MacAuliffe raised a hand. "That's all right. Hastings has his own way
of doing things. There's no point in raising a fuss. And besides, I
imagine you want to get things started. Something has to be done about
di Vino."
MacAuliffe was the head of the Diplomatic Section on Dynak, and
an outstanding expert on anthropology and xenology; Newhouse felt
flattered that the man had taken the trouble to seek him out.
"Something has to be done, all right," Newhouse agreed, "but I'm not
quite sure what at this point. In spite of the reports, I still don't
have the whole picture."
MacAuliffe lifted a thin eye brow. "No? I thought my reports were
comprehensive enough." But there was a definite twinkle in his eyes.
Newhouse grinned. "Hastings thinks the job can't be done till I've
spent six months here because it's impossible to learn from reports;
you think I can hop off immediately and get di Vino out of this jam,
because everything can be learned from reports. It's a rough life we
lead."
The diplomat grinned back. "Just what is it you want to know,
Lieutenant?"
Newhouse then scratched thoughtfully at the area just behind his right
ear. "Details, mostly, I guess. You and di Vino and the others went
to Oassi to square away the details of this contract with the local
government, and di Vino managed to get himself married. All as plain as
my Aunt Millie's face. But I don't quite get a picture of Boccaccio di
Vino the man nor of the personalities of the women involved."
MacAuliffe said: "I see. Well, di Vino himself is a very personable
young man; good conversationalist and a fine diplomat--for a young man.
He shows promise of getting somewhere in the field."
"Won't this caper sort of put a black mark on his record?"
MacAuliffe rubbed his long, thin nose sadly. "I'm afraid it will, yes.
Shame, too. Mr. di Vino acted with the impetuosity of youth, and it'll
probably follow him well into his old age."
"By then," said Newhouse, "he'll be bragging about it."
"Probably. He's just the type, though, who's a push-over for a set-up
like that; pretty faces and figures go to his head. He and the Shannil,
for instance, were...."
Newhouse listened while MacAuliffe talked.
* * * * *
The cultural level of the city-state of Oassi was similar in many
ways to that of Egypt in the fifteenth century B.C., or that of
pre-classical Athens or Sparta. It differed strongly, however, in
that it was essentially a matriarchy. Since the natives of Dynak were
oviparous, the women were freed from the temporary disability that
child-bearing brought to viviparous species. In the more savage tribes,
the females suckled the young and cared for them from hatching until
they were old enough to fend for themselves; in Oassi, however, most
of the care of the young had been handed over to the males while the
females ran the state. The fighters were of both sexes, carefully
segregated into male and female battalions, but the top officers were
all females.
Dynak Base had been built well away from Oassi; one of the strict
rules of Earth was that no indigenous culture should be subjugated or
influenced any more than necessary. Before any contact was made, a
study of the more savage tribes had to be made.
Nonetheless, rumors had come out of the jungle that a strange group of
aliens had built a fortress near the banks of the Ngong River, and the
people of Oassi were aware of the presence of the Earthmen long before
any contact had been made by the Earthmen themselves.
* * * * *
Eventually, diplomatic relations between the Earthmen and the Oassi
people had been established simply because the Oassi army had sent an
expeditionary force to find out the intentions of the strangers. There
had been no actual fighting; the female general in charge of the troops
had decided that it would be futile to attack Dynak Base and had asked,
instead, for a parley.
The upshot of the whole incident was a decision to send a diplomatic
party to Oassi itself. And Boccaccio di Vino had been a member of that
party.
The trouble was that, at that time, di Vino and the others didn't know
a great deal about the customs and mores of the Oassi. More exactly,
di Vino didn't know that just holding hands with an Oassi girl was
tantamount to a formal engagement. And di Vino hadn't just stopped with
holding hands. After the party had been in the city sixty-three days,
di Vino found himself legally married to Oanella, the daughter of the
Shann and Shanni of Oassi, and heir to the throne. When the old Shanni
died, Oanella would become Shanni, and di Vino, as her consort, would
become Shann whether he liked it or not.
