Amazon Planet

XII

Ronny Bronston came up, Arctic cold. The gun was steady in his hand. He looked at Teucer.

“Who killed her?”

Teucer took a deep breath. “Evidently, you did.”

“Make more sense, and fast. You’re right on the edge. On the very edge.”

“Look at the shooter.”

Ronny stared down at it. It was an H-Gun. It was his own H-Gun, last seen, dismantled, in his supposed tool kit.

Teucer said, “Tuned to your coordinates, and controlled from the Octagon. Nobody else in the system can use it without blowing themselves up. Except possibly some other Section G agent, fully acquainted with the gismo.”

Ronny looked at him for a long moment. “Who are you working under?” he said finally.

“Supervisor Lee Chang Ghu. And you?”

“Sid Jakes.”

Teucer said, “I thought I made you, there at Heliopolis Street, but I didn’t have time for identification. What happened to you there? I thought you were following me.”

“I got hung up. I didn’t have much of an idea of what was going on at that time.”

“I could see you didn’t,” Teucer said.

“Have you got your badge?”

The slightly built man reached into his belt and brought forth a wallet. He flicked it open. There was a badge inside that gleamed silver when he touched it with his finger, and read simply, Matt Halloday, Section G, Bureau of Investigation.

“Where’s yours?” Teucer said.

“I didn’t dare bring it,” Ronny said. “We knew how thoroughly I’d be searched when they found it was a man wanting to land on Amazonia, rather than the girl the visa was issued to. My name’s Bronston.”

“I’ve heard about the work you did on Phyrgia,” Matt Halloday nodded.

Podner Bates had gone into the bedroom and returned now with a sheet which he draped over the dead girl. He looked at the others. “What are you two talking about?”

They ignored him.

Ronny said, “What’s this about me killing…my wife?”

“Your wife!” the other Section G operative blurted, but then went on. “When I got here, on the off-chance I might find you with this Patricia O’Gara, Minythyia was like that. A few minutes to live. I’ve seen H-Gun wounds before…so have you. The gun was on the floor beside her. What happens when she’s found and the hippolytes’ people come in? You’ll get the credit.”

“But why…!”

Halloday looked around the small apartment. “I wish there was a drink around this place.”

“I’ll go round up a bottle,” Podner Bates said.

Ronny looked at him. “Like curd, you will. You stay here with us. We’re going to need some answers, and quickly.”

The actor looked him in the eye. “I’m on your side, gentlemen. I was a friend of Minythyia’s. It was she who brought me into this game, this masquerade. I know neither of you killed her. I don’t know who possibly could have. There is no crime on Amazonia. This is unprecedented.”

“No crime!” Ronny blurted his rage.

Podner looked at him, shaking his head. “Unless you count crime deeds performed by mentally upset persons. We deal with such, of course, in our hospitals. We have no police, no criminal courts, no jails.” He added bitterly. “And no need of them save when we are invaded by strangers from over-space.”

Ronny turned to Matt Halloday. “I’m surprised we didn’t know about each other’s presence here on Amazonia. What’s your assignment?”

“To track down a defecter. A Section G operative who decided to leave the service.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“He didn’t bother to go through the usual process of submitting to memorywash, and to turn in such items as his Model H shooter, his badge and his communicator.”

Ronny Bronston waited for more.

Halloday said, “He’d been stationed on Palermo. He must have gotten together with some of the old Maffeo outfit, remnants of the administration we were instrumental in overthrowing.”

“I worked on that,” Ronny nodded.

“I know you did. At any rate, the boys evidently struck upon the biggest attempted romp in the history of crime. They weren’t interested in anything short of taking over a whole planet, an advanced one at that. Why, next to these stutes, Ghengis Khan, Tamerlane and Alexander were all cloddies.”

He went on. “You see, somehow or other they’d hit upon the true nature of this planet, Amazonia. They must have decided it was a plum just waiting for the picking. A whole world…all but defenseless.”

Ronny had some questions, then and there, but he didn’t interrupt.

“The Maffeo gang couldn’t have swung it themselves, but with the aid of Damon Kane—”

“Who?”

