“One moment,” Devoted-Acolyte said and closed his eyes again. “Interesting,” he said when he returned. “A very astute question. The results will be displayed in a moment.”
Hlawch fiddled with the controls on the pad. After a brief pause, a graph of curved lines in various colours appeared in the air above the pad.
“The lines are plots of the compatibility of breeding partners with their respective Winners. Notice how the pregnancies cluster toward the high end. It would seem that success seems to be maximised if above a value of 725 on the Qurarqut-Gratz’chni Index and virtually impossible below 575. Now, if we superimpose Sir MacAdam’s partners….” He pressed a button. “Now that is most odd.”
I looked at the new line. It took me a moment then the light dawned. I hid a grim smile. The line looked pretty normal for the first group, then started to straggle and there were a significant number way down the compatibility index. Much further than any of the others. My surmise had been right: the breeding programme had been nobbled.
“It does look a bit odd,” Hlawch said.
“You don’t look surprised, Sir MacAdam,” Madam Brabicoso commented.
“I don’t know enough to comment,” I said. “However, assuming your figures are correct, Sir Devoted-Acolyte, you might as well send these ladies home.” I indicated the bottom group.
“Oh, the figures are correct.”
“We can’t send them home,” Hlawch said in a horrified voice. “Think of the publicity.”
“Is sexual attractiveness related to compatibility?” I asked.
Devoted-Acolyte did his lemon-sucking act again. “Statistically, yes, but there are enough exceptions to make it of interest only to statisticians.”
“Well, that’s something at any rate.”
“Your point, Sir MacAdam?” Madam Brabicoso asked.
“You must know that I’m not particularly happy with the idea of breeding with, to my mind, aliens. I know it’s probably a silly prejudice but, despite the evidence of the city we’re in, I still have a mental picture of women with scales or fangs or tentacles or something.”
Hlawch snorted derisively.
“I sympathise with Sir MacAdam,” Madam Brabicoso said. “Remember he comes from a genetically unified world which has no contact with the Galaxy.”
I gave her a grateful smile. “Now I’m no expert never having, er, bred before but breeding success seems to be as much psychological as physical.”
It felt very strange discussing making babies in such dry tones, especially as I was intimately involved but, in a way, it helped. Madam Brabicoso and Sir Devoted-Acolyte appeared to be interested, Hlawch just looked disgusted.
“Of course mere physical coupling can produce off-spring but the chances of success are increased if the partners know each other, like each other, are relaxed and in an intimate environment.”
“How great is the increase?” Devoted-Acolyte asked.
“I don’t know. A few of my friends who have children have mentioned that they knew when conception took place as their love-making was particularly intense.”
I remembered the story Ron had told me about his first and smiled mentally; it had been in a doorway. He and his wife had been out celebrating. They were slightly drunk and had been walking home. They were necking and messing about when his wife suddenly pulled him into a darkened doorway and suggested they do it there and then. Ron said it was the most intense experience he’d ever had. James was born nine months later.
“Actually, I don’t think the place is necessarily important,” I said. “It’s the degree of connection between the partners that’s most important.”
“I agree,” Madam Brabicoso said loudly. She blushed when we all looked at her. “Sorry, but I was thinking about my own offspring and, as Sir MacAdam says, the moment of conception was particularly memorable.”
“I wouldn’t raise the issue at all except that we’re down to, what, fifteen so the required success rate has gone up to 75% just to maintain an acceptable average.”
Hlawch was gloomily examining the table. It was clear he believed I was again trying to manipulate the Commission. Devoted-Acolyte and Madam Brabicoso were nodding.
“What do you recommend?” Devoted-Acolyte said.
“I don’t know,” I said with a sigh. Hlawch looked up in surprise. “I have to seduce… make love to… impregnate twenty three young ladies, with eight of whom we know it the latter will not be possible. I know nothing about them. I know nothing about the social and sexual mores of your society. Hell, I wasn't even particularly good at seduction on my own world and my generative powers have never been tested.”
