Mack Reynolds: Amazon Planet

He nodded. “Yes, I have the papers here.” He half lifted a hand which held his heavy envelope. “In fact, there’s two. This is one of them. From Earth. Citizen Guy Thomas.” He motioned toward Guy with the envelope.

“ Guy Thomas!” the major blurted. “ Guy Thomas! We’ve issued no entry visa for a Guy Thomas.”

Guy came to his feet. “But…but there must be some mistake.”

“Minythyia! Hand me that damned directive! Minythyia, the slightest in build and evidently the youngest of the four, dropped her imbibbing and enthusiastic eating long enough to deliver a paper from the heavy leather wallet she had slung over one shoulder.

The major ripped it from her hand and glared at it. “We have records to show only one passenger, and the entry visa was issued to Gay Thomas, not Guy Thomas.”

The Earthling was uncomprehending. He stared at the domineering port official. “But…it’s obviously some minor mistake in transmission. I…I secured my visa from the Amazonian Embassy in Greater Washington. They were most cooperative and…” He let the sentence dribble away.

The Amazon major threw the paper to the table top and slapped it with the back of her hand.

“It says Gay Thomas! What in the name of the Goddess did you say your name was?”

“Guy. G-u-y. Don’t you see? A mistake. Only one letter wrong.” He seemed bewildered.

“One letter wrong! You blithering flat! You’re a man!”

He looked at her. There didn’t seem to be any answer to that.

“Cute, too,” the assistant they called Minythyia said. Of the four port officials, she alone had gone to the nicety of pouring her drink into a glass.

“Quiet!” the major rasped.

Unfazed, Minythyia said easily, “All I meant was, if he lands, I saw him first.” She winked at Guy. He stared at her in dismay. She wasn’t quite so awesome as the others, not so large, but she managed to project the same swagger.

The major spun back to Rex Ravelle. “What’s this curd about another passenger?”

Pat O’Gara came through the entry at that exact moment. For once, the fiery feminist was spellbound. She took in the four Amazonians, her eyes slowly going rounder.

Rex Ravelle chortled. “Major, may I introduce Citizeness Patricia O’Gara, refugee from the 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.”