Amazon Planet

III

The Earthling was uncomprehending. He stared at the domineering port official. “But…it’s obviously some minor mistake in transmission. I…I secured my visa from the Amazonian Embassy in Greater Washington. They were most cooperative and…” He let the sentence dribble away.

The Amazon major threw the paper to the table top and slapped it with the back of her hand.

“It says Gay Thomas! What in the name of the Goddess did you say your name was?”

“Guy. G-u-y. Don’t you see? A mistake. Only one letter wrong.” He seemed bewildered.

“One letter wrong! You blithering flat! You’re a man!”

He looked at her. There didn’t seem to be any answer to that.

“Cute, too,” the assistant they called Minythyia said. Of the four port officials, she alone had gone to the nicety of pouring her drink into a glass.

“Quiet!” the major rasped.

Unfazed, Minythyia said easily, “All I meant was, if he lands, I saw him first.” She winked at Guy. He stared at her in dismay. She wasn’t quite so awesome as the others, not so large, but she managed to project the same swagger.

The major spun back to Rex Ravelle. “What’s this curd about another passenger?”

Pat O’Gara came through the entry at that exact moment. For once, the fiery feminist was spellbound. She took in the four Amazonians, her eyes slowly going rounder.

Rex Ravelle chortled. “Major, may I introduce Citizeness Patricia O’Gara, refugee from the planet Victoria.”

“Refugee!” The one named Lysippe took her bottle away from her mouth long enough to say, “Why you poor kid.”

“Shut up!” the major roared.

Rex Ravelle looked at her strangely, as though there seemed more of a hassle here than he had expected. He said, placatingly, “Don’t let it worry you, Major. The skipper has already stated he would take Citizeness O’Gara on with us, and finally back to Earth, if you forbade her setting down here. It’s no problem.” He added, absently, “Even though she hasn’t any exchange—Earth type, Victorian type, or Amazonian, whatever that is.”

The Amazonian officer glared at him but for the moment seemed speechless.

Pat said weakly, “I…I thought…” Then she took a cue from the Guy Thomas conversation book. She let the sentence fade away.

The eyes of the four Amazonians were on the girl. She seemed to shrink a few inches in stature.

Minythyia said gruffly, “What’re you a refugee from?”

Rex Ravelle laughed. “A planet that’s as strongly male dominated as Amazonia is female, evidently.”

Lysippe had put her bottle down on the table. She said, lowly, “I think I’ve heard of this Victoria. They’ve got the sexes all mixed up even worse than usual. The men are really on top. It must be gruesome.”

The major said, her voice for once without dominating inflection, “What’d they do to you, kid?” Then her eyes came up and suddenly swept Ravelle, Guy and even Happy Harrison contemptuously. “No, don’t try to tell us now.”

She turned to Pat again and looked at her for a long moment. She said finally, sharply, “You’re not a deviate, are you? We don’t go for that sort of abnormality on Amazonia.”

“Deviate?” Pat said blankly. Rex Ravelle began to chuckle softly. The major glared at him, then turned her eyes back to Pat. “How come you’re in drag?”

“Drag?”

Guy Thomas cleared his throat, apologetically. “Uh, Major, there’s nothing out of line in Citizeness O’Gara’s clothing. I understand it’s the usual garb on Victoria. I’ve seen similar dresses on historic tapes of the Earth Victorian period.”

The four uniformed women looked unbelievingly at Pat O’Gara for awhile until she flushed, and they turned their eyes away quickly.

The major snapped at Rex, “What are you laughing at you overfed yoke? Look at the clothes they put on this poor kid. It’s enough to give her an inferiority complex.”

But Rex Ravelle wasn’t that easily squelched. “Aw, come on, Major. You’ve probably never been over-space, but you should realize that what’s the top of style in clothes on one planet can be a laughingstock on another. How do you think your own outfits would react on people on, say, on New Delos, or Earth, for that matter, although they’re used to just about anything on Earth.”

The major’s voice was dangerously gentle. “And what’s wrong with our uniforms?”