It might sound like a good position to be in, and, in a human society,
it could have been just fine. But Oassi was not a human city, and di
Vino wanted desperately to get out and go back to Dynak Base--even
farther away, if possible.
Oassi had a pleasant little law regarding the crown princess and the
Shanni. If no fertile eggs were laid within the first two hundred days
of marriage, it was the duty of the royal personage to get herself
another husband. But since monogamy was strictly enforced, and
since no one, not even the Shanni, could re-marry while the spouse
remained alive, the only way out for her highness was the obvious one.
Consequently, Boccaccio di Vino had found himself facing death.
"The big trouble," said MacAuliffe, "is that the young Shannil seems to
be actually proud of di Vino; her 'giant' is something for the lesser
nobles to envy." His face darkened. "She'll probably miss him very
much."
"We can't let them kill him," Newhouse said flatly.
"I hope not," MacAuliffe said, "but, outside of storming their city, I
don't see how we can get him out of the citadel."
"I'll think of a way," Newhouse said grimly. "I'm going into the city
with the next food convoy."
* * * * *
"Sometimes," said Master Sergeant Pemberton in a low voice, "I think
this whole thing is a waste of time." He turned the wheel of the car a
trifle to avoid a tree, then twisted it back to avoid another.
Newhouse stuck a cigarette in his mouth, fired it. "What? You mean,
taking di Vino food? He might get pretty hungry."
"I didn't mean that, Lieutenant; I wouldn't want to let him starve.
But driving in all this chow every so often, over a hundred miles of
jungle, isn't my idea of an efficient way to run an outfit."
"What would you do, if it were your job to decide policy?" Newhouse
asked, genuinely curious.
"Just what the colonel's doing now," Pemberton said. "I realize it's
the only sensible way. But there are times when I wish we could just
walk in there, pull out our guns, and tell them to hand him over or
else."
"Sure," said Newhouse, "but who'd raise _gakgaks_ for us then? You want
to raise a whole herd and milk 'em yourself?"
"My mother didn't raise her little Willie to be a herdsman for alien
critters," the sergeant said virtuously. "Besides, I wouldn't know how,
and I'm not anxious to learn. Those things smell worse than a herd of
sick hogs."
"Same thing I'd say," Newhouse agreed. "But Earth would scream so loud
they could be heard in Messier 31 if their only supply of anti-cancer
serum were to be cut off, or even reduced. And if you know of any way
to get it except from _gakgak_ milk, a grateful galaxy will prostrate
itself at your feet."
"I'd feel pretty silly if they did," said Pemberton, wrenching the
wheel around to avoid another tree. "But it's a hell of a note that Dr.
Chung had to find the stuff in _gakgak_ milk at all. Why couldn't he
have been sensible and found it in tree leaves or something? Then we
wouldn't have to stay on good terms with a bunch of high-handed female
dictators."
"No," said Newhouse, "probably not. But we'd probably have to stay on
good terms with the savages around the base so they'd go out and gather
leaves for us. What's the difference?"
"The difference," Pemberton said triumphantly, "is that we wouldn't
have to worry about the care and feeding of our boy, di Vino."
"Um," said Newhouse, realizing when he'd been beaten.
* * * * *
Pemberton glanced in his rear view mirror. "They having trouble back
there? No, I guess not; they just slowed down a little."
Newhouse swiveled his head around and peered at the second car, which
was following them. Like their own, it floated a foot off the ground
on its antigravs as it moved through the jungle. It didn't seem to be
having any trouble.
"There's another thing, Lieutenant," Pemberton said. "I don't like the
idea of carrying a dame along. Not that she's any trouble, but she
might get hurt. This isn't exactly the cornfields of Iowa, you know."
"I think Captain Smith can take care of herself," Newhouse said. "She's
a pretty tough gal."
