Amazon Planet

VII

Underway in the hovercar, the major, seated next to Guy in the front seat, turned around to face Clete and Lysippe. “Were you two in on that?”

They were both wide-eyed in innocence. “Artimes!’ Clete said. “Of course not. We’re the poor boy’s guards.

Lysippe said, “Didn’t you see me grab her?”

The major snorted but turned back.

Guy was finally regaining his breath. “That was close,” he muttered.

“Minythyia’s too slow on her feet,” Clete explained to him. “You’re lucky it wasn’t one of those sixteen-year-olds. They’re the worst.” She added thoughtfully, “In more ways than one. They don’t really know what to expect from a boy.”

“Shut up,” the major growled.

Clete chuckled.

The drive was a fairly long one, especially through Themiscyra pre-noon traffic. Not that Guy saw any of the latter. The major had turned the windows opaque and growled a surly negative when he requested the polarized view.

He said eventually, out of a clear sky, “All men aren’t like Podner Bates, are they?”

The major scowled at him. “How do you mean? What’s wrong with Bachelor Bates? I’ve always thought him a charming little fellow.”

“But he’s not exactly an average Amazonian male. At first I thought he was.”

“Podner’s more or less like all other men,” the major said. “What brought that up?”

Come to think of it, except for the space launch pilot and the boy who’d brought breakfast, Podner was the only man he was supposed to have met thus far, Guy realized.

“Nothing,” he said. He thought about it some more. Podner was certainly similar to neither Zeke nor Teucer. But, then, they were revolutionists and so offbeat.

The major said, “Is there any chance of finishing your business today?”

He turned and looked at her, his eyebrows high. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he said. “It doesn’t seem very likely.”

“Why not?” the major rapped. “You’ll be meeting our technicians shortly. If you can finish your business and get the final approval from the Hippolyte, we could run you out to the UP Embassy. You’d be safe then.”

“Aw,” Clete said, “he’s safe with us guarding him. Minythyia won’t get him.”

Guy said, his voice worried, “I was thinking in terms of seeing your mines, your smelters, your extracting system. From which minerals do you extract titanium, ilmenite, rutile…?”

“How in the name of the Goddess would I know?” the major said, bringing her cloak up tighter about her neck. “All I know is you seem to be on the philosophical side about getting nabbed by one of these man-short cloddies.”

“It’s like I said. A boy doesn’t really feel fulfilled until a warrior’s taken him under her wing,” Clete told them.

Guy grunted disgust at that opinion. “I’ve got my work to accomplish,” he said. “When that’s done, I’ll depart Amazonia so fast…” He let the sentence fade off.

“This must be it,” Lysippe said. “Sweety, you stick as close to Clete and me as you can. We’ll take care of you.” She glared at the other guard. “If Clete doesn’t go into another laughing fit.”

They were obviously going up a lengthy driveway. The major turned the window knob, allowing them to see out. Guy was impressed. It was an imposing layout, all very Grecian public buildings. Was the largest the palace?

If it was, they didn’t immediately head for there. The hovercar whooshed them, instead, to a comparatively sober-looking building faced with stone rather than marble. They came up before it, the car stopped and Clete and Lysippe issued forth, looking up and down with care before opening the front door for Guy.

“Now you start being careful,” he said bitterly as he came forth. “After that dizzy curve almost got to me back there.”

Clete snorted. “You’re in more danger here than you were there, Sweety. For one thing, Minythyia isn’t so bad.”

He didn’t ask her to elaborate on that.

The major led the way up the wide stone stairway. Guy followed, with Clete and Lysippe on each side and slightly to the rear.

At the door, two sentries sprang to the salute. Guy Thomas took in the short, stubby scrambler guns they carried and winced. It was the most deadly handweapon he knew of in the whole UP confederation. Either of these Amazons could have leveled everything within half a mile’s radius. What in the name of the Holy Ultimate did sentries need with a scrambler?

The major marched on through, Guy and his guards right behind. Inside, as on Earth, the antiquity motif dropped rather sharply away. The interior of the building was quite as ultramodern as a business establishment on Earth or Avalon.

The major marched up to a reception desk behind which was seated a bright looking young man done up as usual in the tunic garb of the Amazonian male. Guy and his guards were still to the rear.

“Yes, Madam?” the receptionist said.

“Major Oreithyia with the Earth representative, Guy Thomas,” she said with military snap.

The receptionist took a moment to scan Guy top to bottom in curiosity. He said kindly, “Welcome to Themiscyra, darling.”