Rex backpedalled only slightly. “Well, for one thing, there’s a lot of anachronism. For instance, those little swords. They’re obviously just for pretty. What in the world good would an overgrown cheeseknife do in combat? You’d…”

The major’s manner was still deceptively gentle. She took one step to the table, laden with its cold buffet and took up an uncut red cheese, about the size of a small grapefruit. She looked in Ravelle’s eyes as she hefted it once or twice.

She snapped suddenly, “Clete!” and tossed it into the air.

In a blur of motion, one of her three aides flicked her supposed for-pretty knife from its scabbard and without swinging back, let fly. There was a whoosh as the weapon penetrated the rind of the cheese, the whole blade passing through until halted by the guard. Cheese and knife clattered to the metal decking.

The warrior called Clete reclaimed her weapon, grumbling as she inspected the nick that had been acquired. She tossed the cheese to the Schirra’s second officer for his inspection. It was hardly necessary, it was obvious that the hit had been a bull’s eye.

The major hadn’t bothered to watch developments after she had tossed the target. She had returned to Pat, thoughtfully. She said, “I’ll check back with my superiors, kid. Don’t worry about it. We’re not as tough as we’re supposed to be on this planet.”

“Oh, I know it,” Pat gushed suddenly. “It’s been man’s rule that’s caused all the hurt, down through the centuries.”

The major looked at her thoughtfully some more and grunted.

Lysippe chuckled.

The major turned back to Guy Thomas. “Now, you’re another thing. You probably think you’re pretty stute, getting an entry visa under false pretenses. Letting them think you were a woman.”

“But it wasn’t that at all.”

“What do you want to land on Amazonia for?” the girl Clete said in all honesty. “Are you drivel-happy?”

“Shut up, Clete,” the major said. But she looked at Guy. “Well?”

Guy held his hands up, in the ages-old gesture of weary submission. “I’m from the Department of Interplanetary Trade of United Planets. Our job is to expedite trade between the member planets.”

“Why?”

Guy said patiently, “The whole purpose of UP is to keep peace between the member planets. To keep peace and encourage progress. We sponsor trade as one way of achieving those goals. Very well, some time ago the member planet Avalon, through her UP embassy on Earth, revealed her interest in acquiring rather large quantities of titanium. For a time, Statistics was stymied, the metal is unusually scarce, or, at least, difficult to extract from most of the ores that bear it. Then through one of your own embassy officials, I don’t know which, it was dropped at a reception that Amazonia was long on titanium but short on Niobium. Perhaps you call it columbium on your planet.”

The major was scowling. “You mean that Avalon has a surplus of columbium?”

“Not Avalon herself, but her sister planet of Catalina. They’ll work out a deal between them. They can supply your industries with an almost unlimited quantity of either niobite ore or ingots of columbium.”

“I don’t know anything about titanium or columbium.”

Guy said reasonably, “No one would expect you to. I suggest you allow me to land, in spite of the minor error on my visa, and consult with your engineers. Your earthside embassy issued me a visa. You don’t think they’re a bunch of flats, do you?”

The major made a quick decision. “Minythyia, get back to the boat and report all this to headquarters. Get instructions.”

Minythyia left. The major turned back to Rex Ravelle. She gestured with a thumb at Guy. “Get all this cloddy’s gear out and let’s take a look at it.”

“The Captain is waiting up—”

“I’ll go talk to the Captain. Clete and Lysippe can check his things. I don’t like this. Something smells like curd about it.”

Rex said, “Happy, take the major to the skipper’s quarters. On the way, tell a couple of the boys to bring all Citizen Thomas’ things to the salon here.”

“Practically all of it’s in my cabin,” Guy said unhappily. “I’ve got only one footlocker in the luggage hold.”

“All of it,” the major rasped. “No matter what instructions I get from the port, nothing leaves this ship we haven’t checked. And I mean checked.” She glared at her two underlings, who had meanwhile returned to the food and drinks. Earthside food, Guy had decided, must be a treat for them. They ate like troopers. Well, he supposed they were troopers, in a way.

The major began to follow Happy Harrison. She said over her shoulder to Pat, “Go on back to your quarters. We’ll let you know.”

