“Dare I ask what they supply in return?”
“Very little, if the truth be known. Fresh meat from the nomads. Who not only won’t trade with us but now heartily deny our existence, though they secretly would love to wipe us out. Then there is an occasional supply of sperm to top up our cryogenic sperm bank. Little else. We watch them and keep them going mostly by habit—and for our own safety. If the man in the street doesn’t know that we exist he can’t cause us any trouble. The men also get a lot of pleasure in bashing the nomads when they start bothering us. Altogether a satisfactory relationship.”
“It certainly sounds that way.” I finished the glass of wine and realized that I was beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol. Which was better than feeling the bruises and sore ribs. Which should be looked at soon—but not too soon. The unfolding drama of cultural mish-mash was just too interesting. “If you please—a question or two before we call in the medics. First is the most important question. You mention sperm banks so I assume that pregnancy and motherhood still exist?”
“They certainly do! We would never consider depriving women of their hormonal, psychological and physical rights. Those who wish to become mothers become mothers. Simple enough.”
“Indeed it is. And looking around I see that they are lucky enough to all have female babies.”
For the first time I saw Mata less than completely relaxed and calm. She looked away, looked back—took up her glass and sipped some more wine.
“You must be tired,” she finally said. “We can finish this discussion some other time …”
“Mata!” Madonette gasped. “I think that you are avoiding the topic. This cannot be. I have so admired you and your people here. You are not going to tell me that I am wrong?”
“No, never!” Mata said reaching out and taking Madonette’s hands in hers. “It has just been so long since we discussed these things. Decisions were taken that seemed excellent at the time. Some of us have had reservations since, but, well nothing much can really be done at this point …”
Her voice ran down and she emptied her wineglass. She was upset and I felt sorry for pinning her down like that. I yawned.
“You’re right,” I said. “I think rest and recuperation come first.”
Mata shook her head in a firm no. “Madonette is right. These decisions must be faced, discussed. Approximately half of the pregnancies are male, male fetuses. This is determined in the first few weeks.” She saw Madonette’s worried expression and shook her head again.
“No—please hear me out and don’t think the worst. All healthy pregnancies are brought to term. In the case of the males the bottle banks are used—”
“Bottle banks! Isn’t that an unfortunate term?”
“Perhaps in your society, Jim. But here it simply signifies highly perfected artificial wombs. Technically superior if truth be known. There are no spontaneous miscarriages, no effects of bad diet and so forth. And at the end of nine months the healthy male babies are—”
“Decanted?”
“No, born. As soon as they are viable the men take over. Specially trained nursemen who supervise the healthy growth of the boys. Their education and assimilation into their society.
“Very interesting,” I said, for it certainly was. I hesitated about the next question, but curiosity was gnawing away and could not be suppressed. “Even more interesting is where do the men think the babies come from?”
“Why don’t you ask them?” Mata said coldly and I realized that this interview was at an end.
“Now I really am tired—to be continued,” I breathed, dropping back into the couch. “Is there a doctor in the house?”
This kicked a lot of maternal instinct into gear and extracted a great deal of attention. I didn’t feel the injection that knocked me out. Or the one that brought me to much later. The women were gone and we were alone. Madonette was holding my hand. Which she dropped with slow deliberation when she saw that my eyes were open.
“The good news, stalwart Jim, is that none of your bones are broken. Just a lot of bruising. Better news is that the treatment for the bruises is under way. Best news is that Steengo is in pretty good shape, all things considered, and wants to see you.
“Bring him in.”
“In a moment. While you were sleeping I talked to Mata. She told me a lot more about how things work around here.”
“Did you find out about the babies?”
“She really is a nice person, Jim. Everyone here has been very nice to me and …”
“But you are beginning to have some reservations?”
She nodded. “More than a few. Things look so nice on the surface—and maybe they are. But it is the babies that bother me. I am sure that they are well taken care of physically, even mentally. But to believe a stupid myth!”
“Which one of the stupid myths going about is the one that bothers you?”
“Spontaneous creation would you believe! All the males gather around Iron John’s pool for a ceremony of life. The golden balls drift up through the water and are seized. And each one contains a healthy happy baby! And grown men believe that nonsense!”
“Grown men—and women—have believed worse nonsense down through the ages. This myth was a common one for the so-called lower forms of life. Flies being spontaneously created in manure heaps. Because no one bothered making the connection between grubs growing there and flies laying eggs. All of the creation myths of mankind, all the gods dropping down and molding clay and breathing life, the virgin births and the like. They are all nonsense once they are examined. But we have to start somewhere I suppose. I’m just not happy where some of these people are ending up.”
There was a rattle and a thump as the door was opened. Floyd pushed in the wheelchair and Steengo lifted a white-wrapped hand.
“Looks like you did it, Jim. End of mission. Congratulations.”
“And the same to you—and Floyd. And since it is The Stainless Steel Rats together, perhaps for the last time, would you mind making a few things clear. I have long felt that there was more than random chance in your selection. Dare I ask—just who are you three people? I suspect that you were chosen for more than musical ability—right Steengo?”
