“Hotel Central,” Yua told the machine crisply; it looked like a glorified animated hand-truck to Mavra.
“Yes, ma’am,” a mechanical voice responded and the machine quickly scuttled off to collect and transfer the luggage through underground commercial roadways.
There were no taxis; an Olympian was expected to know her way around and which trolley to take. Yua chose one and they jumped on as it rumbled off. The new arrivals joined standing ranks of neatly identical Olympians. Apparently nobody sat down in Sparta, Mavra thought glumly.
The trip took about ten minutes and the tram never stopped. It just crept slowly along with people jumping on and jumping off. Nobody tried to collect a fare.
The Hotel Central was a square block near the city center; like all Spartan buildings it was low, five stories, built for an earthquake zone on a planet that was entirely an earthquake zone. Mavra studied the building before following Yua through the front door. Probably rent closets where you can sleep standing up against concrete, she guessed. She was not impressed with what her grandparents’ descendants had wrought, although, she knew, they would probably not be too thrilled by present-day Olympus, either. It’s sometimes a blessing that great historical figures don’t live to see what people do to their visions.
The lobby was drab and depressing as expected, but they had no problem getting a room. Again no money or identification was required. The society was communal to the nth degree and simply assumed that, if you needed a hotel room, you had a good reason to need it. You did have to register, though; Mavra suspected that somewhere somebody inspected those registers to see who was doing what with whom.
She signed as Mavra A332-6; apparently Mavra was a common name on Olympus—which pleased her. Nikki Zinder, also one of the First Mothers, had had a daughter—one of the founders—by Renard, the bookish Agitar satyr when he was still in human form—and she had named the child after Mavra Chang. She suspected that names like Nikki and Vistaru and perhaps ten or so others were also very common.
Mavra was using Yua’s codenumber, which indicated to the clerk that they were a “bonded” couple. Such associations were common on Olympus; at some point almost everyone chose to have a child, and there was an ingrained insistence on two-parent family structure. A “bonded” couple checking in generally meant only one thing to the locals: They were in Sparta to visit a Birth Temple, to be impregnated. They quickly found themselves being treated like newlyweds. This was uncomfortable for Mavra, but it had been Obie’s idea. The cover easily explained why the two were doing everything together, and Yua’s fawning adulation of Mavra might be dismissed as the reaction of a lover.
Their room was a pleasant surprise; it contained a gigantic soft and fluffy bed, an entertainment console, a versatile portabar, and a dial-a-meal food service area. Located on the fifth floor, it had a large draped window through which part of the city could be seen. Yua delighted in pointing out the sights to Mavra. “Up there, see, near the mountains, were the First Mothers’ original homesites, now a national shrine. At the base of that mountain was the Mother Temple, seat of the now interplanetary religion and the Olympian theocracy, while over
In the morning they would take a tour of the city, then visit the Mother Temple itself. Mavra still wasn’t sure what she would do once she got there, but she decided to sleep on the problem. She still wondered where the men were. Was it possible, she mused, that, just as the tailless Athenes were superior to the tailed Aphrodites, perhaps the males, a far smaller portion of the population, might be at the heart of the Mother Temple?
But that didn’t make much sense, considering how Yua was brought up to regard the men she’d never seen. There was a puzzle here, one she wanted to solve—and which Obie was also curious about—but perhaps the answer would be found in the Mother Temple. If not, it could wait. There were more pressing things to do, and
Yua dialed meals and drinks for them as the sun, a ghostly red-orange, vanished behind the mountains. Then they lay down on the bed, roomy enough for them despite their tails and the most comfortable thing Mavra had encountered on the journey. She felt odd in ways she couldn’t quite put her finger on, ways she hadn’t felt in so long she could hardly remember.
They were awakened by a buzzer. It was loud and annoying, the kind one wants on alarm clocks when getting up is a necessity. Yua groaned, looked over at Mavra and smiled sweetly, then got up. “It’s the door; I’ll get it,” she said softly.
Mavra was having problems. If anything the sexual craving was worse; if it grew any more powerful it would be impossible to control. On the other hand, who should know they were there—and why were they being awakened by that someone?
It turned out to be a room-service robot laden with an assortment of odd-looking but tremendously appetizing breakfast items as well as a bottle of the Olympian equivalent of champagne.
Mavra got up. “What? We didn’t order this,” she told the machine.
“Compliments of the hotel,” the robot waiter piped. “All fresh, no synthetics. We have also taken the liberty of registering you with the Temple of Birth. Another service of the Hotel Central,” he added, almost proudly. “It is oh-eight-hundred now; your appointment is at ten-hundred hours. Pick up the card at the desk, take tram one eighty-seven. Thank you.” It detached itself from the serving table and rumbled out, the door closing automatically behind it.
Mavra was disturbed. “They certainly assume a lot, don’t they?”
“What will you do about it?” Yua responded. “There will be much suspicion if we do not keep the appointment.”
Mavra nodded. Damn, I’m horny! She was almost looking forward to it! Still, Yua was right—not to go might arouse suspicion and make it hard to operate. The procedure would probably be pretty clinical anyway, and over quickly; then they could get over to the Mother Temple.
Yua seemed excited at the prospect. Mavra sighed and surrendered, sitting down to eat. The stuff was probably loaded with aphrodisiacs, but what the hell, she thought. At least today I’ll find out where the men are.
When a race is physiologically identical to the nth degree it is easy for trained biochemists to mass produce whatever physiological results are desired. The fact that so little modification had been done to the people of Olympus was something of a credit to their leadership, if there was a leadership as such. In the case of reproduction, however, little was left to chance. A combination of aphrodisiacs designed for the Olympian body had brought Mavra and Yua to exactly the correct physical and emotional state. By the time they reached the Temple of Birth the two women could hardly think of anything nonsexual, and the internal physical and mental pressure was almost unbearable.
They obviously were expected and were ushered in with little fanfare by crisp, professional technicians. A slight, still rational corner of Mavra’s mind wondered at all the prepreparation; it seemed all too pat.
They were directed to separate elevators, each of which seemed able to hold just one person. As they each entered the door closed on them and they sank, although slowly. Mavra felt as if a tremendous cloud were being lifted from body and mind.
“Sorry, Mavra.” Obie’s voice intruded into her mind. “I do not wish to force you into this against your will.”
“I’m wired into your brain and central nervous system, of course,” the computer responded.
“I’m sorry. You have to understand, these are my children’s children. I created them—I have to know.”
Obie sounded very apologetic. “It isn’t wasting much time. I must see what the males are like. I didn’t program anything to make them different.”
Obie was still apologetic, but only slightly. “I feel confident you can deal with such a situation.”