“Thanks,” Guy grunted. He was getting tired of these endearments between men. At least the underground didn’t seem to use them.

The other smiled tolerantly at the major and the two Amazon warriors. “Goodness, it’s like we’ve heard. They’re rather unmanly on the other worlds, aren’t they?”

Nobody bothered to answer. He said, a bit miffed, “You’re being awaited in the conference chambers, down at the end of that corridor, Major.” And then he blinked, as though he had noted the style of Guy’s tunic for the first time. “Goodness me,” he said. “A virgin.”

Guy began to growl something at him, decided the hell with it, and gave up.

They marched down the indicated corridor, the major again ahead, the two warriors bringing up the rear. They reached a door.

Clete said, “Just a minute.” He hand on her gun, she opened up and looked in. Evidently satisfied, she opened it wider and stood to one side.

Guy Thomas followed the major inside.

It was a conference room that would have been duplicated, ten thousand times, in Greater Washington, or, for that matter, on practically any of the advanced planets. A long table, obviously of wood, Guy Thomas noted, was equipped with all the latest taping and other recording devices. Around the table were heavy, comfortable chairs, about twenty in all although there weren’t that many persons present. Otherwise, there was little furniture.

There were six persons present and already seated at the table. Somewhat to Guy’s surprise, half of them were men. They were the first middle-aged males he had seen on the planet—in fact, one must have been at least in his sixties. The three women were in the same age group. The women were dressed, somewhat uncomfortably it seemed to him for some reason, in much the same garb as the major and her warriors, albeit a bit more conservatively and without weapons. The men wore what he assumed were standard garments for more elderly males, something like a Roman toga. They didn’t seem to be particularly used to the dress; possibly it was only worn under special circumstances, and they anticipated being presented to the Hippolyte later on.

The major barked, “Citizen Guy Thomas, of the planet Earth, representative of the Department of Interplanetary Trade of United Planets.”

One of the women, who sat at the table’s head, took Guy in from top to bottom. “You look on the young and flat side to be holding down an important mission.”

Guy said evenly, “I’m old enough and have the necessary background to handle the job.” The old biddy looked like a warhorse. He would have hated to have worked under her.

“Just what is your job?” one of the men said. “We don’t seem to be clear on just how far your authority goes, just how binding your decisions can be considered.”

The old biddy said, “My name’s Lampado. Take a chair, Citizen Thomas.” She indicated and introduced the remaining five, giving some of them titles meaningless to Guy, but obviously indicating some technical rank or position involving imports and exports.

Guy sat down, the major took a position against the wall where she could scan the entire room, and each of the girls stationed themselves at one of the two doors.

Guy looked at the man who had asked the question. He had been introduced as Aeasus. Evidently, second names were seldom used on Amazonia. Bates, Podner’s family name, was the only one he could recall having heard.

Guy said, “As I’ve explained before, I’m a United Planets expediter. Eventually, UP will step out of the picture altogether. I have no power to finalize a deal between Amazonia and Avalon, all I can do is gather preliminary information.”

“All right,” Lampado gruffed. “The Hippolyte has named us the committee to handle the initial conference. If you don’t mind, first a few questions.”

“Of course,” Guy said. He had to watch himself now. He could spill the beans without hardly trying. These people were obviously trained technicians.

Lampado said, “Thasius?”

A keen-eyed, overly heavy man who seemed even more uncomfortable in his toga than the others leaned forward. “We understand that this planet Avalon has a surplus of columbium. Frankly, Amazonia is largely lacking in this element and we had about decided to find an alternative. Our steel industry has utilized it in the preparation of stainless steel to prevent corrosion at high temperatures and to permit fabrication without added heat treatment.”

Guy nodded thoughtfully.

Thasius said, “Do we understand that this Avalon has extensive deposits of niobite, the ore from which columbium is extracted?”

“Extensive,” Guy repeated. “Far beyond her own needs.”

“Very well,” Lampado gruffed. “And we understand her own need is for titanium.”

Guy nodded. “Correct. Although titanium, of course, is one of the most common elements there are comparatively few, especially on Avalon, ores bearing it that are worth the extraction. Could you inform me which you have, here on Amazonia?”

Thasius said, “We have ilmenite, rutile, arizonite and particularly perovskite. Titanite, too, but not in particularly large quantities.”

Guy said, “It’s not part of my assignment to explain Avalon’s need of titanium, but aside from its more usual uses, she has been turning out gem stones from it in remarkable quality and quantity and has been trading them throughout the confederation.”