The check of Guy Thomas’ possessions was as thorough as it could possibly have been. Indeed it was carried to the point of the ludicrous. Aside from going over every article of clothing, through every book and pamphlet, toilet articles, personal items of jewelry and such, Lysippe and Clete seemed to have several types of detectors unknown to either Guy or Rex Ravelle. When a bag a trunk was empty, they slowly went over it with their gadgets, seeking out, the two men supposed, secret compartments, hidden devices, or whatever.

While the two Amazonians searched, Rex looked at Guy questioningly. “About this stage of the game, I’d call it quits,” he said. “What’re you so keen to go to Amazonia for? After they’d given me this amount of gruff, I’d stick right on this old kettle and return to Earth.”

Guy closed his eyes in anguish, as Clete shuffled through his once neatly packed shirts.

“I can’t go back,” he said plaintively. “I’ve got to pull this assignment off. It’s the first time I’ve been able to swing an interplanetary job. You think you spacemen are the only ones with the dream? The rest of us, back on Earth, are just as keen as you are to participate in the big explosion out to the stars. Nine men out of ten would give their right arms for an interspace job.”

“Yeah, I know,” Rex nodded, his voice gruff. Although he was talking to Guy, he was eyeing the Amazon Lysippe with appreciation. These girls improved in appearance considerably as you grew used to them. This Lysippe, for example, had a figure beneath her uniform that any mopsie back on Earth would have been proud to display in one of those new bottomless bathing suits, out on the beach.

Guy was saying, “This is my chance. If I pull this off, I’ll get other over-space assignments. I’ve just got to make good.”

Clete looked up from her search and growled to Guy, “What’s this?”

Guy said, “My tool kit.”

“Jetsam! You think I’m a flat?”

“What’s the matter?” Guy said plaintively. He and Rex approached.

The girl warrior had opened the kit. She gestured. “That’s a shooter. What does a mining engineer, or whatever you’re supposed to be, need with a shooter?”

“What’s a shooter?” Guy complained. “That?” He pulled it from the case. “Just because it’s got a pistol grip? That’s a combination drill and cutter.”

He flicked a stud and took an edge off the corner of one of the messhall tables. The invisible beam cut through the metal like cheese.

“Hey!” Rex protested. “Next you’ll be drilling a hole through the hull.”

“All right, all right,” Clete growled. “Put it back. What’s this?”

Guy said plaintively, “Would you know if I told you? Are you up on the tools we use in assaying and…”

“Don’t be so stute,” she snapped at him. “These look like explosive charges.”

He groaned. “I keep telling you. I’m here to check the possibilities of exchanging ores or ingots of titanium for columbium. I have to assay. How do you extract ores on this planet, with eyebrow tweezers?”

She looked at him coldly.

He went on. “These are mini-chargers, for sample blasting, yes. I doubt if I’ll have need of them. Confiscate them if you want. How about my pocket knife? You want that too?”

“You looking for trouble, Sweetie?” Her eyes were level on his.

“Oh, leave him alone,” Lysippe grumbled. “The poor boy’s got to have tools, doesn’t he? Imagine using a man for a mining engineer.” She looked at Guy in honest inquiry. “Doesn’t it upset you to get your nice soft hands all dirty?”

Rex chuckled.

“No,” Guy said. “Besides, I’m not a mining engineer. I’m an expediter. I…oh, Zen. Forget about it. I’ll explain when I meet your people down on Amazonia.”

Lysippe said interestedly, “You really figure on landing, do you?”

“Of course.”

Clete chuckled, as she continued the minute search of his effects. “You better look out for Minythia,” she grinned.

“What’s Minythyia?” Guy said.

“Not what, who,” the girl who had demonstrated her knife throwing prowess laughed. “Our buddy who went back to the pilot boat to report and ask for instructions on you and that Pat O’Gara kid. She hasn’t any husband.”

Lysippe took Guy in again. “I might take you on myself, Honeybun.”

“You’ve got a couple of men,” Clete said.

“Ummm. But I kind of like these effeminate types.”

“Effeminate!” Guy bleated.

Rex had still been eyeing Lysippe. It came to him that he’d been in space a long time.

He put out a hand experimentally, and ran it along the girl’s arm which was bare from shortly below her shoulder where her leather-like jerkin terminated in a short sleeve, to a trio of heavy golden bracelets on her wrist.