“That’s why the Commission organises the programme as it does,” Hlawch said with a degree of asperity.
I bowed my head briefly in his direction. “You propose that we go with the original plan, then?”
“I can see no alternative.”
“Fine.” I drummed my fingers on the table for a moment in thought. “I know nothing of the young ladies. Do they come from different backgrounds?”
“Quite a wide variety, yes. Perhaps the presentation would help.”
He adjusted the pad and I sat, enthralled, for the next half hour while I was introduced to my lovers-to-be displayed in miniature in glorious 3-D. A sexless voice recited relevant information and statistics. The first, and most obvious thing, was that they were all exceptionally attractive despite, or perhaps because of, their exotic colouring and features and bizarre dress styles. The second thing was their variety; not just of their origins but of their heights, shapes, ages, backgrounds, interests and everything. The third thing was that, if I managed not to make a complete fool of myself, I might actually enjoy this. I pushed guilty thoughts of Flerrionna into the background. The fourth thing was a nagging wonder why all these beautiful young women wanted to have sex with me and, more, become pregnant by me.
“Well,” I said as the presentation ended. “I think we can discard any residual prejudices. I would be honoured to accompany any one of these young ladies wherever she wished.” Hlawch looked moderately relieved. “Could we go through it again? I want to take some notes.”
Much as I hated to admit it, the Commission were probably right. Two beings, people, from different races and cultures who knew that the sole purpose of getting together was to procreate was not the easiest situations to deal with and the idea of a social evening followed by the main event, organised so neither participant had any say in the matter might well be the best, perhaps the only, way to do it. However, their high-handed attitude still rankled and I wanted to impose a bit of myself on proceedings.
“Right, Sir Hlawch, do you have a list of the social engagements?”
“Of course.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not trying to sabotage anything. It’s occurred to me that, if the order in which I meet the ladies doesn’t matter, we might try to see which event best fits each lady. Improve our chances, so to speak.”
Hlawch nodded cautiously, the others enthusiastically. I read out what I’d written about each girl and we tried to guess at which event would best suit her personality and background. Where we had one event and two candidates, Devoted-Acolyte suggested we give preference to the more compatible girl. By the end everyone was quite enthusiastic.
The events were many and varied. There was a dinner each night at a different restaurant, all of them at the upper end of the market. This struck me as a bit odd as a well-known establishment would hardly need the dubious services of the Lottery Winner to boost its popularity. Still, what did I know about Capellan culture? There were day-time events, too; everything from concerts and theatre visits to a tour of a manufacturer of widgets, there wasn't an English equivalent to whatever it was they made, to opening a new day ward at a hospital. I approved heartily of this one and commented that I wished there were more like it.
“Why?” Madam Brabicoso asked.
“Because I didn’t ask for my fame so if I’m going to
make use of it I’d rather it was in a good cause.”
“Right,” Hlawch said. “If that’s everything?”
“I’m afraid not,” I said. He sighed. “I’ll need advice on what to wear, whether I’m to make a speech, who I should cuddle up to and that sort of thing. There’s also the arrangements for the other parts of the contract. Oh, and I’d like to throw a party.”
“A party?” Hlawch was aghast.
“Yes, at the end. A big party for as many people who’ve been involved in this as possible. My treat.”
“Well, I don’t know. What sort of event were you thinking of?”
“How should I know? I’m not Capellan. What do people do here to celebrate?”
“Who would you invite?”
“Well my breeding partners, for a start. And the people who helped me at the stadium like the project manager and the media lady and my dresser… oh, and the director of the show. And yourselves, of course. And Homer Simpission and his wife. And everyone who has or will have helped me over the next month. Hell, I’ll even invite the Chairman.”
“Could be a big party,” Madam Brabicoso said thoughtfully.