Lampado said, “Well, there seems little doubt here. We can supply an almost unlimited amount of titanium, in ingots, of course, and can take as much columbium as Avalon is likely to be able to export. What else is there to discuss, Citizen Thomas?”

Guy cleared his throat. “Possibly the most important facet of all. The basis of exchange. How are we to evaluate your titanium as compared to Avalon’s columbium? I might suggest you put it all in the hands of the planet Geneva, which specializes in just this sort of clearinghouse problem. Her medium of exchange is gold. It would be up to the Geneva experts to work this out in detail with you both, but I understand that what it amounts to is that, on paper, she buys your titanium for gold, at the going interplanetary rate, and Avalon’s columbium. She then sells you Avalon’s columbium for gold, and sells Avalon your titanium for the same medium. Actually, of course, it is mostly paperwork. The gold never leaves the vaults of the planet Geneva.”

They were staring at him.

Lampado blurted, “Why?”

Guy said, “I beg your pardon.”

She demanded, “What does this parasite of a planet, this Geneva, get out of the deal?”

“Oh,” Guy said. “Well, I understand it’s based on volume. In this case, I doubt if they would require more than one percent”

Lampado rumbled in disgust, “Aeasus?”

Aeasus was rubbing the side of his face as though in confusion. He said, “See here. Why don’t we trade with Avalon, even-steven? What is the need for this intermediary?”

Guy looked at him blankly. “You’ve got to have some exchange medium in common. Avalon’s is based on platinum. One of the few in the system. I confess, I don’t quite understand your own, but I assume it conflicts. What do you mean even-steven? Columbium is considerably more valuable than titanium. You certainly wouldn’t expect to trade a ton of your titanium for a ton of columbium. The Avalonians aren’t drivel-happy.”

“Of course not,” Aeasus said reasonably. “Our medium of exchange is the hour. Actually, so is their’s ultimately,. Their platinum is actually valued, as an exchange commodity, according to the number of hours it takes to produce a given amount.”

Oh, oh. He had run into this before. Who from? Teucer, the refugee revolutionist from Lybia. Guy scowled.

Aeasus said, “We propose to exchange with Avalon, hour for hour. The amount of man hours it takes to produce a ton of titanium will be traded for the amount of columbium that can be produced in that time.”

Guy gave a quick shake to his head. “Look,” he said. “Suppose they have a higher degree of automation than you. Suppose in their niobium reducing plants only half a dozen men are required. In a hundred hours they could reduce one hell of a lot of columbium, but by your way of figuring it would be worth much. Suppose on the other hand, a lot of your mining and smelting is manual. Can’t you see, it wouldn’t be fair?”

“Not at all,” Aeasus said, still reasonably. “The time expended in inventing, designing and building their automated plants would, obviously, be considered in the number of hours involved. Depreciation of plant is obviously a very important part in adding up the hours necessary to produce a given amount of columbium, or any other commodity. If our extraction of titanium was done by the primitive methods you suggest, then little plant would be involved, but actually, we too have automation.”

Guy was trying to assimilate it.

Aeasus pressed on. “The exchange value of any commodity is determined by the socially necessary number of hours required to produce it.”

Guy said, “Look, just about everybody else seems to think the exchange value of a commodity is determined by supply and demand.”

Aeasus shook his head, as did all the others around the table.

“If that were so, what would happen when supply and demand equalled each other? Would the value simply disappear? Obviously not. Supply and demand can effect temporarily the price of a commodity, but not its real exchange value. And its price tends to average out at its real value.”

Lampado put in with a snort, “Can’t you see? If exchange value depended only on arbitrary prices set artificially, what you would continually win as a seller, you would lose as a buyer. We’d have a picture of two persons in the bottom of a well, selling hats to each other and both getting rich.”

Guy said suspiciously, “Something is coming back to me. The so-called Law of Value. Wasn’t it originally dreamed up by Karl Marx, a long time ago?”

“Marx?” Aeasus said frowning. “Oh you mean the 19th Century economist? No, actually the theory was first developed in 1721 by a young man named Benjamin Franklin in his first essay entitled, A Modest Enquiry into the Nature and Necessity of a Paper Currency. He used wheat and gold as examples, pointing out that if the same number of hours of work were involved in producing a quarter of wheat and an ounce of gold, then they were equal in value. A good many of those who came after Marx gave him credit for, or blamed him for, various teachings that never originated with the man. In fact, there are few scholars in history whose teachings have been so completely distorted—especially by his supposed followers.”

