“Then this Earthling Sperry is not the only one who can make these?”
“Sperry isn’t a man; it’s a division of a big manufacturing company. Cart, there are at least a dozen companies on Earth that can make gyros to those specs. The idea is to get them to bid against each other, hoping for a bigger order later. I’ll imply that you want them for gyro navigators for your air boats—this is a trial order.”
“What is a gyro navigator?”
“Something like the automatic navigators you use now—but yours are better. I don’t know how yours work … but I do know they are accurate at any latitude, more so than ours.”
Having Tawm Takus and Kach Kachkan as squires to our ladies was a big help. Neither Jake nor I needed extra hands often—but we had them on call. Their prime job was to outfit Hilda with protective clothing, any climate—and clothing for protection was not new to Helium; the tailors who had built the sling for Gay Deceiver could duplicate everything in Deety’s wardrobe in Hilda’s size—but better … so much better that Deety discarded several items so that she could have clothes like Hilda’s.
So did Jake and I, once we caught on. The fanciest was an all-fur coverall called “Apt-hunter’s costume” that had built-in antiglare goggles and integral mukluks with nonskid soles. Furthermore, it “breathed”—sweat is dangerous in the Arctic: see your neighborhood Eskimo. Yet all four stowed in space gained by discarding my parka.
Shoes for Hilda came from showing Deety’s shoes to leatherworkers, who then made casts of Hilda’s tiny feet and created shoes to match—improved: more durable, more comfortable, better design. So Deety got new shoes, too. I was forced to rule that Deety must discard one pair for each new pair acquired and that Hilda could have as many pairs as Deety, but no more. Shoes are bulky; space was precious as gold.
Gold—the services of Tawm Takus and Kach Kachkan set free Hilda and Deety to do the sightseeing Jake and I wanted to do but lacked time. So we did it through their eyes, their ears, their reports (dictated to Gay Deceiver, zipcoded by Gay and stored, then tape wiped for their next day’s adventures), plus rationed stereo Polaroid films (irreplaceable, and no telling how many worlds we would visit). Tawm Takus and Kach Kachkan set Jake and me free to work without worrying about our darlings. Even a luxury apartment can be a prison. We did not have to try to persuade them to stay home for their own safety—Helium, for all its beauty, is more dangerous than the jungles of New York City. But with giant warriors and giant thoats to insulate them from crowds (and from tourists), they could go anywhere.
A platoon of Red warriors could not have guarded them as well.
So Jake and I were beholden to Tommy Tucker and Kach, as much, or more, than were our darlings. Besides that, both were good company for Jake and me the evenings we did not work—friends we would miss.
I gave no thought to how we had acquired them, save to thank Cart. If the acting commander-in-chief saw fit to assign warriors as aides to honored guests—well, the practice was common on Earth. I once spent two weeks dancing attendance on a visiting US senator’s wife while on duty with the Aussie DF.
Then Deety discovered that all was not copacetic—Deety pokes into things. One evening she came to me quite upset.
“Zebadiah, did you know that every day that Tommy and Kach are with us costs these poor dears money?”
I had not known. I asked Cart about it. He seemed puzzled. “Zeb, every able-bodied male citizen is subject to call for military duty. On duty each one receives one ration, in food or in cash, quarters when not in the field, an allowance for uniform leathers and weapons, forage for his thoat as necessary. What else does a soldier need? Your friends are quartered in the palace, fed from the palace’s kitchens, and their thoats are tended by slaves. Their duties aren’t onerous, and I doubt that they’ve ever had to draw a weapon. What’s the problem?”
“Cart, both were working for American Express.”
“Yes. Their jobs will be waiting when I release them; you can be certain. This Earthling that manages American Express is a pimple, I have heard … but he doesn’t buck the Regent.”
“But in the meantime they aren’t making money. That’s what bothers Deety.”
Cart looked annoyed. “I’m sorry the Princess Deety is troubled. But I don’t hire warriors from American Express. They fight for me—or perform other duties—as needed. I have spoken.”
