Chapter 12
THEY RODE BACK to the spaceport almost in silence. Brasidus realized that the two foreigners had been shocked when told of the probable fate of Pausanius. But why should they be? He could not understand it. Surely on their world, on any world, insolence toward the King himself must result in swift and drastic punishment. To make their reaction even stranger, the doctor had spoken against them, not for them.
They sped through the streets of the city, one chariot rattling ahead of the hovercar, the second astern of it. There were more people abroad now, more sightseers; word must have gotten around that aliens from the ship were at large. Citizen and helot, every man stared with avid curiosity at the Arcadian.
Margaret Lazenby shuddered. He muttered, “John, I don’t like this planet at all, at all. I’d have said once that to be one woman in a world of men would be marvelous. But it’s not. I’m being undressed by dozens of pairs of eyes. Do you know, I was afraid that the King was going to order me to strip.”
“That shouldn’t worry an Arcadian,” John Grimes told him. “After all, you’re all brought up as nudists.”
“And I don’t see why it should worry him,” Brasidus put in, “unless he is ashamed of his deformities.”
Margaret Lazenby flared, “To begin with, Sergeant, I’m not deformed. Secondly, the correct pronouns to use insofar as I am concerned are ‘she’ and ‘her.’ Got it?”
“And are those pronouns to be used when talking of the other spacemen who are similarly . . . malformed?” asked Brasidus.
“Yes. But, as a personal favor, will you, please, stop making remarks about the shape of my body?”
“All right.” Then he said, meaning no offense, “On Sparta nobody is deformed.”
“Not physically,” remarked Margaret Lazenby nastily, and then it was the Sergeant’s turn to lapse into a sulky silence, one that remained unbroken all the rest of the way to the ship.
Brasidus left the spacemen at the barrier, then reported to Spaceport Security. Diomedes was seated in his inner office, noisily enjoying his midday meal. He waved the Sergeant to a bench, gestured toward the food and drink on the table. “Help yourself, young man. And how did things go? Just the important details. I already know that the King has agreed to let Grimes carry out some sort of survey, and I’ve just received word that Pausanius has lost his head. But what were your impressions?”
Deliberately Brasidus filled a mug with beer. Officers were allowed stronger liquor than the lower-ranking hoplites, even those with the status of sergeant. He rather hoped that the day would soon come when he would be able to enjoy this tipple in public. He gulped pleasurably. Then he said, “It must be a funny world that they come from. To begin with, they didn’t seem to have any real respect for the King. Oh, they were correct enough, but . . . I could sense, somehow, that they were rather looking down on him. And then . . . they were shocked, sir, really shocked when I told them what was going to happen to Pausanius. It’s hard to credit.”
“In my job I’m ready and willing to credit anything. But go on.”
“This Margaret Lazenby, the Arcadian. She seems to have a terror of nudity.”
“She, Brasidus?”
“Yes, sir. She told me to refer to her as ‘she’. Do you know, it sounds and feels right, somehow.”
“Go on.”
“You’ll remember, sir, that we saw a picture in Lieutenant Commander Grimes’ cabin of what seemed to be a typical beach scene on Arcadia. Everybody was naked.”
“H’m. But you will recall that in that picture humans and Arcadians were present in roughly equal numbers. To know that one is in all ways inferior is bad enough. To be inferior and in the minority—that’s rather much. His—or her—attitude as far as this world is concerned makes sense, Brasidus. But how did it come up?”
“She said, when we were driving back through the city, that she felt as though she were being undressed by the eyes of all the people looking at her. (Why should she have that effect on humans? I’m always wondering myself what she is like under her uniform.) And she said that she was afraid that King Cresphontes was going to order her to strip in front of him and the Council.”
“Men are afflicted by peculiar phobias, Brasidus. You’ve heard of Teleclus, of course?”
“The Lydian general, sir?”
“The same. A very brave man, as his record shows. But let a harpy get into his tent and he’s a gibbering coward.” He picked up a meaty bone, gnawed on it meditatively. “So don’t run away with the idea that this Arcadian is outrageously unhuman in his—or ‘her’—reactions.” He smiled greasily. “She may be more human than you dream.”
“What are you getting at, sir? What do you know?”