“All right,” Guy said. “Lets leave that for a time. How about this? How can you simply add all the hours together in a lump? Take your titanium production. Out in the mines you’ve got a man…” he cleared his throat “…or woman. A big brawny type. Bucking a drill. Back at the plant you’ve got a chemist who’s running tests on the final product. This chemist spent ten years in school after the brawny yoke dropped out. He’s trained. He’s spent the better part of his youth getting that training. He’s of more value to society than the drill bucker!” His voice had gone slightly high.

Actually, of course, the whole thing meant little to Guy Thomas and his real assignment. The Avalonians actually did wish to trade titanium for their surplus columbium but this expediter nonsense was a front. However, the argument was getting to him, adding to the frustration he was finding everywhere on this madhouse planet.

Aeasus said, “But obviously when the yoke, as you call him, dropped out of school, he went into his chosen field, mining in this case, being paid the number of hours he expended. Your chemist continued in school for as long as he wished, so long as he could pass the examinations. When he finally finished his education, he too went to work in the titanium industry.”

“There!” Guy blurted. “He was a flat to spend all those years in school if he doesn’t get paid any more than the unskilled driller.”

Lampado leaned forward again. She said, unbelievingly, “Don’t they pay students on Earth to go to school?”

Guy Thomas closed his eyes for a moment’s communion with higher powers. “No,” he said. Then, “How much do you pay a student, such as our hypothetical chemist, to go to school?”

“The same as anybody else,” she retorted, as though the question couldn’t have been sillier. “For every hour he puts in as a student, he accrues one hour. By attending school he is adding to his value to society. He is thus contributing to the common store of value.”

“Look,” Guy demanded. “Suppose he’s really stute, see? He keeps on going to school. Every time they throw an exam at him, he gets top marks. Okay, he likes school. He keeps going and going, taking more and more courses. Finally he’s sixty years old, or whatever. How old do you have to be to retire on Amazonia? Don’t you see, if he spent his whole life studying and getting paid as much as anybody, he’d have never put in a lick of useful work in his life!”

The Amazonians, including the major and her two warriors, began to laugh.

Aeasus, chuckling, said, “Actually, of course, graduate students in our upper schools participate in both teaching and in research in their respective fields. I am afraid, Citizen Thomas, that it would be quite difficult for your scholar not to enrich our culture as a result of his learning. Much of it, I am afraid, would rub off, willy-nilly.”

Guy brushed that aspect aside. “All right, now look. According to you, each hour of time expended is worth just as much as any other hour.”

Thasius interrupted here. “What could be more fair? It is the one thing in which all men and women are equal, without exception. We all, no matter of what sex, no matter the age, how intelligent or stupid, how quick of reaction or slow, have exactly twenty-four Earth basic hours a day. Surely nothing is more just than to realize that each person’s time is as valuable to her, as any other person’s. It is the ultimate substance of existence. What a crime is perpetuated if one person steals anothers, by whatever means.”

Guy Thomas took a deep breath. “All right, let’s make this simple. Suppose you have a man making shoes. His reactions are quick, he’s ambitious, he’s diligent. He can make, say, four pairs of shoes in a work day. All right. Next to him is another fella. He’s slow and strictly a cloddy. Even if he tries, and possibly he doesn’t, he can’t make more than two pair of shoes a day. You think the hours the stute man puts in should equal the hours the cloddy does?”

They all laughed again, to his irritation.

Aeasus said, “You make it too simple. In the very old days, when shoes were manufactured as you describe, then truly the first man’s time was worth more than that of the second. But long ago that situation changed. It was found that six men working together—three of them, perhaps, cutting leather, another two sewing it together, another hammering on the heels—could perhaps produce seventy-two pair of shoes. Three times as many, per man, than if they had been working as individuals. Division of labor multiplies man’s efforts. Of this six-man team, one was the fastest, one the slowest, the others inbetween, but their combined efforts brought their average up to three times the production of the fastest.”

“All right,” Guy muttered, “I’ll take that. “Still, the fastest—”

“Just a moment, I haven’t finished. Shoes are no longer produced by teams of six men, bent over a cobbler’s bench. Instead, a highly trained technician watches gauges and dials and the reports of computers, while the automated factory in which he devotes his hours, pours out shoes at the rate of tens of thousands a day. This fabulous productivity of his is the accumulated legacy of the race. It does not belong to one person or group of persons, no matter how intelligent, quick or ambitious. That automated plant can operate only because half a million years ago one of our common ancestors first hit upon the use of fire. Only because twenty thousand years ago, perhaps, another ancestor devised the first wheel. Only because some long-forgotten Hittites stumbled upon the smelting of iron. And so on. A hundred, a thousand, a million of our more inventive ancestors had to live their lives to give us this legacy.