“Just how effeminate do you have to be to…” he began.

But her response had been instantaneous. Those heavy bracelets were not mere decoration. In fact, they turned out to be a rare combination of brass knuckles and blackjack when competently used.

She backhanded him, sending him asprawl. She stepped closer, as he tried to stagger to his feet and cut loose with her right hand, the fingers gathered and pointed so as to be spearlike, toward his solar plexus.

“Artimis!” Clete yelled at her. “Easy! You’ll hurt the poor boy.”

Lysippe pulled her punch, albeit growling.

“Listen,” she snapped. “If there’s any pawing done around here, I’ll do it, understand?”

Rex Ravelle shook his head, for clarity, and slumped into a chair. “Holy Jumping Zen,” he complained. “What hit me?”

“What in the name of the Goddess is going on here?” the major said from the entry. Behind her was Captain Buchwald.

“Aw, nothing,” Lysippe grumbled. “Sweetie, here, got a little unmanly and I had to tap him.”

The major said, “Effeminate cloddy.”

Guy cleared his throat. “Uh, Major, I think I’ve got a solution. This problem of my landing on Amazonia and being subjected to Amazonian law.”

“That you would be, Sonny, and you’re of marriageable age, too.”

“Don’t you ever make exceptions to these laws of yours?”

“No,” the major said flatly. “Laws you make exceptions to, don’t remain laws very long. We don’t have many laws, but those we have are not only laws but also religious beliefs, unchanging custom, never to be broken except to be punishable with greatest severity. In that manner our laws are observed.”

“But look. Why can’t I simply base myself at the UP Embassy? Traditionally, an embassy is the soil of the planet being represented. So if I was there, I would be subject to United Planets law, rather than Amazonian.”

The major looked at him sourly. “Just one short coming to that, Sonny. There is no UP Embassy on Amazonia.”

Guy said, “But there has to be. You’re a member of United Planets. You have an embassy on Earth. UP must have one here.”

“I didn’t say we didn’t have a UP Embassy, I said there wasn’t one on our planet. We make no exceptions to our laws. If UP personnel landed on Amazonia, the men would be subject to our marriage laws. The women, between the ages of eighteen and thirty, would be subject to our military draft. Consequently, it was necessary that the UP Embassy be placed on an artificial satellite orbiting our planet. The personnel seldom, if ever, comes down to the surface. We conduct all business by our representatives ferrying up to them.”

She looked at Guy thoughtfully. “Could you handle your business from a satellite orbiting Amazonia?”

“I don’t think so,” he said weakly. “I’m afraid I might have to be seeing your mines, your smelting facilities, that sort of ting.”

Minythyia entered, scowling.

The major said, “Well?”

“Could I speak to you alone, Madam?”

“Come out here into the companionway.”

As they left, Minythyia tipped Guy Thomas a wink. The trade expediter groaned softly.

The Captain looked at him. “How’d you get yourself into this mess?”

“I volunteered.” He looked very unhappy.

Rex Ravelle, who had finally recovered from his brief bout with Lysippe, growled, “You’d think those flats back on Earth would have known better than to send a man. Don’t they have any curves they could have given the assignment? You heard what she said. Just like Jerry told you. Go down there and you’ll wind up in some muscle bound mopsy’s harem and she’ll most likely get drunk every Saturday night and come home and beat the bejazus out of you.”

“Very funny, Mister Ravelle,” the captain said.

“You think I was kidding?” Rex muttered, rubbing the side of his swollen face.

Clete said, “What’s the matter with you boys, don’t you believe in marriage? I thought a boy didn’t really feel fulfilled until a warrior took him under her wing.”

Guy Thomas looked at her in agony.

“Easy, Clete,” Lysippe said compassionately. “You’ve embarrassed the poor fella.”

The major came in, Minythyia trailing behind looking resentful.

“All right,” the Amazon officer said. “This is the way it will be. From, your papers, Guy Thomas, you’re a single man well into marriageable age. By Paphlagonian law you are subject to be chosen by any citizen whose gynaeceum includes less than three husbands.”

“You mean I don’t have anything to say about it?”