“Our Section G turncoat. With his help they figured it all out. They had a small spacescout, hidden away from the days when they dominated Palermo. That enabled them to transfer their forces from Palermo to Amazonia. Later on, it was also used to bring Alfredo Verrocchio back from Earth, where you had met him.”

“Alfredo Verrocchio?” Ronny scowled.

“You knew him as Sarpedon. Supposedly a citizen of Amazonia. You and Zeke talked about him.”

“Sarpedon! He disappeared.”

The other Section G operative nodded. “That was all part of the plot they were building up against Amazonia’s government, in the eyes of the Bureau of Investigation. It looked as though the Amazonian Embassy to United Planets must have done away with him. Actually, he was simply picked up by their spacescout and brought back here again.”

Ronny said slowly, “His fling had been that all males were being exploited here, and that United Planets should intervene.”

Podner Bates laughed sourly at that.

Halloday went on. “I’m not sure of details, of course. The part that interested me was getting Damon Kane before he could spill too much of the inside workings of Section G. I was far too late, of course. The very essence of their scheme involved such secrets.”

“I still don’t quite get it,” Ronny said.

“Damon and Alfredo Verrocchio and their gang were working on the old saying that there is as much wealth to be made in the collapse of a civilization as there is in the building. And they were working on Kane’s knowledge that when Section G comes upon a world that is supposedly being held back by some restrictive governmental, religious or socieconomic system, it takes secret steps to overthrow such a government. Once again, I don’t know all the details, but their basic plan was to organize their outfit which they dubbed the Sons of Liberty, and project it as a farflung, militant organization, capable and desirous of taking over the reins of government once the Hippolyte on Paphlagonia and the Myrine in Lybia had been overthrown. Actually, they really had only a handful of malcontents, romantics and crackpots.”

Ronny said, “How many members are there in this supposed revolutionary movement?”

“I don’t know. But I doubt if there’s more than a couple of thousand on both continents.”

Podner said in puzzlement, “This is all new to me. I’ve never even heard of the Sons of Liberty.”

Matt Halloday looked at him. “I doubt if many have. They wouldn’t even approach someone, unless they already knew he was a misfit who couldn’t have made the grade under any sane social system. But you would have heard of them, all right, if, through the workings of Section G, they had taken over all news media, the Tri-Di, vi-ziophone and all other methods of communication. How much of a fight could Hippolyte’s outfit have put up against such a coup?”

The actor shook his head. “None. Practically none. I told you we haven’t any police—except, of course, traffic officials, that sort of thing.”

Ronny said, “How many are there of this Maffeo gang which Damon Kane leads?”

“I’ve met about five of them, I think. They try to blend in with the Amazonian Sons of Liberty, pretend to be Amazonians themselves, but you can tell the difference if you’re looking.”

“Zeke’s one, eh?”

“Of course.”

Ronny said, “Something just cleared up. There was an attempt to kill me on the way to that Heliopolis Street hideout. They must have known I was coming. Possibly they have someone planted in the Hippolyte’s offices. They tried to kill me.”

Matt Halloday scowled. “I don’t know if that makes sense.”

“Oh, yes it does,” Ronny mused. “They also searched my room and broke my communicator so I couldn’t get in touch with Sid Jakes to make a report. They were afraid of me making a report. It might not completely bear out what Sarpedon had reported. I was better dead than alive. Damon could have told them that Section G looks after it’s own. Something like the old days when a criminal killed a cop. All police dropped everything, until the cop-killer was caught. That had to be the rule, if crooks were to be taught that they just couldn’t afford to kill policemen. Kill hold-up victims in the line of work, even kill bank presidents during a stick-up, but don’t kill a cop, or you’ve had it.

“What do you think would have happened, if word had got back to the Bureau of Investigation that supervisor Ronald Bronston had been shot down on the streets of Themiscyra? Hippolyte’s government would have immediately been given credit, and, probably with precious little further investigation of the true situation, Section G would have landed on her like a ton of bricks. The present government would have been tossed into the wastebin. Leaving who? Leaving our Damon and his gang. Once Section G pulls a romp, they fade out quickly, leaving the scene to the locals. They don’t want to be conspicuous. Some of the other restrictive governments of other worlds might smell a rat.”

