Mack Reynolds - The Rival Rigelians

“I didn’t ask you that,” Taller said.

“No, sir.” The other was bewildered.

Taller breathed deeply. He said, “As it is, I am here by invitation, soldier. Go through whatever routine is standard to take me…to take me to the lady of Number One.”

In obvious relief, the guard retreated through the door in question, to return almost immediately.

He came to the salute. “Enter the quarters of the lady of Number One, Taller, son of the Khan.”

Taller grunted and passed the other.

Inside, he looked about, his eyebrows rising. He had never been here before, although he had heard rumors of the inner-most sanctum of Doctor Isobel Sanchez. Being only two generations away from a primitive background, he was poorly prepared to confront the ultra-modern furnishings, art work and atmosphere of Earth.

A serving girl scurried up, her eyes averted, an all but cringing quality in her approach. She was bare-footed, bare above the waist, and her physical qualities were undeniable, indeed; she had obviously been selected for them. She wore nothing save a mini-kilt.

“My lord,” she said. “The Doctor awaits you.” She began to turn to lead the way. Taller said, “A moment.” She hesitated and there was a fearful quality. He looked at her, at her bare bosom, which was superb. The Tulan people were not so far from their primitive past but that they still held to the simple modesty. Taller had never seen a woman’s nipples before. Taller said, “You are of the People?”

“Yes, lord.”

“Do not call me lord . Such is not a term of address to be used to a son of the People. My father is Khan, but the office is elective. Some day I may, in turn, be Khan, but only if the People so decide. We have no lords amongst the People, as you should know.”

The girl was apprehensive. Taller was not a man to be stood up to by a wisp of a girl. She said, her eyes down, “But, sir, it is the Doctor’s orders that I entitle all her guests lord.”

“Why do you go without proper garments?” The girl was miserable. “It is the orders of the Doctor.” He looked at her for a long moment, grimly. Finally, “Take me to her.”

Isobel Sanchez had been reclining on an Etruscan type lounge. Upon his entry, she came to one elbow and shrugged into a jacket which was, however, so diaphanous that it concealed her figure little better than the serving girl’s who bowed him in and then quickly bowed herself out.

Taller looked at Isobel Sanchez for a moment, then after the girl. His gray eyes came back to the Earthwoman.

He said, “Why is she so attired?”

Isobel tinkled a laugh. “Because I find it amusing. I call the dress Cretan Revival.”

“Cretan?”

“A very old people of First Earth. They developed one of the highest civilizations.”

“And became shameless?”

She had come to her feet and now she approached him, amusement in her eyes. “It is an elastic term, Taller. Would you like a drink?” She motioned to a golden ewer. “I have been experimenting. I found in the Pedagogue’s archives an account of an old…very old…beverage called absinthe.”

Without waiting for his answer, she took up the ewer and poured a greenish liquid from it into two glasses.

He watched her impassively as she went through the ceremony of putting a lump of sugar, on a spoon, above each of the glasses in turn, and then pouring cold water from another jar over the sugar until it dissolved away into the absinthe.

Her figure was rather clearly revealed through the all but transparent clothing she wore. Taller had known this woman all his life, though he had come little in contact with her. So far as he could remember, she had looked like this always. Perhaps she was a shade more lush, an inconsequential, more slack about the mouth, a touch more empty in the eyes—but largely she was the most beautiful woman he could ever remember having seen.

She turned and handed him the glass and stood there, before him, her lips slightly parted.

He drank and didn’t like the taste, but said nothing.

Isobel Sanchez looked at him mockingly. “I believe this is your first visit here, Taller.”

“Yes. Why did you summon me?”

She sipped at her drink and looked up into his eyes and her own were still mocking. “But you are one of our most important officers.”

He frowned at her.

She said slowly, “And I am the planet’s leading…doctor. And this is my hospital.”

Taller said, “Outside is your hospital, but these are your private quarters. And you are the woman of Number One, Joe Chessman.”

She made a pout. “Joe is too busy these days. I seldom see him. When I do, he is always talking about his work. So far as the hospital is concerned, it is no longer necessary for me to do drudgery. My doctors handle that. If something important comes up that they don’t understand, they can come to me.” She added languidly, “If I have the time. But with you…”

He still frowned.

She put her glass down and looked into his eyes again, and now hers were slumberous. “I think I should give you a personal…examination.”

His mouth was suddenly dry as she came into his arms.

Steve Cogswell sat at a table in a village square. Two Tulan guards bearing rifles flanked him. He alone was seated. Before him stood a long line, patiently, stolidly. Most of the petitioners were men, but not all.

He rubbed a hand around the back of his neck, in thorough weariness, and said, “All right, who’s next?”

Before the table and slightly to one side, the apprehensive nonentity who was the village head man read from a paper. The next in line stepped forward.

“All right,” Cogswell sighed. “What’s your crab?”

The newcomer was in his middle years. There was a stupid, dull quality in his face. His body was obviously strong, but bent with the years.

He rumbled. “You have taken my land.”

Cogswell shook his head. “You don’t understand. I have taken nothing from you. I merely represent the State. The State, itself, has actually taken nothing from you, in reality. The land still belongs to you, to you and all the others who work it.”

“I had ten hectares. It was my father’s before me, and his father’s. My sons and I worked it.” He held out grimy hands, worn with toil, the nails broken. “We worked it with our hands and earned our living. Now you have taken it.”

Steve Cogswell took a deep breath.

“Look, man. Your land and all the other land in this vicinity has been amalgamated, joined together. You’ll work it in common. It will be easier. You won’t have to work from morning till night. You’ll put in six or eight hours a day, no more. We’re bringing in fertilizer; soon there will be tractors, other machinery. Using a third the amount of labor, you’ll be producing more agricultural products. We’re not taking anything from you, we’re giving you something.”

“They tell me that my house is to be destroyed. That it is to be cleared away, so that this new machinery can have room. It is my house, where I was born, where my sons were born.”

“I know. I know,” Cogswell growled. “And your father, and his father before him. I’ve heard the story a thousand and one times. How many rooms were there in this house?”

The petitioner looked at him blankly. “One room above for we of the family, one room below for the animals. As all houses in this region.”

Cogswell looked at the village headman. “Hasn’t it been explained to everyone that they will be moved into the village? That new apartments with several rooms apiece, and bathrooms and kitchens, will be provided?”

The headman said, “All have been told this, but thus far few of these apartments have been built. Even those who have been provided with such apartments, do not like them, Man from First Earth. They like their old homes, the houses such as their ancestors have always lived in.”