“Okay, we’ll limit it to, say, a hundred. Should we do it here or somewhere else?”
“Sounds like a good idea to me,” Devoted-Acolyte rumbled. “Not sure about the Simpission’s though. How did you meet them?”
“I sat beside Madam Simpission at the President’s lunch. She studies primitive species, you know. Invited me to stay with them. I suspect she just wants to write an article for the ‘Anthropologist’s Digest’ or whatever.”
“Hmph. Well, I’ll see what can be arranged,” Hlawch said grudgingly. “Never been done before, though.”
“It’s just an idea. It would be nice to say ‘thank you’.”
“That’s in the future,” Madam Brabicoso said firmly. “Right now you need to focus on tonight and tomorrow and the day after. Now, I’ll be here every day to brief you about the day’s activities, tell you who you’re going to meet, that sort of thing. In fact, while I’m here, we could go through your wardrobe.”
“And enter the magical world of Narnia,” I murmured.
“Pardon?”
“Nothing. Yes, that’s probably a good idea.” I grinned. “Just so long as I get to choose the clothes.”
“Why shouldn’t you?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Right, well, Devoted-Acolyte and I’ll be off,” Hlawch said, stuffing various papers into his briefcase. I escorted them to the door. “Well… good luck. If you’ve any problems… contact me.”
“Thank you, Sir Hlawch. I shall do my best to uphold the image of the Lottery.”
“Quite… well… goodbye.”
“Right, what’s going on?” Madam Brabicoso said when we were alone.
“Nothing that I’m aware of,” I said. “You wanted to examine my wardrobe.”
She reached out to restrain me but I brushed past her and went into the bedroom. She was forced to follow.
“I demand to know what’s going on.”
I turned on her. “You demand? What is it about you Lottery people that you think you’re better than everyone else?”
“I don’t.”
“Yes, you do. You just did it. ‘I demand’. That’s typical Lottery. Actually that’s better than most. Normally it’s ‘sit’, ‘stand’, ‘go there’, ‘do that’, ‘roll on your back and play dead’.”
She opened and closed her mouth a few times then went to sit on the bed. “That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?”
“That’s what what is all about?”
She sighed. “One group in the Commission is baying for your blood. The rest are trying to keep a low profile. There’s at least two, possibly three, investigations going on but nobody seems to know exactly what they’re about. Whatever you’ve done, you’ve ruffled some feathers and most of us minions are tiptoeing around like Chombirico. Legendary figure who stole from a sleeping ogre.”
“We’ve one of them, too.” I paused wondering if I could trust her. “I’m going to take a risk and trust you… but no more demands.”
“I promise. Would ‘pretty pleases’ do?”
I had to laugh. “’Pretty pleases’ will do fine. In short, the Commission is rife with corruption. Everything connected to me… the Lottery Winner, that is… is bought and paid for from the clothes I should wear to the people I’ll meet.”
She paled. “That's a serious allegation. I assume you have proof.”
“Not a shred. Well, not that would stand up in court. But I have very serious suspicions.”
I gave her a short account of the tour of Geretimal and Sir Inner-Piety.
“Oh, dear. That does sound bad.” She paused. “Everything, you say?” I nodded. “Including…” I nodded again. “Ah, so that's why you weren't surprised when your partners turned out to be incompatible with you.”
I nodded again. “It merely confirmed what I already suspected.”
“Wow.” She grinned. “You know who Sir Devoted-Acolyte is?”
“No.”
“Director of the Breeding Programme. I suspect he’ll be asking a lot of embarrassing questions when he gets back to the office.”
“I hope he asks them discreetly.”
“Why?”
“Because, contrary to what you may have heard, I don’t want to destroy the Lottery. This whole thing about why one individual should rise to the top of the pool every ten years is a fascinating puzzle. Why should I, a nobody from a solar system that doesn’t even know the Galaxy exists, rise to the top of fifty-seven septillion beings? It’s mind-boggling and if the Lottery is the best way to study it then it should continue. Destroying it isn’t going to help. What’s more the Lottery allows many beings to earn an honest living. Who am I to take that away?”
