoves as if by magic, andthe disguise had become a liability. The tubular black cloak constricted his legs as he ran—back alongthe aisle, down the shabby steps, through the foul back alleys to his air-boat. Now as he crouched low over the controls sweatbeaded up under the white grease-paint andhis skin itched and crawled.
    Ten feet below, the salt-crusted mud-flatsfleeted astern. Dirty yellow rushes whipped the hull. Pressing an elbow to his hip Kellyfelt the hard shape of the jewel. The sensation aroused mixed feelings, apprehension predominating. He dropped the boat evencloser to the ground. “Five minutes of this, I’ll be out of radar range,” thought Kelly. “Back at Bucktown, I’m just one among fifty thousand. They can’t very well locate me, unless Herli talks, or Mapes…”
    He hazarded a glance at the rear-vision plate. North City could still be seen, an exaggerated Mont St. Michel jutting up from the dreary salt marsh. Misty exhalations blurred the detail; it faded into the sky, finally dropped below the horizon. Kelly eased up the nose of the boat, rosetangentially from the surface, aiming into Magra Taratempos, the hot white sun.
    The