If I hadn’t been a rude, crude American, I would have accepted that sign-off. “Wait a half, Cart! Don’t be so durned official. I’ve got to solve this or Deety and Hilda won’t accept squiring around by our giant friends. Which would be inconvenient for them—and for Jake and for me—and for you, too; I wouldn’t spend nearly as much time trying to work out with you a way to build for Helium a space-time ship. I’m not welching; I mean that I would have to devote more time to Deety, and Jake to Hilda. We can’t lock them up—and you yourself warned against their going outside unescorted. I am not suggesting that you hire warriors from American Express; that would be bad precedent. So Jake and I must pay them what they are losing. Gold is money here, is it not?”
“Gold is money anywhere, isn’t it? We use it, and I assume that Earthling money is gold, as tourists pay in gold, and we pay gold for the few items we import form Earth. A tanpi is a dollar, more or less—the exchange varies.”
I didn’t know how much gold a tanpi was; I hadn’t used money since we had fled Snug Harbor. Nor did I know what an Earth-Ten dollar came to in gold—it could be a fraction of a newdollar or many times as much. No matter, I could find out what a tanpi was in grams of gold. I had bullion and a store of Aussie gold money—Aussies will bet on anything—plus newdollars in gold, stashed in Gay Deceiver. Emergency cash, getaway money, bribe money, cash that clinks can buy you out of a jam when a million in a Boston Bank is useless. Jake evidently thought so, too; he had taken along, as coins and bullion, more gold than I had.
“So I’ll ask Tawm and Kach how much American Express paid them, then Jake and I will pay them. We aren’t broke. You won’t be involved, Cart—no bad precedents. Just forget this conversation.”
“I can forget it.” Cart smiled lopsidedly. “But your problem isn’t solved. My problem, too, as I can’t permit the Princesses Deety and Hilda to go unguarded—and I seem trapped between Deety’s stubbornness and yours.”
“Not stubbornness, Highness. Honor. Our concept justice.”
“ ‘Highness,’ is it! Now who’s being ‘official’ with a friend?”
“Sorry, Cart. Why won’t my answer work?”
“Zeb, if you think your honor is touchy, do something that offends a green warrior. I would rather tease a banth, barehanded. If you ask Tawm Takus what he is paid at American Express, he’ll excuse your crudeness because you are a stranger. But he won’t tell you; he will carefully misunderstand—so pointedly that you won’t rephrase your questions. If you attempt to give him money—I can’t guess the outcome. He would not accept it; I am certain. He would be offended clear back to his egg. He would not kill you; you are my guest and he has been ordered to guard you and yours. But he might suddenly forget every word of English—speaking English is not part of a warrior’s duties. He would never again eat with you, drink with you, or relax in your presence. Do you want that? It would not solve Deety’s problem.”
I shook my head. “Cart, I’m confused. About a triple ten-day ago, the jeddara and Thuvia gave Deety and Hilda jewelry so valuable that I can’t estimate it—and they had to accept it. No choice. Later, Hilda gave your mother a cape—one quite expensive on Earth; I don’t know what it is worth here. The jeddara simply made sure that the cape was not a gift from Jake to Hilda—it was not; I am certain—then the jeddara accepted it readily. Yet I can’t seem to find a way to reimburse two friends for money lost on my account. Why is one gift proper but not the other? I suspect that the cape cost more than what Tawm Takus earns in a full cycle.”
“Your conjecture is a certainty, although ten cycles is more likely. You say
that cape was expensive on Earth …?”
“Quite. Hilda is independently wealthy.”
“I am unsurprised. That fur would be expensive if it were from this planet; since it was imported from Earth it is a gift lavish even to make to the Warlord’s jeddara—Mother hardly lets it out of her sight. Zeb, your confusion comes from adding unlike things—impossible, I think, in any mathematics. Tawm Takus is not poor; he comes from a prosperous horde and is brood-nephew to its Jed. But he is not wealthy. Kach Kachkan, I suspect, is poor in money—wealthy only in unblemished honor. He will not accept our smallest coin from you, his friend; honor would not permit it. But had the Princess Hilda elected to give him that magnificent cape, he would have accepted it with grace, courtesy—and cherished it to his death.”