"I'd rather have her on my side than against me, that's for sure," the
sergeant admitted, "but my protective instincts always rise when I see
a woman out in the wilds like this. Even if she is an officer."
Newhouse started to answer, but there was a pounding on the roof of the
car. Pemberton slowed, rolled down the window, stuck out his head, and
said something in a language Newhouse didn't understand.
Ksitka, a hunter from one of the tribes near Dynak Base, jabbered
something back in the same tongue. Pemberton pulled his head back in.
"He says he smells trouble. There's a group of those lizard-like
carnivores up ahead--two or three, he says. We'll have to go around
'em; I don't want to get tangled up with those babies." He turned the
wheel, and the car angled to the right. "Can't go to the left," he
explained. "There's a cliff there that we couldn't make."
For a long minute, he was silent. Then: "And that's another thing,
Lieutenant; we have to keep these cars close to the ground. If we could
fly 'em, we'd have been to Oassi hours ago. But no, just because we're
not to reveal our strength to the natives, we have to go creeping along
like snails. Why, when I...."
Newhouse folded his arms across his chest and closed his eyes. Sergeant
Pemberton was a compulsive griper, but his droning voice made a nice
lullaby.
* * * * *
When they hove into sight of the city gates of Oassi, Pemberton shook
the lieutenant. "We're here, sir. Their scouts spotted us twenty miles
back, and the guard of honor is lined up, waiting for us."
Newhouse shoved himself into a more upright position and looked out at
the pygmy-sized natives lined up in gorgeous array, in brightly-colored
kilts and feathers. They looked, Newhouse opined, like a cross between
a regiment of Scottish Highlanders and a group of Zulu warriors in full
battle array. Each man had a longbow and a quiver of arrows slung
across the back of his shoulders, and each was carrying a seven-foot,
metal-tipped spear in his right hand.
"Very impressive," said Newhouse. "Okay, Sergeant; let's get our own
show on the road."
Both men got out of the car and marched solemnly back to the second
car. Ksitka slid off the top of the car and marched back with them,
looking very proud and haughty in his resplendent Earth-designed
uniform, which was even gaudier than those of the Oassi forces.
At the door of the rear car, they paused. Newhouse opened it, and all
three bowed low as Captain Virginia Smith emerged.
She was not in uniform, as the other spacemen were; she wore an array
of robes and jewels that would have looked pretentious at a British
Coronation. She was a tall woman; a full six feet in height; broad in
proportion, she was a thirty-six year old career officer who could look
both commanding and matronly.
Ksitka, who had been carefully coached in his role, ran around behind
her and lifted the train of her robes so that they would not drag the
ground. Then the four of them marched solemnly up to the honor guard,
Newhouse and Pemberton in the lead, with Captain Smith and Ksitka
trailing behind, leaving the cars in charge of the driver of the second
vehicle.
The Oassi guard, trying very hard not to look impressed, closed ranks
and marched to the city gates with them. Newhouse had already noticed
the effect that had been produced, however. The Oassi could see that
Virginia Smith was obviously a woman, and a very powerful one at that.
Thus, she commanded a respect that mere males could not have hoped for.
At the gate, the procession was met by a trio of Oassi females whose
dress, impressive though it was, couldn't even compare with that of
Captain Smith. Even little Ksitka's uniform was flashier.
Ksitka himself was in absolute ecstasy, in spite of the fact that his
face was as stony and expressionless as an Easter Island idol's. His
tribe had been looked down on and sneered at by the city-dwellers since
time immemorial. And now, he, Ksitka the Hunter, was superior to the
Oassi. It was a good feeling, and Ksitka was revelling in it.
The three Oassi bowed low as the Earthmen approached, and one of them
said: "Her Splendor, the Shanni, awaits you at the citadel. May I
inquire as to the rank of our honored guest?"
Newhouse had studied the Oassi language, and, although his accent
was a bit heavy, he was perfectly lucid. "This is Her Supremacy, the
Captain," he said with dignity.
"_Kepteen?_" the Oassi woman repeated. "An exalted rank, no doubt."
