—hurled me across the room to crash into the wall, fall.
I realized that the voice wailing in agony was my own. I could not move. The soldier at the door looked at me, looked away. Steengo had lain, motionless, since that single, terrible blow. Nor could I do much better myself, just able to crawl.
At least Iron John had felt my hold; he was rubbing at his neck. The smile had gone and frothed saliva now coated his lips. Death would be a single blow …
“Iron John—you have forgotten something. You have forgotten me.”
Floyd was speaking. Thin, black-bearded, uninvolved. He must have stood and watched while Steengo was stricken, I was felled. Only now did he move.
Quietly forward. Hands extended, fingers lightly bowed. Iron John was in a rage. Leaped and lashed out.
And missed because Floyd was not there. He was to one side, kicking the red giant in the ribs so that he stumbled and almost fell.
“Come here,” Floyd said in a voice so low I could barely hear it. “Come and be destroyed.”
Iron John was cautious now, knew how fast his new opponent could react. He opened his arms wide and came slowly forward. A force of nature. Implacable and inescapable.
Two quick thuds, two blows sounded and Iron John staggered. Floyd was out of his reach again, circling him slowly. A sudden kick, a blow, then away again.
Nothing Iron John did seemed to affect the outcome. He was wary, he attacked suddenly, reached out and struck. Touched only air. Floyd was before him, behind him—striking him. Wearing him down.
They circled for minutes this way. And Floyd was still just as fast, striking with impunity. But the red monster was going slower and slower, arms lower and lower as the endless blows drove the strength from them. He must have realized that there could be only one end to this battle, on these terms. But he was still dangerous. Almost by chance the struggle moved towards me.
He was after me I realized! I had only the shortest instant to draw my leg back before Iron John spun about and dived towards me.
And caught my kick full in his face. He dropped—but his hands closed on my ankle, pulled me towards him. Reached up …
Then Floyd struck. No science now—raw power. Pile driver blows to the giant’s back and kidneys that opened his mouth wide with pain, forcing him to release me as he struggled to get away from his tormentor.
More blows to his head. He tried to rise, his legs were kicked from beneath him. The thudding of quick strikes like some terrible machine at work. Then a sudden silence.
A moment for balance, no expression showing on his face, then Floyd swung a terrible kick that terminated on the side of the giant’s head. Who fell over and did not rise nor move again.
“Dead?” I croaked. Floyd knelt and felt the pulse in his neck.
“No, he wasn’t supposed to be. He’ll survive. But I think that he will remember he has been in a fight.” He flashed a quick smile, then his face became calm again. “If you’re all right I’ll look at Steengo.”
“I’m great. Knocked about but great,” I croaked as I climbed painfully to my feet.
“Pulse good,” he said, kneeling beside our friend. “He has taken a lot of punishment but nothing seems to be broken that I can find. He will come out of this fine.”
I was groggy, now even weaker with relief, blurted out the words without thinking.
“He’s fine. I’m fine. However we would have been a lot better if you had waded into this fracas sooner.”
I saw him wince at the words, wished I could take them back. You never can.
“I’m sorry, I really am. I had to wait, see what he could do. I know that you’re good, Jim. I knew you could at least hold him. I’m sorry but I had to see how fast he could move before I took him on. I had to wear him down, not get touched. I knew I could do it—and I moved as soon as I knew. Sorry …”
“Reporting,” our guard-guy-girl said. “The Red One is unconscious.”
She lowered the small, coin-sized communicator as I stalked towards her, hands out and ready to strike.
“Who were you talking to? Whose side are you on? What’s happening here? Speak—or get demolished.”
The guard, spear lowered and pointed at me, stood her ground. “The answer to your questions is arriving now. There.” The point of her spear moved to indicate a spot behind me. A ruse? Who knew, who cared. I turned and looked at Iron John’s giant throne.
Which was slowly turning on some invisible axis. Floyd and I both faced that way, hands raised automatically on the defense. A black opening was revealed and, as the throne stopped moving, there was motion in the darkness beyond. Two figures appeared, walked out into the room.
Both women.
One of them was Madonette.
“Hi, guys,” she said, smiling and waving. “I’d like to introduce a new friend, Mata.”
The woman was about my height, regal of bearing in her dark robe touched with gold embroidery. Her expression was composed, peaceful; small wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, a touch of gray to her hair, were the only signs of age.
“Welcome to the other side of Paradise, Jim,” she said—and held out her hand. Her handshake was firm and quick. I opened my mouth but could not think of anything relevant to say.
“I know that you have many questions.” Her words filled the gap. “All of which will be answered. But it would be wisest to postpone our little chat until we are out of this place. A moment, please.”
She took a very efficient-looking hypodermic from the reticule hanging at her waist. Uncapped it and bent to brush aside the thick hair on his leg to give Iron John a quick injection.
“He will sleep the better,” she said. “Bethuel—will you lead the way?”
The guard raised her spear in a quick salute, then marched resolutely past the throne and into the opening. Madonette touched Steengo’s cheek, then waved Floyd to her. “Help me carry him. Jim will have enough to do just moving himself.”