“Cart—I’m walled in. How am I going to satisfy Deety? And Hilda? Hilda might possibly understand … but Deety is stubborn.”
Cart grinned. “I know! Zeb, have you noticed a resemblance in our lady wives?”
“Do you recall the first time I saw Thuv? Silhouetted against bright sunlight—I called her ‘Deety.’ ”
“So you did! Were they both bleached white as a Thern, or dyed black as a First Born, one would swear they hatched from the same egg. But it goes deeper. Twin spirits—both … stubborn!”
“Can I tell Deety what you said … with your permission?”
“Sure, sure! Meanwhile I’ll think about your problem—and it is a problem.”
“You could ask Thuv to think about it. She understands Deety … and she understands your customs, which Deety does not.”
“Hey, that may be the answer!”
“Meantime, I’ll try to stave off Deety. How much in grams of gold is one tanpi? You and I were working in centimeters and grams just the other day. Can you figure it for me?”
“One moment.” Cart dipped a stylus in ink, started figuring in Barsoomian figures as confusing to me as the Persian alphabet. “Slightly over one gram of gold. Call it a gram.”
“How much does a mechanic earn in a day? A skilled carpenter. Ten tanpi?”
“Issus, no! One tanpi, if he’s good.”
“Does a courier make more? Or less?”
“A bodyguard makes less than a skilled mechanic—and that’s all a courier is … unless he speaks English. Zeb, any job requiring English commands better wages than would be paid for the same work if knowledge of both languages was not needed. At a thoatback guess, an English-speaking bodyguard might get a tanpi and a half per day, or even two tanpi if he could read it, too. But, even if we knew exactly, it wouldn’t solve your problem, as money can’t solve it. So explain it to Deety and tell her to wait.”
Whereupon I did something foolish, although it did not seem so at the time. That evening, with servants out of earshot, I tried to explain the situation to Deety, Hilda, and Jake. Deety said, “Ridiculous! Hilda, we can’t put up with this—can we?”
Hilda looked unhappy. Jake said soothingly, “My darling daughter, we’ve got to assume that Cart knows what he is talking about.”
“But he doesn’t see it from our viewpoint! I’m going right straight to Dejah Thoris! She’ll know what to do.”
Hilda said, “Deetykins. No.”
“Aunt Hilda! Don’t tell me you are against me? Why, you were as indignant as I am.”
“I still am. But let’s save our Dej’ for our Sunday punch. Zebbie, we can’t give them money … but we can give them presents that are not money—is that right?”
“As I understand it— Yes.”
“Then it can be solved. Deety, calm down. It has to be a present—presents, one for each—worth at least as much as they are losing.”
“But we don’t even know how much that is! And we can’t find out! Zebadiah, Cart gave you the straight word about that … because I did ask, and both Tommy and Kach acted as if they didn’t understand the question. But Tommy started to lisp in dodging me … so I shied off.”
“Yes,” agreed Hilda, “Deety did manage not to burn the barn after it was stolen. Never mind, Deety hon; we’ll find out. And we’ll pick lavish presents.”
“The presents should be something useful,” put in Jake.
“Why?” demanded Deety. “Remember what Mama used to say: ‘Presents should be something a person wouldn’t buy for himself. A luxury. Or at least frivolous.’ ”
“Deety,” Hilda said, “Jane was right ….”
“Hear that, Pop?”
“… usually. But she was never on Barsoom and she doesn’t know Tommy and Kach. Jacob is right, I think. And Jane, too. We must find presents that they wouldn’t and possibly couldn’t buy. Luxuries. But luxuries useful to Tommy and to Kach—where they are and what they are.”
“That’s a tall order!”
“Thuv will help us.”
Residents of Helium got used to the sight of two Earthling women, dressed as Red ladies, perched in front of green giants on the giant breed of thoat used only by green warriors. Tourists did not. Jake and I didn’t care and Hilda and Deety ignored their stares and were careful not to speak English where a tourist might hear—even though their command of Barsoomian extended only to a few dozen words and phrases useful in dealing with their maids. So far as they knew, Earth-Ten knew nothing of their presence on Barsoom, and I felt that it was best to keep it that way. Jake, of course, agreed.