Podner looked down at the sheet covered girl. “But why Minythyia?” he wailed. “What possible reason did they have for killing her?”

Ronny shook his head, as miserable as the actor. “She must have walked in on them when they were kidnapping Pat O’Gara. They killed two birds with one stone. They finished off the witness, and then, by leaving my Model H shooter, placed the blame on me. That in turn should have infuriated the Hippolyte against the Bureau of Investigation and made more likely some overt move on her part which would sooner or later bring the weight of the Bureau against her.”

Halloday looked at him, thoughtfully. “Why snatch Miss O’Gara?”

“She’s a citizen of Victoria. If something happens to her, on Amazonia, then Article Two of the UP Charter has been brought into effect…” He broke off and snapped suddenly, “Zen! What are we standing around and jabbering about here? They’re going to kill the girl. Nothing else makes sense. They’re getting desperate. Zeke tried to shoot me again, after I untied you. They must be afraid the fat’s in the fire, that I might be getting on to them, not to speak of you. Let’s get going!”

“Going where?” Matt growled. “That Heliopolis address was the only one I knew. I wasn’t with them long enough to find out where Damon and Sarpedon make their central headquarters. Zeke suspected I wasn’t one of the usual Amazonian crackpots who joined the Sons of Liberty, no matter how I tried to act the part.”

Ronny rapped, “He gave me another address. Come on. He’ll remember they did, and possibly they’ll evacuate the place.” He rammed his gun into his waistband.

Podner said, “How about me?”

They both looked at him, impatiently. “Can you handle a shooter?” Halloday rasped.

“I…I know the theory.”

“That you’re supposed to point it, and pull the trigger, eh?” Halloday shot a look at Ronny.

Ronny pulled the gun he had rescued from the bushes and tossed it to the actor. “All right, anybody’s better than nothing. Zen knows how many of them might be there.”

They hurried down the stairs and to the two-seater hovercar.

Ronny rapped. “Podner’ll have to sit on your lap.”

“That’ll make us nice and conspicuous,” Matt growled.

“Why should we mind being conspicuous?” Podner demanded. “From now on we’ll all on the side of the authorities.”

“He’s got a point,” Ronny said. “All bets are down, now. Let’s go!”

The hovercar lifted, only slightly sluggish under the unusual weight, and hummed forward.

“I think I can remember this,” Ronny growled. “It’s over on the edge of the river.”

They found the house which wasn’t overly dissimilar to the underground retreat on Heliopolis. They drove past and completely around the edge of the block. The back faced the river. There were small craft tied up there.

Ronny came to a halt and cased the situation. “Any ideas?” he muttered to Matt.

Matt looked at him sourly. “You’re supervisor rank. I’m just a full operative. You figure it out. Those Maffeo stutes are just as good with a shooter as we are.”

Ronny grunted. “Zeke missed me twice.”

“Third time is lucky,” Matt said dryly.

Ronny said, “All right, Podner. I’m glad we brought you. Get yourself into a boat. One of those tied up behind the houses either to the right or left of our place. If anybody comes out carrying a shooter, except Matt or me, unlimber that artillery I gave you and keep blasting away. It plies a beam that knocks chunks out of anything it touches.”

He turned to Matt. “You’ve got your own Model H?”

“Yes. Happily, I’d hidden my shooter, badge and communicator, Zeke didn’t find them when he overpowered me. He had gone to check with Damon, to find out what to do with me. You let me loose, and when I saw you weren’t following me, I figured you had been nabbed and went on to get my equipment. It wasn’t until later I figured out that if you’d escaped you might go to Patricia O’Gara.’s I made my way over there and came on the scene a few minutes later.”

“All right, just so you have it. Let’s go!”

They rounded the corner again. As they walked, Ronny said tightly, “Our only chance is complete surprise. One of us will go over the roofs and down. All these houses evidently have patio gardens inside. The other will burn the front door down and go in that way. One thing. They’re not going to think in terms of taking prisoners. We can’t either.”