"No doubt at all," Newhouse agreed rather ambiguously. "She has come to
pay her respects to her sister, the Shanni."
* * * * *
That made Captain Smith's rank perfectly clear; as a "sister", she was
obviously the equal of the Shanni.
"Come this way," the officer said. "Transportation has been provided.
I am afraid, however, that we must apologize to Her Supremacy for the
inadequacy of the sedan chair we provided; we were not prepared for the
visit of so exalted a personage."
"I will speak to Her Supremacy," Newhouse said. He turned to Captain
Smith. "They want to apologize because they haven't got a sedan chair
fancy enough for you," he said in English. "They're really impressed."
"I thought that's what the gal said," replied the captain, keeping her
face haughty. "I can understand the language better than I can speak
it. What should I say?"
"Anything you like; you're doing fine. Say something to me, and look as
condescending as possible."
"Very well," she said, complying, "convey my compliments and tell them
they can all go stick their noses in their ears and blow their brains
out."
"Thank you," said Newhouse, bowing low. "I'll tell them, but it may
lose something in translation."
He turned to the officer and reverted to Oassi. "Her Supremacy
understands your lack of proper transportation perfectly, and she will
convey her apologies to the Shanni for this unexpected visit. Her
Supremacy realizes that you are not at all to blame for not providing
a sedan chair suitable for her rank, and she has therefore graciously
condescended to wait until a chair of suitable dignity is provided for
the remainder of the way."
"Her Supremacy is most gracious," said the diminutive officer, gazing
up at the towering captain in awe. "There will be as little delay as
possible."
* * * * *
She turned and barked orders at a squad of husky males standing nearby,
and they turned and trotted off at high speed. It was nearly fifteen
minutes before they returned, during which time the Earthmen and the
Oassi tried to outdo each other in displaying nothing but stolid
patience.
The "chair of suitable dignity" was quite something. It was painted a
rust red and decorated with gold leaf and polished but unfaceted gems.
It took a dozen of the little aliens, six on either side, to hoist the
thing off the ground and carry it after Captain Smith had climbed in.
She was obviously a little cramped in a conveyance built for someone
two-thirds her size, but she bore it with dignified hauteur. Ksitka,
looking very superior, trotted along beside the sedan chair; he was
big for a Dynakian, standing a good three inches taller than the
city-dwellers.
Newhouse and Pemberton had climbed into the less brightly decorated
chairs that they'd provided, and were carried along behind the captain
as the procession wound its way through the streets of the city toward
the citadel.
A runner had been sent on ahead to warn the Shanni that an unexpected
guest was coming, and she and her rather diminutive consort were on the
top step of the citadel, flanked by another batch of guardsmen when the
guests arrived. Her daughter, the Shannil, and her consort, Boccaccio
di Vino, were nowhere to be seen.
_That's partial confirmation, at least_, Newhouse thought wryly. The
jungle tribesmen who had occasion to trade in the city had brought word
back that the Shannil feared that her new husband might take it in his
head to return to his own people--a crime which, like suicide, might
not be punishable when successful, but to try and fail was a criminal
offense in Oassi. Evidently the citadel guards were making sure that
lover-boy didn't go over the hill.
* * * * *
Not that he'd ever been allowed much freedom. The royal family had kept
a wary eye on him ever since the wedding; the old Shanni seemed to have
a hunch that di Vino hadn't realized he was a bridegroom until it was
too late, and she had seemed to sense right away that he was not too
keen on the idea of staying.
As arranged, it was Sergeant Pemberton who performed all the amenities
and introductions between Her Supremacy, the Captain, and Her Splendor,
the Shanni. In the first place, his Oassish was better, and, in the
second, Newhouse wanted to observe the expressions on the faces of the
Shanni and the Shann.
The Shann was an elderly male who looked--naturally--rather henpecked.