A visit to what Deety described to us as a “museum” and Tawm Takus translated as “Palace of Memories” seemed to confirm this. They spent a day looking at room after room of ancient relics of dead cities, lost arts, strange artifacts, other rooms of more recent exhibits. They lingered especially in halls that displayed the green giants in miniature; on the march, camped, in battle, in their cities. Tawm Takus did almost all explaining while Kach Kachkan watched in all directions, a hand on his pistol butt, another at his short sword, two others ready for anything.
Once Kach Kachkan pointed, while still rotating an eye before and behind. “Arena of Warhoons,” he said. “Much blood. Some mine.”
Hilda told me she’d shivered when she saw it. A green warrior on foot was facing a calot with his long sword while trying to hold off another behind him by short sword. The miniatures were distressingly lifelike—and it looked as if the green warrior’s chances were poor.
Deety had touched her elbow. “Stop making yourself ill, Hillbilly. Let’s go home. My feet are tired of marble floors, and three times we’ve had to duck to avoid gaggles of tourists.”
We’d learned that tourists from Earth-Ten were not usually a problem, as they were not permitted to leave the enclave of Hilton Interplanetary without armed escorts, at least one per tourist, while the tourists themselves were unarmed—precautionary practices that derived from unfortunate incidents when tourism had started. Packaged tours included group excursions surrounded by guards, or a wealthy tourist could hire armed couriers through Thomas Cook or American Express, not fewer than two for each tourist, one of whom had to be able to translate.
Even Earthlings who were not tourists—residents of the Terrestrial Embassy and a few businessmen—never ventured out without armed Barsoomian guards. The cultures were not miscible and any attempt to mix them could result in sudden death all too easily—had so resulted before these rules had been made law by edict of the Warlord.
“Tourists!” Hilda agreed, making the word an obscenity. Deety enjoyed relating the tale. “The next fat female who points a camera at me is going to get a spitball between her eyes! No, I’ll have Tommy scoop her up and shake her—bust her camera and scare her silly.”
“Aunt Hilda!”
“No, Jacob wouldn’t like it and it would cause headaches for Cart. But I agree; we’ve been educated enough for one day. Tommy, what’s the shortest cut to where we parked Kokkid and Kanakook?”
Tawm Takus led them through that hall of green men displays. And this was why both our ladies were so anxious to tell us about what happened. Hilda spotted something and stopped suddenly. “What’s that?”
/>
“It’s horrid,” said Deety. “I won’t look. Come on.”
“Wait, Deety. Tommy?”
“Extinct vermin, Princess. Not important.”
“Come on, Hilda—please!”
“Deety, stop being childish and look. I know a ‘Bloke in a Black Hat’ when I see one. Tommy Tucker, you say these things—these vermin—are extinct? What happened to them?”
“We ate ’em.” Hilda and Deety told us they’d gasped. “Considered to be quite tasty, prepared properly. Drained and braised in zitadar fat over a slow fire. Then dipped in thoat oil with a sprinkling of cheevil. Some say tansery … but my brood-mother’s brood-mother used cheevil. Tansery is for people with no taste buds. Gourmands. Not gourmets.” The giant added, “They could be eaten raw if thoroughly drained—but their blood is odd; it angered the stomachs.”
“Hilda,” Deety had said, “I’m getting sick. Anyways, that’s not a ‘Black Hat.’ ”
“Clench your jaw. Or throw up in a corner; this is important. It is a ‘Black Hat.’ You stick to computers and leave biology to me. I dissected one; you didn’t. Same weird articulation, same external genitalia, same horn buds above where its forehead ought to be. The details that don’t match are in the places where I suspected plastic surgery. We’ll come back tomorrow with my photos—you’ll see. Zebbie will confirm it—he didn’t go sissy-pants and refuse to look.”
The Pursuit of the Pankera: A Parallel Novel About Parallel Universes Page 29