Matt looked at him questioningly.

Ronny growled, “Every one of this Maffeo gang know the real workings of Section G. We can’t afford to allow any of them to babble, later on.”

Matt nodded, uncomfortably.

Ronny said, “Any choice? Over the roof, or through the door?”

The other said, “You can go over the roof.”

Ronny snorted. They were approaching their destination, walking rapidly, on the off chance a lookout would spot them. At the door next to the hideout, Ronny said, “Give me a few minutes, then come in shooting.”

Matt said nothing.

Ronny flicked his gun from his belt, blasted the door of the neighboring house, cutting a complete ring about the knob. It feel inward and he pushed his way inside.

There was a hall beyond, and a man hurrying down it, wide-eyed, toward him.

Ronny striding quickly snapped, “Interplanetary police. There’s a criminal next door. I’m going over the roof to get him. Where’s the stairs?”

The other bug-eyed him.

“The stairs!” Ronny roared, making a gesture with the gun.

“That…that way. What do you mean, Interplanetary Police?”

Ronny ignored him. He took the stairs three at a time. There was a second story, devoted evidently largely to sleeping quarters and refresher rooms, and then a narrower stairway leading up again. The roof, he decided was probably utilized for sunbathing, contemplation of sunsets, and probably for teenagers necking on a starlit night.

He came out onto the roof.

Across from him, a man—it was Zeke!—was peering over the roofs edge, down into the street, and bringing up a short barrelled scrambler.

Ronny burned a hole in him through which he could have rammed his arm. Zeke tumbled forward, and a moment later the sound of his body, thudding on the street below, came back. And with it, a crash of splintered wood. Evidently, Matt was on his way in.

Ronny grunted, even as he vaulted the low parapet which separated the two houses. He hurried over to the patio edge and looked down. For the moment, he could see no one below. But even as he began to look up, to locate the stairway, two figures came running from a side-room, dragging at handguns holstered at their sides.

He brought his own weapon up to eye level and squeezed off with care. They toppled over, all but cut in two.

The stairs were in approximately the same position as they had been in the house he had just come through. He scurried over to them, instinctively bent low, as men run when under fire.

He burst the door open and started down.

Half way up the stairs an unknown, seemingly weaponless, his eyes wide in fear, shot a terrified look up at him. Ronny didn’t lose pace. The other toppled over backward when he shot the right side of his head completely away. He was on the second floor now. He ran completely around it, spotting nothing. The doors were all closed. He could hear the sounds of Matt Halloday’s activities going on below.

Flinging his shoulder against the last door, Ronny let his momentum take him far into the center of the room. He spun, his gun sweeping. There was nobody present.

Back into the hall, still at full pace. He took the next room, duplicated his maneuver. The room was empty, but there was a refresher connected with it. He kicked the door open. A man stood in the auto-shower, evidently unaware of the noises in the building, due to the sound of pressured water. At sight of Ronny, he attempted to scramble in the direction of his clothes. Ronny cut him down mercilessly, turned and was gone before the nude bather hit the floor.

Back into the hall, still running.

He bashed down the next door. On the bed, bound and gagged, was Pat O’Gara. He didn’t even take the time to grin at her. He was out in the hall again.

This time the next door but one flew open and two men, guns in hand, came running out.

He used the Model H weapon as though it was a hose. He had seen them first.

He kicked in the remaining door on that floor. The room was empty. He headed for the stairs again. Below, there was a shambles. He nearly tripped over one body as he headed for the patio.

There he found Matt Halloday, struggling to keep on his feet. With his left hand, the Section G operative was holding the stump of his right arm, severed near the elbow.

“Two of them, one of them Sarpedon, heading for the back. They’ll finish that poor Podner yoke.”

Ronny shot an agonized look at his colleague, even as he dashed by. Matt was fated to bleed to death in minutes.

There were sounds ahead of him, offering the direction of his way. Gun at the ready, he sped toward them. He met the two returning, their guns held ready too.

Ronny Bronston dropped flat, gun hand extended, trigger tight back. The hallway flew apart.

