Mack Reynolds - Amazon Planet

“Not quite what you expected, eh?” Rex Ravelle grinned.

“Exactly what I expected,” she snapped.

Rex, even as he was shaking hands goodbye with the girl, looked over at Guy Thomas who was sitting, hunched over a cup of coffee, staring blankly before him.

“Hey, Guy,” Rex called. “If worse comes to worse, and some old mopsy tries to get her hooks into you, you can always look up Pat. Throw yourself on her mercy. Maybe she’ll take you into her, what’d’ya call ’em?” The last was directed at Clete, who was standing to one side, waiting for Pat O’Gara to finish her farewells.

“Gynaecum,” Clete said.

Guy Thomas, as though in spite of himself, said, “What’s a gynaecum?”

Rex leered. “I never heard the word before, but ten’ll get you only one it’s the equivalent of a harem.”

“What’s a harem?” Clete demanded.

Rex turned his grin to her. “Back on Earth, in the old days, where a man kept his several wives and his kids in seclusion.”

“Don’t be disgusting,” Clete rapped. Her face was dark and involuntarily her hand dropped to her knife hilt.

Pat O’Gara had flushed. “I’m sure you’ve all got this situation very much confused.”

Guy groaned.

Rex said, “You weren’t around when they gave us the word, Pat, old girl. From what I understand, shortly, you’ll be running up and down the streets yourself, trying to nail any unattached yoke not stute enough to keep himself hidden.” He had to laugh at his own attempt at humor.

Nobody else did.

After Patricia O’Gara and the Amazons had left, the Schirra remained in orbit, suffering lighters from the planet below to come up and laboriously unload the cargo destined for the rival Amazonian nations. For although Guy Thomas had professed unawareness of the nature of the political situation on the woman dominated world, Captain Buchwald’s manifests had included shipments for both Lybia and Paphlagonia. The lighters came up separately, never conflicting. Evidently, there was some sort of truce which applied in space.

It made sense, Guy Thomas decided. Obviously, there were some commodities Amazonia needed to import. It wouldn’t have done for them to have fouled up interplanetary trade, with their off again, on again, hostilities.

On the third day the major’s customs launch reappeared bearing not only that officer but Clete and Lysippe as well. They had brought some clothing along with them.

Guy stared at it when they laid it out on the table of the lounge.

The major said, “Wipe that look off your face. You can’t wear those over-space clothes. Anybody who spotted you would know you were from off planet.”

“Maybe they’d think I was already married,” Guy said hopefully. “How do you know I’m not already married?”

Lysippe looked at him interestedly. “Are there temples on Earth where a warrior and boy can get married?” She looked at Clete. “I didn’t know Artimis was worshipped over-space.”

Guy said, “She isn’t. But there are other places to be married besides a temple to your Mother Goddess.”

“Don’t be blasphemous,” the major rapped. “We recognize no marriage except those performed before a priestess of Artimis.”

Guy said, “You mean, even though I was married back on Earth one of your women could still grab me?” There went his last alibi, if worse got to worse, down below.

He took the new clothing back to his quarters and changed into them, rejecting Clete’s leering offer to help. The material was soft and flowing and surprisingly attractive. The styling was another thing. He was reminded somewhat of Scottish kilts, somewhat of the tunic of the ancient Greeks. It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable. In fact, he had to admit, it wasn’t uncomfortable at all. It was just that, well, it was just that he was used to trousers .

The footwear consisted of a sandal-like arrangement, the straps of which were obviously meant to encircle his leg, up beyond the ankle.

He looked at himself in the mirror his small cabin refresher provided and winced. He hesitated for a long moment, then shrugged in resignation and made his way back to the salon lounge.

Rex Ravelle had entered while he was dressing. As all turned to face him, the irrepressible second officer gave a long low whistle.

“That will be all, Mister Ravelle,” the captain said. He turned to Guy. “You’re sure of this step, Citizen Thomas? You realize, of course, that if you have any doubts you can remain on board. Frankly, in all the years I have been calling at Amazonia, both as a junior officer and finally as master of my own spaceship, I have never known a man to set down on the planet.”

Guy Thomas closed his eyes for a brief moment. He said finally, “I’ve got to. It’s my big opportunity. I’ve got to make this one good.”

“Very well, Citizen. Good luck. I am afraid you will need it.” The skipper of the Schirra turned on his heel and left.

“Okay, Sweety,” let’s go,” Clete growled. “You’d think from these cloddies you were heading for a fate worse than death.”

She glowered uncomprehendingly as Rex Ravelle burst into raucous laughter.

Somewhat to Guy’s surprise, the little space launch which dropped them to the surface of Amazonia was piloted by a man. He was business-like, efficient, and either shy or intimidated by the uniformed women. He had nodded to the Earthling when the other had slipped through the Schirra’s small boat hatch, and had run his eyes up and down Guy’s clothes, quickly, and evidently in disappointment. For all purposes, they were identical to his own.

They had disconnected from the over-space freighter and swooped away, the major and her two assistants too blasé to bother looking at the viewing screens. However, Guy stared. Obviously, he had no background in landing in such wise on a a new planet.

He said, “Why…it’s not too different from Earth.”

The major was busy with her thoughts and said nothing.

Clete said, “So I understand, Sweety. Two main land masses, a few large islands, quite a few small ones. What do you call the two land masses on Earth?.”

“Well, actually, we think of seven continents.”

Lysippe grunted. “Three of them are joined, aren’t they, and two of the others only overgrown islands?” Her voice, as their voices usually were when talking to a man, was domineering.

“Why…why, I suppose so,” Guy said. “Actually, we have the Western Hemisphere, the Americas. And then Europe, Asia and Africa, the Eastern Hemisphere.”

“Two continents,” Clete grunted. “Like us.”

Guy held his peace and continued to stare at the view-screen. Actually, the two continents of Amazonia were almost identical in size. Then he remembered that there was conflict between them and wondered of what nature it might be. Here they were using spacecraft, if only to ferry back and forth to interplanetary freighters. Besides that, they seemed to conduct considerable trade, in spite of the fact that the landing of freight had to be done by lighter. That meant there was no reason to believe the more sophisticated nuclear weapons might not be available to these belligerent female warriors.

They had chosen to land him at night.

The space launch zipped in to come to a halt on the far edge of what was obviously a gigantic airport, sometimes utilized for at least minor spacecraft. It came to a halt but nobody made motion to disembark. The administration buildings were at least three miles away.

Guy Thomas looked at the major.

She said, “You’re coming in incognito, obviously. There’ll be a hovercar out shortly.”

A hovercar. Guy Thomas had to bring himself up sharply. Why not? They had this modern space launch, didn’t they? Why shouldn’t they use hovercars? It was just that their uniforms simulated the armor of antiquity to such a point that he wouldn’t have really been surprised had they got about on the surface in chariots. But, of course, that was silly.