I resented the remark—a blotch on my masculine pride?—but before I could stumble over they had lifted him and were following the guard, Bethuel.
There were no lights in the tunnel behind the throne. At least none until Mata had entered behind us and sealed it once again. Pale illumination flickered into existence. More than enough to see by. Nor was it a long walk to the open door at the far end. We emerged into a large, red brick room that could have been a mirror-image of the one that we had just left.
Just in physical size, though. Here the walls were covered by pleasant hangings, tapestries of sunshine and floral landscapes. Instead of the swords and shields that adorned the other. The stained-glass windows here depicted scenes of mountains and valleys, villages and forests. Unlike Iron John’s windows which featured the clash of battle, spackle of gore. This was altogether more civilized.
As was the murmur of concerned voices from the women in attendance here. They tenderly carried Steengo to a couch where another woman, dressed in white, ministered to him. I dropped into the nearest chair and scowled around at all the female bustle. My voice, louder and more censorious than I had intended, cut through the peaceful scene.
“Now would somebody, anybody, tell me just what the hell is going on?”
The way I was ignored was comment enough in itself. Though a smiling girl did bring me a glass of cool wine—on the way to serve the others. Madonette sat next to Mata, where they put their heads together for a moment before Madonette spoke.
“First—and most important now that you all are safe—is the fact that the artifact is here and is being looked after. In addition there is—”
“Excuse if I interrupt,” I said. “A matter of priority.” I clamped my jaw twice. “Did you hear that, Tremearne?” His answer buzzed in my jawbone.
“I did, and …”
“Priorities, Captain.” I spoke quietly so only he could hear. “Mission complete. Alien artifact returned. Antidote for me on its way down. Nine days is close enough to come. Do you understand all that
?”
“Of course. But there is a complication …”
“Complication!” I could hear the squeak of fear edging my voice. “What?”
“I sent for the antidote to the thirty-day poison as soon as I heard about it. I had no intention of waiting until the deadline to administer it. However there was an accident in transit.” Sweat suddenly beaded my forehead and my toes tapped anxiously on the floor. “These things happen. I’ve sent for a second batch and it’s en route now.”
I cursed viciously under my breath, then realized that I was the object of more than one concerned glance. Smiled woodenly and snarled my answer.
“Do it. Get it. No excuses. Now. Understood.”
“Understood.”
“Fine.” I stopped whispering and called out. “I’m most cheered to hear that the artifact has been found. Now, if you please, an explanation of what all this is about.”
“Seems obvious,” Madonette said undoubtedly miffed by my surly behavior. “It looks like the ladies have saved your bacon and you should be grateful.”
Which did nothing to clear the air. “As I recall,” I recalled. “It was the gentlemen—at some physical cost I must add—who polished off that russet rottweiler before you all came onto the scene. I also remember that we were watched all the time during the life-and-death struggle by one of your lot who did nothing to help.”
The tough answer sprang to her lips and I snarled around at the female company. Tempers flared on all sides but Mata cooled things down.
“Children—there has been enough tribulation and pain, so do not cause yourself any more.” She turned to me. “Jim, let me explain. The soldier who aided your escape, Bethuel, is one of our spies who keeps us informed about all the masculine meanderings beyond the wall. I ordered her to help you escape your guards, which she did. I also ordered her not to reveal her presence to Iron John. The men beyond the wall have no idea that we watch them closely and I wish it to remain that way. She aided your escape and you should be grateful.”
I was, and I should have admitted it, but I was still bull-headed and angry and settled for a surly mutter and growl. Mata nodded blithely as though I had communicated something of importance.
“See how well everything has worked out? You are here and safe, your friends safe as well, and that for which you seek, the strange artifact, is secure and close by.”
I only half listened. Fine for the troops. But there were other forces at work that did not bode well for my future. Accidents in transit did not happen by accident. Someone in the bureaucracy that was manipulating me—did not like me. Perhaps had never liked me and never had any intention of supplying the antidote. I would certainly be less trouble to them if I were safely dead. And there were only nine days left to sort the whole thing out.
I had touched my computer controls automatically while these thoughts were whizzing about my tired brain. The number glowed before me. I really had had a longer sleep than I realized.
Eight days to go.
CHAPTER 20
I looked around at the peaceful female bustle—and suddenly felt very, very tired. My side hurt and I felt sure that a couple of ribs were broken. I sipped the wine but it didn’t help. What I really needed was a couple of Blast-off pills to restore me to something resembling life. In my pack—
“My pack!” I shouted hoarsely. “My equipment, everything. Those masculine momsers have all our gear!”
“Not quite,” Mata said in soothing tones. “As soon as you left we saw to it that the porter, Veldi, was rendered unconscious and both your packs are here now. Your associate Steengo’s equipment was not in your residence so we can assume that it is now in the possession of Iron John or his associates.