Diomedes waved the bone playfully at Brasidus. “Only what my officers tell me. Apart from that—I’m Security, so nobody tells me anything. Which reminds me, there’s something I must tell you. Your little friend Achron has been ringing this office all morning, trying to get hold of you.” He frowned. “I don’t want you to drop him like a hot cake now that you’ve acquired a new playmate.”
“What new playmate, sir?”
“Oh, never mind, never mind. Just keep in with Achron, that’s all. We still want to find out what’s going on at the créche, alien ships or no alien ships. As I’ve said—and I think you’ll agree—it seems to tie in.”
“But, sir, wouldn’t it be simple just to stage a raid?”
“I like my job, Brasidus—but I like the feel of my head on my shoulders much better. The doctors are the most powerful branch of the priesthood. This Pausanius, do you think that the King would have acted as he did if he hadn’t known that he, Pausanius, was in bad with his own colleagues? All that happened was that he got himself a public execution instead of a very private one.”
“It all seems very complicated, Captain.”
“You can say that again, Brasidus.” Diomedes tossed his bone into the trash basket. “Now . . .” He picked up a sheaf of crumpled, grease-stained papers from the untidy table. “We have to consider your future employment. You’ll not be required for escort duties this afternoon. I shall be arranging his itinerary with Lieutenant Commander Grimes. And tomorrow the bold space commander and his Arcadian sidekick will not be escorted by yourself.”
“And why not, sir?”
“Because you’ll be working—working with your hands. You’ve plainclothes experience. You can mix with helots as one of them and get away with it. This afternoon you pay a call on Alessis, who is both an engineer and—but let it go no further—on our payroll. Tomorrow Alessis with a gang of laborers will carry out the annual overhaul of the refrigerating machinery in the Andronicus warehouse. You will be one of the laborers.”
“But I don’t know anything about refrigeration, sir.”
“Alessis should be able to teach you all that a common laborer should know this afternoon.”
“But the other helots, sir. They’ll know that I’m not a regular member of the gang.”
“They won’t. Alessis has just recruited green labor from at least half a dozen outlying villages. You’ll be the one big-city boy in the crowd. Oh, this will please you. Your friend Heraklion will not be in the créche. He has been called urgently to his estate. It seems that a fire of unknown origin destroyed his farm outbuildings.”
“Unknown origin, sir?”
“Of course.”
“But what has the Andronicus warehouse to do with the créche?”
“I don’t know yet. But I hope to find out.”
Brasidus returned to the barracks in Diomedes’ car, changed there into civilian clothes. He had been given the address of Alessis’ office, walked there briskly. The engineer—a short, compact man in a purple-trimmed tunic—was expecting him. He said, “Be seated, Lieutenant. And I warn you now that tomorrow, on the job, I shall be addressing you as ‘Hey, you!’ “
“I’m used to plainclothes work, sir.”
“As a helot?”
“Yes. As a helot.”
“As a stupid helot?”
“If that is what’s required.”
“It will be. You’re going to wander off by yourself and get lost. You’ll be tracing the gas-supply main—that will be your story if anybody stumbles on you. I was supposed to be giving you an afternoon’s tuition in refrigeration techniques, but that will not be necessary. All I ask of my helots is that they lift when I tell them to lift, put down when I tell them to put down, and so on and so forth. They’re the brawn and I’m the brain. Get it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Can you read a plan?”
“I can.”
“Splendid.” Alessis got up, opened a drawer of his desk and pulled out a large roll of tough paper. He flattened it out. “Now, this is the basement of the Andronicus warehouse. Power supply comes in here,” his stubby forefinger jabbed, “through a conduit. Fans here, compressors here—all the usual. The cold chambers are all on the floor above—with the exception of this one. Deep freeze—very deep freeze, in fact.”
“There’s no reason why it shouldn’t be in the basement.”
“None at all. And there’s no reason why it shouldn’t be up one floor, with the other chambers. But it’s not its location that’s odd.”
“Then what is?”
“It’s got two doors, Brasidus. One opening into the basement, the other one right at the back. I found this second door, quite by chance, when I was checking the insulation.”
“And where does it lead to?”
“That is the question. I think, although I am not sure, that there is a tunnel behind it. And I think that the tunnel runs to the créche.”
“But why?”
Alessis shrugged. “That’s what our mutual friend Diomedes wants to find out.”