Amazon 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