He stumbled to his feet again, pressed ahead, stumbling through gore, his legs wet with blood. He burst out onto the boat landing.

There were no boats there. Over to his right, Podner Bates was wavering a gun at him.

“It’s me!” Ronny barked. “Did any get away?”

“No,” Podner yelled shrilly, his voice on the edge of cracking.

“Where’re the boats?”

“I…I sank.them all with the gun when I heard all the noise.”

Ronny shook his head at him, in admiration. “All right, come on. I’m afraid Matt’s had it.” Without waiting for the actor, he turned and headed back, already feeling the trembling that invariably hit him after extreme action. He mustn’t let the nausea hit him. Matt had to be taken care of—if it wasn’t too late.

The other Section G operative was sprawled in the garden, ludicrously crushing a bed of the largest pansies Ronny Bronston had ever seen. Ronny dropped his gun and fell to his knees before the wounded man. He rolled him over roughly. To his relief, the severed arm was partially cauterized and bleeding comparative little. He wondered as he worked, what sort of weapon had hit the other.

He heard Podner Bates coming up behind and called over his shoulder, “Something I can make a tourniquet from. Quick, you damned cloddy!”

Bates scrambled around, and returned in seconds with a torn piece of cloth and a stick.

Ronny worked over the fallen man desperately. Podner came back again, a large piece of torn tunic in his hands, part of the cloth bloody.

“Here,” he said, a bandage.”

Ronny utilized it, then sat back on his heels. He pulled in a double lungful of air. He said finally, “Pat O’Gara’s up in that room, one door from the left. Top of the stairs. You better go get her, she’s probably scared to death.” There was no response and he looked up.

The actor was looking greenish about the gills. There were three bodies, in various stages of disintegration, strewn about the patio. The sickening stench of warm blood and flesh was everywhere.

Ronny said, “All right, I’ll go. Watch Matt.”

This time his progress up the stairs was slow. His feet dragged. Why had he bothered to worry about Podner’s delicacy? He was as near complete collapse himself. Day was coming to an end. The last twenty-four hours had been the most filled in his life.

He pushed the door open and made his way to her bed. He sat down on the edge of it and laboriously began to untie her. He took the gag out last.

Her eyes had been wide on him, taking in the blood on his legs, splattered on his tunic. He felt like an unskilled laborer in a slaughterhouse—and evidently looked and smelled like one. He was too tired to care.

She began to blurt something.

“Shut up,” he muttered. “You’re all right. You’re safe.” He stood again and stumbled toward the room’s refresher.

The door opened before he reached it and a man stepped out. There was a Model H gun in his hand and it was leveled at Ronny’s stomach. There was a sardonic smile on the other’s face.

“Supervisor Bronston, I assume. The fair-haired boy of Sid Jakes and Ross Metaxa.”

Ronny’s own gun was out in the garden where he had dropped it while attending Matt.

He licked dry lips and said wearily, “Damon Kane.”

“That’s right. Like the Northwest Mounties of legend, you seem to have fouled everything up in the nick of time, you funcker.”

Ronny looked at him and shook his head, wearily. Even this emergency couldn’t get through his accumulated weariness. He had been going practically all last night and all today into dust, at the top peak of his resources. He hadn’t even completely recovered from his hangover of this morning. He was through.

“Why not get it over?” he said.

“Why not?” the Section G renegade snarled. “You’ve flunked this, Bronston. I don’t know how many of my Palermo men you’ve finished off—”

“All of them,” Ronny grunted. “Get it over with, Kane.”

“…but I’ve still got all the nucleus I need among the Amazonians. I’ll make a report over my communicator to Sid Jakes, in your name, that’ll have Section G here with in weeks. And when they pull down this phoney socioeconomic system, don’t think I won’t build a new one to my own specifications. We’ll take this planet like Grant took…” As he talked, his finger tightened on the trigger.

And suddenly the gun exploded, blasting his chest and lower face into nothingness, sending him reeling back into the refresher room from which he had emerged.

Ronny shook his head.

“He evidently didn’t know that when Matt Halloday finally realized what was going on, that he simply got in touch with Section G, on his communicator, and had the gun assigned to Damon Kane’s coordinates changed. Anybody trying to fire it, without the correct coordinates just blows the booby trap.”