He nodded his bandaged head. “Almost right. Madonette is just what she appears to be …”
“Just an office drudge—singing for a hobby.”
“The office’s loss is music’s gain.” I smiled and blew a kiss her way. “One down, two to go. Steengo, I have a feeling that you really aren’t retired. Right?”
“Right. And I do take some pride in my musical abilities. Which, if you must know, was why I was suckered into this operation by my old drinking buddy, Admiral Benbow.”
“Drinking buddy! He who drinks with an admiral …”
“Must be an admiral too. Perfectly correct. I am Arseculint …”
“I didn’t quite catch that.”
“Arseculint is an acronym for Area Sector Commander Cultural Intercourse. And you can uncurl your lip. Perhaps, in context, ‘intercourse’ is not quite the right word. Cultural Relationships might express it better. My degrees are in archeology and cultural anthropology, which is what attracted me to the civil service in the first place. Sort of hands-on application of theory. I followed the matter of the alien artifact with a great deal of interest. So I was ripe for the plucking, you might say, when Stinky Benbow asked me to volunteer.”
“Stinky?”
“Yes, funny nickname, goes back to the academy, something to do with a chemistry experiment. Which is completely beside the point. I thought enough of this assignment to take a leave from my desk. Great fun. Up until the last, that is.”
“Which leaves young Floyd here? Also an admiral?”
He looked sheepish. “Come on, Jim, you know better than that. I even washed out of college, never graduated at all …”
I pointed an accusatory finger. “Putting academic credits aside you must have some value to the Special Corps.”
“Speak up, Floyd,” Steengo said proudly. “Being chief instructor in charge of the unarmed defense school is nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I agree completely!” I said. “If you weren’t a whiz kid in unarmed combat, why none of us would be here. Thanks guys. Mission complete and successful. Let’s drink to that.”
As we raised and clashed our glasses together, drank deep, I thought of my mother. I do this very rarely; it must be all the male-female myth dredging that brought her to mind. Or what she used to say. Very superstitious my Ma. Had a superstition for any occasion. The one that I remember best was when you said how great things were, or what a nice day it was. Bite your tongue she used to say.
Meaning don’t tempt the gods. Keep your head down. Because saying that something was good would surely bring about the opposite.
Bite your tongue, good old Ma. What a lot of malarky.
When I lowered my glass I saw a woman stumble in through the open door. A young woman with torn clothing, dusty and staggering.
“Sound the alarm …” she gasped. “Disaster … destruction!”
Madonette caught her as she fell, listened to her whispered words, looked up with a horrified expression.
“She’s hurt, babbling … something about … the science building, destroyed, gone. Everything.”
That was when I felt the cold tongs grab tight to my chest, squeezing so hard they made speech almost impossible.
“The artifact—” was all I managed to say.
Madonette nodded slow agreement. “That’s where it was, they told me. In the science building. So it must be gone too.”
CHAPTER 21
The mutual decision of The Stainless Steel Rats was a simple one: we had had about enough for one day. We were alive, if not too well. We had found the artifact so our mission was accomplished. The fact that it had also been destroyed was beside the fact. I hoped. They would have to supply me with the poison antidote now. I kept that thought firmly before me as I went to sleep. This was a time for rest. Wounds had to heal, tissue had to mend, fatigue had to be alleviated: medication and a good night’s sleep took care of all of that.
The sun was shining brilliantly upon the garden of our new residence when I dragged myself there next morning. Sleep had banished fatigue, which meant that I felt all the bruises that much more enthusiastically. My medication was beginning to override the pain and I dropped into a chair while I waited for beneficence to take place. Steengo came in soon after, swinging along on crutches and looking very much like I felt. He eased himself into the chair opposite me. I smiled a welcoming smile.
“Good morning, Admiral.”
“Please, Jim—I’m still Steengo.”
“Then, Steengo, since we’re alone for the moment, let me express my heartfelt thanks for breaking up the brainwashing session with Iron John. For which, unhappily, you paid quite a physical price.”
“Thank you, Jim, I appreciate that. But I had to do it. To save you from being programmed. Also—I really did lose my temper. Teddy bear indeed! A complete corruption of history.”
“No teddy bear? No golden ball?”
“The golden ball, yes. That represents innocence, the pleasures of childhood without responsibility. It is lost when we grow up. To regain this freedom the myth tells us we have to find the ball under mother’s pillow—and steal it.”
“But in a society without women you can’t have a mother—so the myth has to be rewritten?”
Steengo nodded agreement, then winced and touched the bandage around his head. “Retold as nonsense. In the original story Mother never wants the boy child to grow up, sees him as young and dependent forever. Independence must be stolen away from mother—hence the golden ball under her pillow.”
“Pretty deep stuff.”
“Pretty fascinating stuff. Mankind depends on its myths to rationalize existence. Pervert the myth and you pervert society.”
“Like Big Red and his mates on the other side of the wall?”