“Not good.” I worried a fingernail with my incisors. “There are things there they shouldn’t see …”
“Might I interrupt,” Tremearne’s voice spoke through my jaw-a-phone. “I was waiting until things quieted down to tell you. Steengo’s pack is safe.”
“You have it?”
“Rather I should have said ‘made safe.’ All of your packs are booby-trapped with a canister of rotgrot. Which, when released by a coded radio signal, causes the contents of the pack to instantly decay to their component molecules.”
“Nice to know. A lot of secrets are being revealed of late, aren’t they?”
There was no response from my jaw. I held out my wine-glass for a refill. “Some simple answers to some simple questions, if you please.” My anger had been blasted by fatigue, excoriated by fear of imminent death. Mata nodded in response.
“Good. On a historical note—how come guys over there, girls here?”
“A union of convenience,” Mata said. “Many years ago our foremothers were forcefully relocated to this planet. This inadvertent transplantation had a sobering effect on them. What ever excesses of zeal they had displayed on other worlds were not repeated here. Peace, cool-reasoning and logic prevailed. We became then as you see us now.”
“Women,” I said. “A society of women.”
“That is correct. Life here was a running battle for a good long time, or so it is written. The Fundamentaloids tried to convert us, while our next door neighbors tried to wipe us out. The inferior sex they called us, a threat to their existence. When we first came to this planet we found that those macho crazies were already well established. Our group was forced to spend a good deal of effort just staying clear of them. This was time and energy wasted, our founding mothers decided, so they sought for ways to bring about peace. Eventually they convinced the male ruling clique that they could prosper by utilizing their energy in a more positive manner. It was a completely selfish appeal, arranging ways for the males on top in their society to stay on top, while providing absolute control of the rest of the men.”
“Sounds pretty terrible,” Madonette said. “Turning all those men into slaves.”
“Never say slaves! Willing collaborators is more like it. We showed those in charge, and in particular the one now called Iron John, how much easier it would be to rule by brain rather than muscle. We demonstrated to their satisfaction how a great deal more could be accomplished. With our intelligence and knowledge of science, and their muscles, two separate societies were born. In the beginning there was much hatred and clashes between the groups. This died away when it was decided that only the male leaders knew of our existence. This suited the leaders to perfection.”
“That was when the two cities were built—and the wall?”
“Correct. This planet is rich in red clay and fossil fuel so the males soon became manic brick makers. After we showed them how to build kilns, of course. There were contests to see who could mold the most bricks, or fire the greatest number, or carry the most. The champion was named brickie of the month and achieved great renown. This went on until you couldn’t see the trees for the mountains of bricks. We quickly researched brick laying in our databases and put the men to work on that.”
She sipped her wine delicately and waved her hand in a circle. “Here are the results—and quite attractive they are too. While our physical scientists were sorting the males out this way, our cultural engineers were looking at the sloppy mucho-macho theories that had been keeping them going up to this point. The Iron Hans myth was only a part of their pantheon. We simplified and altered it. Then used genetic biology to modify the physical structure of their leader, so he is as you see him now. At first he was grateful, although gratitude has long since vanished.”
“How long?”
“Hundreds of years. Cellular longevity was part of the treatment.”
I was beginning to catch on. “And I’ll bet that you remember this firsthand—since you and the other lady leaders have had the same treatments?”
She nodded, pleased. “Very adroit, James. Yes, the authorities on both sides of the wall have had the treatments. This makes for continuity of leadership—”
“And the need for secrecy of each other’s existence that keeps the powerful in
power?”
Mata shook her head in wonder. “You are indeed most perspicacious. How I wish you were in charge next door rather than that hairy halfwit.”
“Thanks for the job offer—but no thanks. So the men beyond the wall don’t know that you women are here. The same must be true of your women—”
“Not at all. They know about the males—and just don’t care. We have a complete and satisfactory society. Childbearing for those who wish it, a fulfilling intellectual life for all.”
“And religion? Do you have a female equivalent of Iron John?”
She laughed merrily at the thought, as did all the other women who were listening to our conversation. Even Madonette was smiling until she saw my glare, turned away.
“That’s it,” I snapped. “Enjoy yourself. And when you are through, if you ever are, you might kindly let me know the joke.”
“I am sorry, James,” Mata said, laughter gone and really quite serious. “We were being rude and I apologize. The answer to your question is a simple one. Women don’t need myths to justify their femininity. All of the myths about Iron Hans, Iron John, Barbarossa, Merlin and other mythological men with their salvation myths are all purely male. Just think about it. I am not making a value judgment, just an observation. Such as the observation that men are basically combative, confrontational, insecure and unstable—and appear to need these myths to justify their existence.”
There was a lot to argue with there, maybe not a lot but some. A good deal of jumping-to-conclusions and more than a bit of rationalization. I sidestepped for the moment, until I knew more about how this society ticked. I raised a finger.
“Now let me see if I have this straight. You ladies have a comfortable existence on this side of the wall. You provide the scientific backup to the males on the other side. To keep them chuntering along in their locker-room paradise. Correct?”
“Among other things. That is basically correct.”
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