He turned to say something to Pat O’Gara, who was sitting upright in bed now, a fist to her mouth, her face ghost-like. But then he felt the mists roll in, and fell to the floor himself. Ronny Bronston awakened in bed.

It was a clean, light room, and he felt unbelievably clean himself. A woman—who must have been a doctor, she looked like a doctor—said, “You’re awake.”

“Not very,” he said. “Go away.” And went back to sleep.

When he awoke again, nothing had changed, save that two persons sat next to his bed and several more stood behind, none of whom he immediately recognized save Major Oreithyia, who for the first time he had seen her, was not in uniform. No, he did recognize the others now. They were members of the committee who had questioned him before he had been taken in to meet the Hippolyte.

Of the two seated women, one was the Hippolyte herself. However, she wasn’t garbed now in the regal outfit of the palace throne room. She still bore her strength of character in her face, but the air of supreme command was gone. He didn’t recognize the woman seated next to her and it must have shown in his eyes.

The Hippolyte said, “This is the Myrine of Lybia.”

Ronny nodded, he had guessed, even as she spoke. The Hippolyte said, “Are you strong enough to talk? The doctor says your wound is doing nicely.”

He hadn’t even known he had been wounded. He wondered which of the enemy had managed to hit him. It didn’t surprise him. In the heat of combat you often copped one without feeling it until later.

“I’m all right,” he said.

The Hippolyte said, “The Schirra is still in orbit. Evidently, the satellite which houses the UP Embassy has some personnel which wishes to transfer back to Earth. Do you think you can undertake the reembark and return to Earth with a message from Amazonia to the Department of Interplanetary Justice and whatever other officials are involved in this sweeping scheme to prod all man-settled planets into progress?”

Ronny looked at the two of them warily. He shook his head. “I don’t think I have a clear enough picture as yet, to give a comprehensive report.”

The Hippolyte nodded. “You will have. In actuality, it’s all very simple. Ask us what you will. We’ll cooperate. The Myrine has come all the way from Lybia to join in my final discussion with you.”

Ronny looked at the Lybian Amazon head. She held the same dignity as did the Hippolyte, but was evidently prone to hold her peace.

He said. “It was all show, wasn’t it?”

“Largely.”

“Podner mentioned that you have no police. You have no armies either, have you? Neither one of you?”

“That is correct,” the Hippolyte said. “We haven’t had for almost two centuries.”

Ronny shook his head, again. “When I was given this assignment, I went to the Octagon library. I checked everything it had on Amazonia, which was precious little. A great deal of it dealt with the founding of your organization, its original principles, the things you did on Earth to recruit members. It held all the bylaws of your organization, all the plans you expected to put through once you landed on your colony planet. All the pamphlets and books dealing with the Amazon movement, and why it was rebelling against man’s domination.”

Myrine opened her mouth for the first time, coming forth with nothing more than a chuckle.

“That was over two centuries ago,” the Hippolyte said. “I think we’ll save time, Ronald Bronston, if I take over. You see, at first I imagine we were something like the Mormons who settled Utah back in the old times. We had a multitude of ideas, principles, beliefs, and a great deal of faith in what, as we look back at it today, was obviously extremism. But we were no incompetents. And like the Mormons we quickly became pragmatic. Just as they gave up their polygamy when it proved impractical, we gave up the domination of one sex over the other. Not so quickly, perhaps, but step by step.”

The Myrine twisted her face in humor and it suddenly came to Ronny Bronston that she was an extremely handsome woman and must have been a beauty in her youth. She said, “We still have a few signs of it about, especially here in Paphlagonia.”

The Hippolyte nodded. “More symbols than anything else, even here. At any rate, once again, similar to the Mormons, when our first colony ships landed all property was community owned, save, of course, personal things. Our original ideas of a female-dominated socioeconomic commonwealth proved nonsense within the year. The smallest unit of a life form is that unit which can reproduce itself. In the case of the human race, a woman and a man…”

The Amazon leader of Lybia twisted her face again.