“Exactly. But what was happening there was far more dangerous than just editing a myth. I had suspected that there would be some strong narcogases in the air—and I was right. You and Floyd were glassy-eyed and practically hypnotized into immobility. So it wasn’t just a matter of listening to one more story about the magnetic field of the deep masculine. This was about having a very pernicious and demented theory punched deep into your mind, into your subconscious. You were being brainwashed, thought-controlled—and this sort of crude forced suggestion can do infinite harm. I had to stop it.”
“Risking your own life at the same time?”
“Perhaps. But I am sure you would have done the same for me if the circumstances were reversed.”
There was no answering that one. Would I? I smiled, a little grimly. “Can I at least say thanks?”
“You can. Greatly appreciated. So back to work. Now, before the others come, to more pressing business. Since I am now in the open, so to speak, I am relieving Captain Tremearne and taking command of this operation. I am in a better position to kick the cagal out of the chain of command and make sure that your antidote is here instantly. Or sooner. My first imperative order when I took command was to send for it.”
“Then you know about the thirty-day poison? If I might be frank—I can tell you—it has had me pretty worried. Thank you—
“Don’t thank me yet. Because I want your assurance that you will stick with this assignment, thirty-day poison or no.”
“Of course I will. I took on this job, got paid, and gave my word I would finish it. The poison was just some bureaucratic moron’s idea of a completion bond.”
“I was sure you would say that. Knew that you would carry on regardless, threat of death or no threat of death.”
Why was I uncomfortable when he said this? This was my old mate Steengo talking. Or was there a strong whiff of the admiral behind his words? Once the military, always the military … No, I would not think ill of him. But I better remember that the poison was still churning away. He was smiling widely and I let my smile mirror his. Although, deep inside, the worry and fear still nagged and scratched at my thoughts. Find the artifact, Jim. That is the only way to be sure about the antidote.
I laughed and smiled. But only on the outside. “Carry on, of course. The artifact must be found.”
“Must be found, you are right. The search must go on!” He looked over my shoulder and waved. “And there’s Floyd—and Madonette. Welcome, my dear, welcome. I would stand to greet you, but only with difficulty.”
She smiled and kissed his forehead below the bandage. Of course she was the last one to arrive, woman’s prerogative. Though I had better abandon such male-chauv-pig reflexive observations. At least while I was still a guest of the ladies this side of Paradise.
“I have been talking to Mata,” she said, seating herself and sipping a bit of fruit juice. “The science building was empty when the explosion occurred, so no one was injured. Since then they have sifted the ruins and found that there is no trace at all of the artifact.”
“Positive?” I asked.
“Positive. They have been eavesdropping on the other side of the wall, so they knew about all our interest in the thing. They waited until they observed that all the male scientists had looked at it and prodded it enough. As expected those noble gentlemen—referred here to as ‘the geriatric incompetents’—had discovered nothing. Having no further interest the scientists had it transferred here. A study program had been drawn up to examine the artifact but was just beginning when the explosion occurred. End of report.”
So the artifact might have been stolen, might still be around. I could help look for it. But I could also stop counting the days. Earlier, when I had been woken up by my computer, it had been flashing a glowing seven for my benefit. Now Admiral Steengo had relieved me of this chronic worry.
But I had taken three million for this job—and I still won
dered what the thing really was. So the artifact-chase would continue. Minus the pressure of the days. I looked around at my musical rats and realized that nothing had changed for them. The search for the artifact was still on. Well—why not?
“What do we do next?” I said. Steengo, now more of an admiral than a musician, toted up the possible options.
“Was the explosion an accident? If it wasn’t—who caused it? There are really a lot of questions that must be asked …”
“Mata told me to tell you that you were to ask Aida if you had any questions,” Madonette said brightly.
We considered this seriously for a moment, then realized we hadn’t the slightest idea of what she was talking about. Still the admiral, Steengo spoke for all of us.
“Who is Aida?”
“Not who—but what. An acronym for Artificially Intelligent Data Assembler. I think that it is the central computer here. In any case, here is the access terminal.”
She put what looked like an ordinary portaphone on the table and switched it on. Nothing happened.
“Are you there, Aida?” Madonette said.
“Ready to be summoned at any time, darling,” the voice said. In a rich and sexy contralto.
“I thought you said computer?” was my baffled response.
“Do I hear a male voice?” Aida said. Then giggled. “It has been such a very long time! Might I ask your name, sweetie?”
“Jim—not sweetie. And why did you call me that?”
“Training and programming, dear boy. Before this present assignment I ran an exploration spacer. Male crew, endless years in space. It was felt by my creators that a female voice and presence would be more efficacious morale-wise than a machine or masculine presence.”
“The last exploration spacer was junked centuries ago,” Steengo said.
“A lady does not like to be reminded of her age,” Aida said huskily. “But it is true. When my ship was sent to the breakers I was made redundant. Since I am basically a computer program I am—every woman’s dream—eternal. I had, shall we say, a rather varied career before I ended up here. Mind you, I’m not complaining. I find this such a pleasant occupation. There are charming ladies to talk to, as well as additional memory banks and databases to access whenever I wish to. Most pleasurable—but I do chatter on. I have been informed that you have a problem. If you would identify yourselves by name it would make conversation that much easier. Jim and Madonette I know. The name of the gentleman who just spoke?”
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