Mack Reynolds: Amazon Planet

“Sure, fella, but the moment you set foot on Amazonia you come under the jurisdiction of old Hippolyte and her government, or Myrine and hers, and then, fella, you’ve had it.”

He pecked at the table top with his forefinger for emphasis. “Under Articles One and Two of the United Planet Charter neither Earth, as the planet of your birth, nor even UP itself, can interfere with the internal affairs of Amazonia. And once you land of your own free will, you’re under their jurisdiction.”

Guy was completely flabbergasted now. “But what could they do? I’m going there on a strictly business deal.”

“What could they do ?” Terry interjected, as flabbergasted as Guy himself. “Suppose one of those brawny mopsies took a shine to you? You’d wind up in a harem and spend the rest of your life there.”

“Harem?” Guy said blankly.

“Harem,” Rex echoed. “You know what a harem is, don’t you?”

“I thought I did. Under polygamy, it’s a man’s collection of wives. Well, I guess it included the children and his women relatives too.”

Rex said sarcastically, “Well, under polyandry it’s the same thing, only different.”

“You mean…”

Jerry said, “Yes.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous.”

There was a silence during which he stared at them.

Rex Ravelle said finally, “I wouldn’t want to see even an engineer set down on Amazonia. Zen, I wouldn’t wish it on Happy, here.”

“All right, all right,” Happy whined. “Very funny.” He snorted and looked at Guy Thomas. “But the seconds right. Haven’t you never heard of Amazonia? A man’s got no rights there.”

Rex said, “It was settled by a bunch of women crackpots two or three centuries ago.”

“Feminists,” Guy said. “I know about that, of course.”

The second officer leered. “No men at all.”

Happy said, “But they had to have some men.”

Rex Ravelle said, “Artificial insemination. They took frozen sperm along. Of course, about half the kids were born male, but the old biddies were ready for them. By the time they grew to adulthood, they had reins around their necks. Education, customs, even religion, I guess, had them all prepared to be the weaker sex.”

“Weaker sex?” Guy Thomas said—weakly. “Listen, how come more of this information isn’t available in the literature I read up on back on Earth?”

The second officer spread his hands. “It’s the most secretive world in United Planets. They don’t give out much information. And they don’t want any thing to do with the other worlds.

“Well…what else do they do?”

“Look, what’s the most restrictive government you ever heard about? Back in history, or in existence now, or whenever?”

“Why, off hand, I don’t know.” The dismayed passenger ran his hand back through his hair.

“Well, whatever it was, it’s worse on Amazonia, at least for men. You’re not allowed to own property. Only women can. You have no vote. You have no rights before the law, except through your wife.”

“Suppose you’re not married?”

“You haven’t got any rights at all, until you’re married. You’ve got to be married, as soon as you’re not a child any more. You’ve got to be under the wing of some female or other.”

“This is getting ridiculous. I’m going there for business. I’ll just be there for a short time. They want this business deal as much as my clients do. They’re not interested in throwing me into some harem. I think you’re feeding me a lot of jetsam.”

Rex Ravelle came to his feet, finished the coffee, which by this time had grown cold, and shrugged. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, fella. For your own good, I hope the skipper doesn’t let you land.” He had checked the passengers papers even as they had talked, now he handed them back to the other.

He was turning to go when a new voice snapped, “Just a moment, Ravelle!”

The three of the ships company and the now bewildered passenger turned.

She was standing in the entry, her eyes flashing. Since grammar school days, Guy Thomas had read on the fiction tapes of persons whose eyes were flashing. He had always wondered what flashing eyes looked like. Now he knew. Her eyes were flashing.

If it hadn’t been for her odd, ultra-conservative dress, he would have snap-decided that she was as attractive a young curve as he had seen for many a day. Well, not as young as all that. She must be at least in her mid-twenties. It wasn’t only her dress, either. She was innocent of cosmetic, even a smidgeon of lipstick, and her hair, unfashionably long, by Earth standards, was done up in a pile at the back of her neck. Attractive, he grudgingly admitted, but, well, all but prehistoric so far as style went. It was a good face, though, you had to admit that. Angry and aggressive now, and handsome rather than pretty—wide mouth, a well shaped nose to go with it, wide apart and sparking blue eyes.

The second officer, taken aback, blinked at her. “Ah, Miss O’Gara.”

“And don’t call me Miss I object to the term in both meanings of the word. The word mistress, from which the term Miss is derived, is the feminine of master, and I want to be no one’s master any more than I want anyone to be mine. And so far as the other definition is concerned, I am no man’s mistress and will never be, nor his wife either. I hope that’s clear.”

“Say that again?” Jerry muttered, only a hint of derision in the backgound.

She spun on him. “Sarcasm doesn’t particularly become anyone who’s been uttering the blithering jetsam you have, whatever-your-name-is.”

Jerry came to exaggerated attention. “Gerald Muirhead, Third Deck Officer, S.S. Schirra , at your orders, ah, Citizeness—is it all right to call you Citizeness, ah, Citizeness O’Gara?”

She snorted and turned back to Rex and Guy.

She demanded of the second officer, “What in the name of Zen is your purpose in filling this poor cloddy…”

“Hey,” Guy protested mildly.

“…full of your masculine prejudices against Amazonia? Hasn’t there been enough snide propaganda promulgated against the sole member planet of all United Planets with a rational government?”

“Zen!” Jerry said, “Promulgated, yet. I’d love to sit in on this, but I’m going on watch. Gentlemen, I leave you to Miss, uh, that is, Citizeness O’Gara’s mercies.”

He left, leaving behind Guy and Rex, and an apprehensive looking Happy, who had retired into the furthest background, to face the indignant feminine passenger.

Rex Ravelle said, in a weak attempt at placation, “Uh, sorry if I’ve offended you, Citizeness. I was only repeating to Citizen Thomas what is commonly known throughout the system.”

Her eyes were still sparking, and then she put her hands on her hips in a stance of indignation so stereotyped that the most tyro of Tri-Di performers would never have dared it.

“Commonly known, eh?” she snapped. “What jetsam hasn’t been blathered behind that aegis down through the centuries, eh? Jews controlled practically all the wealth. Negroes were less intelligent than whites because they have thicker skulls. Amerinds couldn’t be allowed to drink because they couldn’t hold their firewater. Scandinavians were slow-minded and Japanese were good at copying but weren’t inventive. Englishmen had no sense of humor, the French were sex mad and the Americans would sell their mother to make a fast buck.”

Guy looked from one of them to the other. The girl metamorphosed from handsome to beautiful when in the flush of argument. He held his own peace.

Rex Ravelle was not of the temperment to remain under attack without rising to the fray.

“Aw, now look,” he protested, holding a hand up in attempt to stem her tirade. “I’m not as flat as all that. I’ve been around. I’ve met people who’ve been on Amazonia. I’ve met, oh, a dozen or more of these Amazons.”