“Or, as Citizen Bronston would undoubtedly put it, a man and a woman.”

Ronny grinned at her suddenly. He would have liked to have known this person better, and doubted that he would ever have the opportunity.

“At any rate,” the Hippolyte went on, “our experiments revealed that only as a partnership can the relationship reach its ultimates. And so we adapted. We had various advantages over many other Earth colonies, I am sure. In spite of our initial enthusiasms, we were not fools. Our colonists were composed of survival types. Nor were we inadequately equipped. A great many of our society back on the home planet who weren’t able to come, gave their full support of our attempt. We must have been one of the richest colonizations that ever burnt off into the stars. In short, we had the wherewithal to experiment, and the good luck to have one of the richest planets man has yet discovered.

“And so we prospered. We experimented here, we experimented there. Now you see the result we have thus far attained.”

“When did you stop having a military?” Ronny asked curiously.

“From the beginning. We’re women, remember.”

Ronny said dryly, “I seem to remember such women in history as Elizabeth the First, Catherine the Great and Zenobia who didn’t exactly avoid war.”

Hippolyte nodded. “But they were women living in a man’s world, and having to adopt men’s methods in order to realize their ambitions. Ours was a woman’s world. One of our original revolts was against the incessant armed conflict that has persisted since the early days of man’s dominance.”

He said, “Why the big masquerade? Why let those stories go around about the Amazons on this planet, the harems of men?”

The small group standing behind the two seated Amazon leaders stirred in suppressed laughter.

“Why encourage all this nonsense by such things as sending as delegates to the UP on Earth, big strapping muscular type women, all done up in uniforms that look straight out of the Trojan War?”

The Hippolyte chuckled wryly. “I thought anyone as astute as yourself, Ronald Bronston, would have figured that out by this time. We were defenseless. We neither had, nor wanted a military. But we knew we stood alone, a matriarchy in a confederation of two or three thousand planets dominated by men. Frankly, we were afraid. We were afraid man’s instinct would be to pull us down. So it was we put up our false front. So it was we let rumors spread that we would give any man pause before he landed on our world. Of recent decades, our spies have brought rumors back to us that intensified our fears. We heard that the institutions of some of the member planets of UP were being subverted. That governments were being overthrown through the connivance of certain UP agencies.” She nodded. “What you told us under Scop made us realize our fears were well grounded.”

Ronny avoided that and went back. “If there isn’t any real conflict between your two major continents, why don’t you have world government?”

One of the standees, a man Ronny vaguely recalled as Aeasus, interrupted for the first time… Ronny had pegged him before as some sort of economist.

He said, “Don’t you see? We act as controls upon each other. If we attempt some new theory, and there seems to be an alternative, we let one continent try this system, the other that.” He added, sourly, “Sometimes both are wrong.”

Ronny was nodding in memory. “Podner Bates was telling me about your method of voting. In Lybia, you seem to have a variation on popular democracy—through industrial representation, of course—and in Paphalagonia, more nearly a representative one.”

Someone said from behind, “That’s correct.”

Ronny said, “But what’s all this about you being the Myrine and you the Hippolyte, and the pylons and the genos and such?”

The Hippolyte sighed wryly. “You probably read some of it in those early papers you scanned at the Octagon library. At first we tried to go back to gentile society, based on descent in the matrilineal line, and with women only given the vote. Some of the symbols of this we still retain, such as descent in the female line, which obviously is at least as sensible as descent in the male line. But, bit by bit, real government control was taken away from this organization and handed over to the central production congress until at long last our body was in charge only of civil matters.”

The Myrine said here, “I beg our pardon, my dear. Even that applies only here in Paphlagonia. In Lybia we are experimenting with universl suffrage even in civil matters, and making it an ‘industry’ involving men as well as women and with representation in our central congress.”

“What do you mean, civil matters?” Ronny said.

“Matters pertaining not to production and such problems, but to every day civic life. Traffic problems, planning of a city’s supply of water and disposal of sewage, organization of festivals, judging of disputes between citizens. In the old days, before we had eliminated crime for all practical purposes, police, courts, prisons, that sort of thing.”