“Of course you have something to say, Cutey,” Minythyia told him soothingly. “If some old drunken brawler chooses you and you don’t like her, you can always appeal to any other warrior of your choice to take you into her gynaeceum. That is, of course, if she has fewer than three husbands.” She added, smiling encouragingly at him. “I haven’t any at all. Can you kiss the way they do on the Tri-Di shows made on Earth, Cutey?”

“Shut up, Minythyia,” the major rapped. “I’ll explain this.”

“I won’t land!” Guy blurted. He shut his mouth stubbornly.

The Amazon officer sighed. “We’ve got it all figured out,” she said. “Obviously, if your job is going to be done, you’ve not only got to land in Themiscyra but travel about Paphlagonia. And the you’ve got to return to Avalon and Earth to complete the barter deal. We’re not any more interested in your being married by some semi-pervert sex bitch who likes off-beat men such as effeminate types from other planets, than you are.”

“Stop calling me effeminate! Why not just pass a rule that I’m unmarriageable?” Guy demanded desperately.

“I told you. On Amazonia, a law is a law and there are no exceptions. The Goddess Artimis would frown on any attempt to subvert her holy marriage laws. But this is what we’ll do. We’ll seclude you. Clete and Lysippe will guard you.”

“How about me?” Minythyia said.

“Shut up,” the major rapped. “I don’t trust you. I don’t think your patriotism would stand up under the provocation of being in constant proximity to a cute trick like Guy, here—no matter how badly Paphlagonia needs columbium.”

Minythyia’s face was petulant. “I’m just as human as the next warrior.”

Clete chuckled. “That’s prettty damn human, since I’m standing next to you. But I’ve got two men, and they’d probably scratch Guy’s eyes out if I brought him home. Besides, he’s too feminine for me. I like my men soft and willing.” She leered at the Earthling.

“Knock it, you two,” the major said. She looked back at Guy Thomas. “We’ll hide you and we’ll guard you. We’ll keep you away from predatory men-seekers to the extent we can. You want to take the chance?”

Guy Thomas swallowed.

Rex Ravelle chuckled idiotically. The captain glowered at him.

Guy choked out, “I’ve got to. It’s my big chance.”

“All right,” the major snapped decisively. “Remember, stay away from warriors. Stick to the company of the men we’ll quarter you with. Don’t ever go out unless Lysippe and Clete are along to run interference. Themiscyra is man-short since a Lybian raid we had six months ago; half the newly emerged warriors are on the prowl, looking for somebody to keep up their homes.”

Guy Thomas said, an element of plaint in his voice. “I’m missing some things here. What’re Themiscyra and Paphlagonia, and what are Lybians?”

Clete grunted disgust. “Don’t you know anything about Amazonian affairs back on Earth?”

The major summed it up briefly. “Amazonia is divided into two major continents, Pahlagonia and Lybia. Our capital city is Themiscyra, theirs is Chersonesus.” She shrugged under her heavy cloak. “We’re often at peace, but just recently relations are, uh, strained due to the raids they’ve been pulling to capture men.”

Rex said, “Don’t they have their own men?”

The major looked at him as though the question was too silly to bother answering, but then said, “The Goddess allows each warrior three husbands.”

Clete chuckled and said, “The idea is, you have one to take care of the house, one to raise the children, and one—”

“Shut up, Clete,” the major rapped, “you’ll have these boys blushing.” It was two full twenty-four hour periods before Guy Thomas was allowed to land. They had explained to him that they would have to make arrangements for his secretive entry into the land of the Amazons. The government had evidently quickly brushed aside the fact that he was male, although they had been surprised. They wanted Niobium and they wanted it both quickly and badly.

Pat O’Gara had returned with the four Amazons on the first trip, saying goodbye to the officers and such crew members as she had come in contact with during the trip, rather briefly. She had an air of confusion about her.

“Not quite what you expected, eh?” Rex Ravelle grinned.

“Exactly what I expected,” she snapped.

Rex, even as he was shaking hands goodbye with the girl, looked over at Guy Thomas who was sitting, hunched over a cup of coffee, staring blankly before him.