He didn't say much; he just stood there and smiled half-heartedly as
the Shanni chatted in friendly fashion with her "sister," Captain
Virginia Smith, through the fluent interpretation of Pemberton. They
might have been any ruling family of Earth welcoming another chief
executive.
Pemberton, of course, was giving the impression that Captain Smith
was the ruler of the alien fortress that was situated a hundred miles
away, on the banks of the Ngong River. The people of Oassi hadn't been
informed of the true origin of the Earthmen, nor would they be; as far
as Oassi was concerned, they came from a "far land," and knew a little
something about magic, but they weren't dangerous, they just had to be
watched, like any other non-Oassi group. And, after all, Oassi had a
much larger army and the magicians and priests of Oassi had magic, too,
didn't they? _Sure_ they did.
And Earth, the capital of the United Commonwealth of Planets, not only
liked the way things stood, but demanded that they be kept that way.
Any civilization which appeared to be capable of lifting itself by its
own bootstraps should do so; at this stage of the game, Man should not
interfere. Of course, their very presence on the planet had already
changed, somewhat, the course of Oassi's history, but that couldn't be
helped; nothing can be observed without affecting it.
The Shanni of Oassi appeared to be pleasantly impressed with Captain
Smith, just as Newhouse had figured. She had certainly not been
impressed by human males, which was perfectly understandable. What
would Haroun al Rashid have said if some other country had sent a
delegation of women to Baghdad?
Oh, the Shanni had been perfectly happy to agree to a treaty to furnish
_gakgak_ milk for good, honest gold (well, maybe not _too_ honest; it
was the product of an atomic converter), but that was just business.
Gold is fine stuff, even if a lowly male brings it.
But when it came to statesmanship, that was a different matter. The
Shanni seemed obviously more at home with Captain Smith, even if the
conversation did have to be filtered through Sergeant Pemberton.
After a minute or two, the Shanni turned to a nearby officer and gave
her a slight nod. The whole guard unit wheeled about in precision array
and everyone marched into the citadel: a half dozen guards in the lead,
followed by the Shanni and Shann, and Captain Smith; Pemberton and
Newhouse followed them, and behind the two officers came the rest of
the guardsmen. And last, but foremost, came the carriers bearing the
precious bundles of Earth-type food.
* * * * *
The banquet that night was a sumptuous, but somewhat lopsided affair,
Newhouse thought. The Oassi stuffed themselves like pigs, and the
four Earth people ate nothing. The Shanni already understood that her
guests, for some mysterious reason, could not partake of Oassi food.
Boccaccio di Vino and his wife, the Shannil, had made their
appearance, and di Vino, still a diplomat, put on an excellent face,
but there was worry in his eyes.
Newhouse wanted to pump some information out of him, but he didn't dare
address him in English, for fear that the Shanni might suspect a plot
was being fomented at her banquet table, right under her nose. But that
was just the reason why he had told Captain Smith not even to speak the
few words of Oassish that she did know.
* * * * *
He smiled at her and said: "Captain, I'm going to be talking to our
friend, the bridegroom, but pretend I'm addressing you. I'm not going
to mention your name," he went on, knowing that di Vino was listening,
"because they'd recognize the words. Captain, say something in a
questioning tone. Something fairly long."
"Fine," she said, "because I do have a question to ask. How long do you
think we'll have to be here before we can get our diplomat out?"
"I don't know. That's why I want to ask some questions." Then he turned
to the Shanni and smiled. "Her Supremacy wishes to inquire as to the
health of the royal family, if that is not forbidden by rules of
etiquette." He knew perfectly well that it wasn't.
"Not at all," said the Shanni, in her rather high, brittle voice. "Our
family is quite well. All sound in body and mind. Although--" A small
smile came to her face, and something shone in her eyes. "--we await
fertile eggs."
"I see." He turned to Captain Smith, but his words were obviously meant
for di Vino. "Don't speak to Smith until I've spoken to you in Oassish.
What I want to know is, how many unfertile clutches of eggs has your
wife produced so far, and how long is the production cycle?"