“Can this technician who prowls the gauges and dials of the automated shoe factory claim to be turning out thousands of shoes per hour through only his own time? Obviously not. It is the whole human race, down through the centuries, which is producing them. For him to be so vainglorious as to demand more for the hours he puts in than a slightly less intelligent or less agile man is presumptuous. That legacy of the ages belongs to the less stute as well as our most fortunately endowed.”

They were interrupted by a knock on the door which Clete guarded. She stiffed, opened it and peered out. She grunted and opened wide.

A young man entered and nodded his head respectfully to Lampado. “Madam, the Hippolyte will be ready to receive the representative from United Planets in ten minutes.”

“Very well,” the committee chairman told him. “That’s all.”

The messenger left, after sweeping Guy Thomas with inquisitive eyes. At least he didn’t giggle, Guy conceded sourly.

Lampado said, “We’ve spent too much time on nonessentials. But to sum it up, Citizen Thomas, Amazonia is as desirous as Avalon to exchange columbium for titanium. We suggest that the trade be based on the number of hours expended to produce the respective products. If this is unacceptable to Avalon, we welcome their further opinions on the subject.”

“That’s the message you wish me to take to Avalon?” Guy said.

The major, silent all this time, said, “Always subject, of course, to the approval of the Hippolyte.”

Lampado gruffed, “Of course.”

The commitee members began to come to their feet, stretching and smoothing out their togas and warrior’s cloaks.

Guy stood too and approached the major. “Look,” he said. “Brief me a little on this setup. The more I hear about the workings of your society, the less clear I seem to be. Do I understand that the Hippolyte is queen of this continent?”

Aeasus had overheard him. “Don’t be silly,” he snorted. “How could you have an institution as out of date as a feudalistic nobility in a culture as advanced as Amazonia? Even as figureheads kings and queens had largely disappeared before the first landing on Luna.”

The major glowered at him. “Let me handle this.”

The elderly scientist looked contrite. “Sorry, Major,” he said. “Out of my field, of couse.”

She turned her eyes back to Guy Thomas. “The term queen is antiquated. The Hippolyte is the elected head of the four phylons or tribes of the Paphlagonian Amazons. The office is held for life unless the electorate deposes her.”

Guy said, “Who composes the electorate?”

“The four heads of the phylons,” the major told him as though nothing was more obvious.

He cleared his throat. “All right. How do they get to be heads of the, uh, phylons?”

“Each phylon is composed of ten phratras. The elected heads of the ten phratras elect the chief of their respective phylon.”

Guy looked at her. “I know I’ll get to the bottom sooner or later,” he muttered. “Who elects the heads of the phratras?”

“Each phratra is composed of ten genos. The elected head of each genos votes for the chief of the phratra to which he belongs.”

“And…” Guy said patiently.

The major wound it up. “The genos is the basic unit of our society. Its membership has a common name, going back to a supposed common ancestor. All members of the genos have certain rights and duties toward their fellow members.”

“Kind of a great big, happy family, eh?” Guy said.

“Exactly. It is a type of family, but composed of thousands of persons.”

“And each adult member has the right to vote for the person who represents the genos, eh?”

The major became slightly huffy. “Don’t be ridiculous. Not the men, of course.”

“Oh,” Guy said sarcastically. “Of course not.” The major said, “Today the Senate which is composed of the heads of each genos is not in session. You will be received by only the Hippolyte, flanked by her council which consists of the four phylon chiefs. When you are presented, you will bow and remain silent until addressed.” She added, “I’ll stand next to you. The Hippolyte seldom bothers with men, of course. Try not to make a flat of yourself.”

Guy said in a sarcastic tone, “I’ll do my best.”

Her eyes turned bleak. “Don’t be cute with me, boy. I’m handing this job because I was ordered to. But I don’t like uppity men, understand?”

“I suspected it all along, Major,” Guy got out. “Let’s go.”

Out in the corridors again, they fell into their old pattern of precedence. The major led, followed by the Earthling, followed in turn by Clete and Lysippe.