Ronny said, “Just one other matter. This system of paying in hours. Where’d you come up with that silly idea that all time is worth exactly the same?”

Aeasus blurted, “What’s silly about it, you flat!”

The Myrine laughed heartily.

She bent a friendly eye on Ronny and said, “You’re quite right. In Lybia, we have varying values for an hour. A highly trained man’s time can be worth several times as many hours as an unskilled man. We still count by hours, but we have different scales.”

The Hippolyte grumbled, “It’s an experiment we haven’t concluded as yet. We’re not sure if Lybia’s right or not.”

She changed the subject. “Purely to satisfy my own curiosity, how did you see through the elaborate show we put on for you? Frankly, when Oreithyia told us you were a man, we were in a tizzy. We wanted the columbium very badly, but we didn’t want you to come in contact with our world as it is. My…” her face showed quick pain “…my daughter helped out, planning an extensive masquerade in which she seemed to take considerable pleasure. She always was fascinated by Earth, which is why she liked to meet the incoming spaceships as one of the customs officers.” She hesitated. “Perhaps that is why she became attracted to you, personally.”

Ronny said softly, “At the end, I assure you, the attraction was reciprocated. I don’t know what it was that first made me smell a rat. Many things, I suppose. One of the matters that confused me considerably, though, was your throne room and all those hundreds of guards and attendants, playing court to you. It bore out everything I’d ever heard about Amazonia. Why, it was like a gigantic Tri-Di historical spectacular show.”

The Hippolyte said dryly, “That’s exactly what it was. We took you to a Tri-Di set. Our people love this sort of show and our entertainment industry produces a good many of them. To impress you, Minythyia simply made arrangements to take the set over, bag and baggage. Those soliders and attendants were all actors and extras. There is no such thing as a palace or throne room here in Themiscyra.”

Ronny took a deep breath and puffed out his cheeks. “Well, several things gave me hints. For instance, Podner Bates was presented to me as though he was a typical Amazonian male, but no other males I met seemed to be like him. I was given the impression that all women were warriors, but then never saw anyone in uniform except those I came officially in contact with. But the payoff was when I saw Clete, and Podner, on a theater billboard. Clete had done that little act of hers, showing what efficient warriors Amazonians were, by making a bullseye throwing her short sword. But the billboard told me she was a professional knife thrower. Quite a coincidence. No, the whole thing didn’t hold together. I was told there were no newspapers or broadcasts. I can see why, now. If I had seen one, the beans would have been spilled. Another thing that didn’t fit was the fact that Tanais was an exchange student from Lybia. How could you have exchange students if you were continually at war?”

He looked at the Hippolyte quizzically. “What’s all this about I thee wed and the three husbands and all?”

All of the assembled Amazonians joined him in smiling.

The Hippolyte said, “Minythyia dredged that up from the very early years of the new colony, as one of the bits of business to frighten you into hurrying up and concluding our transactions as soon as possible. Actually, of course, we have a pairing arrangement between the sexes. Both marriage and divorce are very simple, but we Amazonians go two-by-two. Any more questions?”

He thought about it and shook his head.

She said, “We have considered what you revealed under Scop and the Myrine and I, as symbol chiefs of state, wish to put ourselves on record as supporting United Planets in that organization’s efforts to promote progress on the member planets. Our opinion, of course, is subject to the approval of the congresses of Paphlagonia and Lybia but I have little doubt but that they will concur.”

Ronny said slowly, “There is more to this matter of the intelligent aliens than I disclosed, however, I’m sure that the Octagon will be sending you representatives to go into it in detail. It’s not up to me.”

The Hippolyte and Myrine nodded, and the former said, “We can then expect you to rejoin the Schirra and inform your superiors of our stand, and of our desire to remain under our cloak of secrecy? I am afraid your colleague, Citizen Halloday, will have to return by the next spacecraft that comes through. Our physicians are grafting a new lower arm.”

Ronny shrugged. “Right. United Planets doesn’t contend that there is only one road to progress. In fact, it’s most anxious to push experimentation, not only in the sciences and production techniques, but in socioeconomic fields as well.”