“You’re a very strange being.”
I shrugged. “So I’ve been told. From my point of view Capella’s just another empire like the USA or Britain or Rome. There’s always corruption wherever power is concentrated. It’s inevitable. The function of government is to make sure the corruption doesn’t interfere too much with the welfare of the people. The Board of Commissioners seem to have lost sight of that fact.”
She shook her head in amazement. “Are you sure you’re from a primitive planet on the fringes of the galaxy?”
I gave a short laugh. “That’s been said before, too.”
She stood. “Thank you for being so frank. I want you to know I’m on your side. And, by the way, my name is Barbita.”
“I’m grateful, Barbita. At the moment I need all the friends I can get.”
“You’ve got some pretty powerful enemies.”
“I know. It worries me more than a little. However, I can’t do much about it so shall we examine a wardrobe?”
We went through my ten outfits. She approved of most of them and told me which would be suitable for what occasion. She was impressed with my suit.
“Wear that tonight,” she said. “That’ll impress them. As it’s your first public appearance, there’ll be a bit of a media melee. You never know, you might start a new fashion trend. However I think you need some alternatives. And you need better ties.”
“I’m not very good with ties. But it’s a bit far to go and fetch some more.” She looked puzzled. “It takes three days to get to Earth and that's where the genuine Earth ties come from.”
“They don’t need to be genuine, only look genuine. We need to find a tailor.”
“How about the one who furnished this?” I indicated my wardrobe.
“Good idea. Let’s go and see him.”
“I’ve no idea where his shop is but Madam Pressicallita, the hotel manager would.”
The tailor was delighted to see us until Barbita explained what she wanted and, more importantly, when she wanted it. He wanted a model so I gave him my least favourite one. He carefully cut it open, examined it and agreed he could make replicas. He sighed w
hen she demanded one by this evening but conceded it could be done. The pair then had a long discussion about materials and colours which I ignored. I’d already decided that she could buy as many ties as she liked. If I didn’t like them, I wouldn’t wear them. I noted a few things that I quite fancied. Then I spotted a jacket and an idea struck me.
“Could you take the sleeves off this?” I asked. The tailor’s pained expression said it all. “I didn’t mean literally. I meant could you make a jacket like this but without sleeves?”
“Yes,” he said cautiously.
“And could you make a shirt to go under it with a big collar and wide sleeves?”
I then had to explain what a shirt was and draw a crude sketch of one. It appeared the idea of a shirt had never occurred to the Capellans. He still wasn't enthusiastic even when he got the idea but agreed to try.
“Would you like to say I wear your clothes?” I asked, hoping to sweeten the pill.
“Certainly.”
“Can I do that?” I asked Barbita.
“You can,” she said with a smile, “but an official sanction is better.”
The tailor’s eyes lit up. “Would you…?”
“Certainly. You’ve been most helpful and the Lottery Winner does patronise your shop.”
“Thank you Sir and Madam. You honour me.”
“You deserve it,” I said.
“Consider it done,” Barbita added. “Now, why do you want to wear an outfit like that?”
I shrugged. “I always fancied looking like Errol Flynn. An early movie star.”
“I won’t ask.”
“It needs some trousers and boots, though.” We found trousers that would do and agreed a deep blue would be the best colour. “All we need now are the boots.”
“I have an acquaintance who makes footwear,” the tailor said.
“If he’s as good as you, he’ll do fine,” I said.
Barbita approved of my choices and suggested some more. I didn’t like the colours. We ended up with three outfits and three more on order.
The shoemaker proved nearly as difficult to persuade as the tailor but more enthusiastic once he’d got the idea. He did make comfortable shoes, though. I avoided the turned-up toes but still bought three pairs; more than I’d buy in a year, normally.
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