It would seem this building connected to the palace, or wherever it was that the Hippolyte held audience, by an underground passage. At any rate, they stepped into what Guy at first assumed was an elevator, but it turned out to be an elevator with ramifications. It sank, that feeling he could recognize, but at what he would have assumed to be the bottom of the shaft, no door opened. Instead, they began to move swiftly sideways. This continued for several minutes until they stopped, shunted this way, shunted that for a short distance, then began to mount again.

“What is this?” Guy growled. “An amusement park ride?”

“Shut up,” the major rapped.

“Shut up yourself,” he snapped back.

The three of them stared at him.

Finally Clete laughed. “Sweety,” she said, “you’re the most effeminate man I ever saw in my life. Damned if I know what Minythyia sees in you. She’d have to spend the first year teaching you your place.”

“That’d be fun,” Guy muttered. He was getting fed up with this chaotic relationship between the sexes. On top of everything else, that description he’d just had of the workings of the Paphlagonia government made about as much sense as anything else on this crackpot world. What were the duties of these layers upon layers of elected officials? Who profited by what? Who was the dog catcher, and who the Minister of War?”

The car he had mistaken for a simple elevator stopped and the door opened quietly.

His eyes widened in shocked disbelief.

They stepped into the biggest, gaudiest hall he had ever seen in his life. It made the surviving cathedrals of antiquity on Earth, at Rome, Seville, Rheims and Istanbul look like peasants’ huts in comparison. He closed his eyes momentarily to cut the glare and to suffer in silence.

“What’s the matter?” the major growled at him.

He shook his head. “Nothing. I’ve simply never seen anything like this layout on any planet in the whole system, and we’ve got some dillies.”

Clete looked at him questioningly. “I thought you had never been over-space before.”

Guy Thomas covered. “I’ve seen a good many Tri-Di travelogues.”

The major said, “Come along.”

They left Clete and Lysippe at the entry and together began to march down the extended hall, eyes supposedly front, although, all along the way, Guy couldn’t resist shooting unbelieving glances left and right.

Could those pillars actually be solid gold? No, of course not. Ridiculous. They were probably simply covered with gold leaf.

Those lines of warriors. Holy Jumping Zen, all armed with scrambler rifles. There was enough fire power present to blow down the city.

Those mosaics over on the wall, the scenes of Amazons and what he assumed were Greek warriors, fighting in chariots. He didn’t like the way the mosaics gleamed reflected light. Oh, no. The mosaics, the tiny colored pieces which composed the mural, simply coudn’t be gems!

The hall could easily have accomodated an Earth-side football game. There was a self-conscious element in marching down its length. He had read once on one of the historical tapes, about the Italian dictator Mussolini who had an enormous office completely unfurnished except for the dictator’s desk at the far corner. A visitor had to walk the full length of the office, becoming more self-conscious every step, to appraoch the other. It had been deliberate, and so, Guy Thomas decided, must this be.

All right, so he was impressed by the pomp and wealth of the Amazon Hippolyte.

At long last, they came to a halt.

On a dias sat a tall, distinguished-looking woman in her late middle years. Her throne, a heavy wooden chair in which she sat, was simple. The only simple article of furniture or decoration in the whole layout, Guy realized. She was flanked, two to each side, by four other women in her same age group, though none quite so patrician. Their cuirasses were evidently of silver and richly embossed and inlayed with gems, one emeralds, one rubies, one diamonds, one sapphires. Probably, Guy decided, each Amazonian phylon had a symbolic color, a symbolic jewel. The Hippolyte’s own cuirass was of simple gold without embellishments.

They stood there for a long moment, Guy thinking, it’s your ball, start bouncing it.

The Hippolyte finally spoke, her rich, full voice in complete compatibility with her distinguished appearance.

“Present the Earthling,” she said.

The major barked, “Citizen Guy Thomas, of Earth, representing the Department of Interplanetary Trade of the United Planets.”

Guy bowed, moderately but sufficiently.

The Hippolyte said, “We understand you have come to our world to—”

“Just a minute,” the Phylon chief to her immediate right said.

The Hippolyte turned to her, eyebrows up. “Yes, Marpesia? You have reason to interrupt me?”

The Pylon chief nodded, without looking at her superior. Her eyes were narrow and on Guy Thomas.

“Only last year, when I was Amazonian Ambassador to to the United Planets, he was pointed out to me at an Octagon reception. His name isn’t Guy Thomas and he is not connected with the Department of Interplanetary Trade. His name is Ronald Bronston and he is top trigger-man for Sidney Jakes of the Notorious Section G of the Bureau of Investigation.”