“Hey, Guy,” Rex called. “If worse comes to worse, and some old mopsy tries to get her hooks into you, you can always look up Pat. Throw yourself on her mercy. Maybe she’ll take you into her, what’d’ya call ’em?” The last was directed at Clete, who was standing to one side, waiting for Pat O’Gara to finish her farewells.

“Gynaecum,” Clete said.

Guy Thomas, as though in spite of himself, said, “What’s a gynaecum?”

Rex leered. “I never heard the word before, but ten’ll get you only one it’s the equivalent of a harem.”

“What’s a harem?” Clete demanded.

Rex turned his grin to her. “Back on Earth, in the old days, where a man kept his several wives and his kids in seclusion.”

“Don’t be disgusting,” Clete rapped. Her face was dark and involuntarily her hand dropped to her knife hilt.

Pat O’Gara had flushed. “I’m sure you’ve all got this situation very much confused.”

Guy groaned.

Rex said, “You weren’t around when they gave us the word, Pat, old girl. From what I understand, shortly, you’ll be running up and down the streets yourself, trying to nail any unattached yoke not stute enough to keep himself hidden.” He had to laugh at his own attempt at humor.

Nobody else did.

After Patricia O’Gara and the Amazons had left, the Schirra remained in orbit, suffering lighters from the planet below to come up and laboriously unload the cargo destined for the rival Amazonian nations. For although Guy Thomas had professed unawareness of the nature of the political situation on the woman dominated world, Captain Buchwald’s manifests had included shipments for both Lybia and Paphlagonia. The lighters came up separately, never conflicting. Evidently, there was some sort of truce which applied in space.

It made sense, Guy Thomas decided. Obviously, there were some commodities Amazonia needed to import. It wouldn’t have done for them to have fouled up interplanetary trade, with their off again, on again, hostilities.

On the third day the major’s customs launch reappeared bearing not only that officer but Clete and Lysippe as well. They had brought some clothing along with them.

Guy stared at it when they laid it out on the table of the lounge.

The major said, “Wipe that look off your face. You can’t wear those over-space clothes. Anybody who spotted you would know you were from off planet.”

“Maybe they’d think I was already married,” Guy said hopefully. “How do you know I’m not already married?”

Lysippe looked at him interestedly. “Are there temples on Earth where a warrior and boy can get married?” She looked at Clete. “I didn’t know Artimis was worshipped over-space.”

Guy said, “She isn’t. But there are other places to be married besides a temple to your Mother Goddess.”

“Don’t be blasphemous,” the major rapped. “We recognize no marriage except those performed before a priestess of Artimis.”

Guy said, “You mean, even though I was married back on Earth one of your women could still grab me?” There went his last alibi, if worse got to worse, down below.

He took the new clothing back to his quarters and changed into them, rejecting Clete’s leering offer to help. The material was soft and flowing and surprisingly attractive. The styling was another thing. He was reminded somewhat of Scottish kilts, somewhat of the tunic of the ancient Greeks. It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable. In fact, he had to admit, it wasn’t uncomfortable at all. It was just that, well, it was just that he was used to trousers.

The footwear consisted of a sandal-like arrangement, the straps of which were obviously meant to encircle his leg, up beyond the ankle.

He looked at himself in the mirror his small cabin refresher provided and winced. He hesitated for a long moment, then shrugged in resignation and made his way back to the salon lounge.

Rex Ravelle had entered while he was dressing. As all turned to face him, the irrepressible second officer gave a long low whistle.

“That will be all, Mister Ravelle,” the captain said. He turned to Guy. “You’re sure of this step, Citizen Thomas? You realize, of course, that if you have any doubts you can remain on board. Frankly, in all the years I have been calling at Amazonia, both as a junior officer and finally as master of my own spaceship, I have never known a man to set down on the planet.”

Guy Thomas closed his eyes for a brief moment. He said finally, “I’ve got to. It’s my big opportunity. I’ve got to make this one good.”

“Very well, Citizen. Good luck. I am afraid you will need it.” The skipper of the Schirra turned on his heel and left.

“Okay, Sweety,” let’s go,” Clete growled. “You’d think from these cloddies you were heading for a fate worse than death.”

She glowered uncomprehendingly as Rex Ravelle burst into raucous laughter.