Empire of Women & One of our Cities is Missing (Armchair Fiction Double Novels Book 25) (10 page)

“I may
have a surprise for them,” said Gan.
 
“If
they violate my neutrality; if they threaten me or take steps to execute me, I
think they will find that I am not
so
helpless as they
think.”
 

Aphele
pressed close against him, taking his hand.
 
“Walk with me, and murmur sweet words into my ears.
 
Gan, the forest is lovely at this time of
year.”
 

Gan moved
out into the daylight, and the smell of cooking meat gave him hunger
pangs.
 
He groaned.
 
“Aphele, never expect a man to make love on
an empty stomach.
 
And in the morning, of
all times, a man cannot even be courteous until he has been fed.
 
Do you know nothing of the male whatever?”

She
laughed and pointed.
 
“I have built a
fire, and what you smell is your meat cooking.
 
The others will eat in their barracks, where you are not allowed.
 
Come, or you get no breakfast.”
 

Gan put
his arm about her waist and moved toward the fire between the vast boles of the
ancient trees.
 
Her laughter and her
beauty made the forest seem twice as lovely as yesterday.
 
The breakfast she had prepared was very
fine.
 

“You do
understand the animal, man, after all, don’t you?” Gan
said,
his mouth full of deer meat.
 

THE COUNCIL,
called in midmorning, was out in the open air.
 
There were several thousand females, of various ages, gathered on the
grass and leaf mold of the forest aisles, watching the ceremonial chair placed
for the Mother.
 
Watching the twenty
other women seated at a long table of planks, before which Gan stood, like a
criminal before the bar, there was little doubt as to their undivided
opinion.
 

There was
little ceremony wasted on the proceedings.
 
Aphele was called to testify, and she told the simple truth:
 
that she had thought the council might wish
to barter the ancient secret Tor Branthak sought for the freedom of Phira, and
therefore she had brought this man to negotiate the deal.
 

Celys was
called, and for the first time Gan saw the three identical women, daughter,
mother
and grandmother, who had played Supreme Matriarch for
the hidden council for some four centuries, according to Aphele’s whispered
information.
 
To Gan’s eyes, they were
equally
beautiful,
the grandmother somewhat more
mature in proportions, but all three would have been taken for young women on
any other world.
 

Celys
testified to her part in the journey, and that Gan had been instrumental in
her escape, if not essential.
 
No one
spoke a word against him, at first.
 
After the two women had spoken, Gan found himself facing the old leader
across the plank table.
 

“It has
been our custom for ages,” she began, her eyes glittering out of her wrinkled
face and her lips straight and thin and hard, clipping off her words with
machine precision, “to slay all men who found their way to this sanctuary of
womanhood.
 
In the ancient times men were
put to the death under the great fission ray.
 
This ray was emitted from a great mechanical device known only to the
Matriarchs of Myrmi-Atla.
 
I, myself, was
known to have pushed men into this ray of death—a ray that incinerated the very
flesh it touched.
 
Their seared bodies
were blasted into a great vat, within which their remains were dissolved.
 
But now, after centuries, it is proposed that
the ancient customs by which we live,
customs which
are time-hallowed laws, be set aside; that they be set aside because of the
present crisis, the downfall of Alid, the defeat of our space fleet, the inrush
of alien troops into our cities.
 
It is
proposed, moreover, that they be set aside in a cowardly act of barter, a
barter in which we give immortality, our greatest single treasure, to the enemy
in return for a dubious promise of immunity from their avowed plan of complete
destruction of the power of Myrmi-Atla.
 
I am ardently against this proposal.
 
But the council may decide, and I will abide by their wishes, as
always.”
 

Gan was
not asked to say a word in his defense.
 
The old woman gave the nod to the women gathered about the table, who at
once began to pass little slips of folded paper the length of the table, where
they were gathered by the woman at the head of the table.
 
She copied off the total of votes upon the
papers and, after a moment, arose, facing Gan, who stood at the farther end of
the table.
 
Her voice was as impersonal
and empty of human concern for Gan as a voice record.
 

“The
council has voted, and the decision is death.”
 

 Art by Ed
Valigursky and Leo Summers

 Art by Ed
Valigursky and Leo Summers

GAN SWUNG
about, and his hand went to his belt, shutting off the self-contained power unit,
which energized the little wave-generator in his belt.
 
In an instant two tall, uniformed warrior
maids sprang to his
side,
seized his arms, thinking to
hold him.
 

Gan was
furious at the prearranged inevitability of the “trial” and the way in which it
was run off without discussion or proper consideration of all the factors
involved.
 

He twisted
one arm loose from the maid on his right, seized the other about the waist,
holding her between himself and the other.
 
In two swift movements he had seized her pellet gun and ring thrower,
and as the other maid reached over to strike him with the long dagger, which
was the only weapon she could use safely here in the midst of thousands of
innocent bystanders, he inadvertently held the woman in his arms between
himself and the dagger so that she thrust it into her comrade’s breast.
 

The
warrior maid sprang back at this sudden development, the bloody dagger in her
hand, and her distraught face making the whole scene plain to the observers as
in a drama.
 

Gan
dropped the wounded woman, fitted a ring into the
ring-thrower
and faced the council table with the weapon, ready to toss the deadly fission
ring directly into the midst of the council.
 

“We will
now proceed to hold trial correctly,” bellowed Gan.
 
“Or else you can all immediately go up in the
air in tiny pieces and we can elect a new council more to a man’s liking.
 
All of you not in favor may signify by remaining
standing.
 
The others, please be seated,
as you see your wise old leader already doing.”
 

It took
them all of ten seconds to get the order through their heads and resume their
seats.
 
Cap motioned with his weapon to
Aphele.
 

“My dear
lady, since you seem the only one here with human blood in your veins, will you
preside in place of the old lady who prefers murder to legal procedure?”

Aphele’s
hand went to her mouth in sincere fear of the consequences of such an act, but
Gan was adamant.
 

“You will
note, Aphele, that the old woman has already made her seat vacant for you.
 
Please take your place.”
 

Aphele,
knowing he had them all at his mercy with the explosive ring, capable of
blowing the whole council table and all its members up in one stroke, seated
herself on the rude chair of honor.
 
After a second, she stood up again and called the meeting to order.
 

Under
Gan’s ruthless eyes, the trial was repeated, almost word for word, and the vote
taken.
 
No one man was surprised that the
verdict was found to be unanimously in favor of the barter agreement, whereby the
Matriarchy would give Tor Branthak the secret of their longevity for his removal
of troops.
 

THE TRIAL
and vote were quite over, and everyone was standing about wondering
apprehensively what next, when the
Warspear
loomed hugely down from
overhead, settling on a pillar of flame, landing among the huge trees rather
neatly.
 
Instantly out of the ship poured
Gan’s crew—and Gan’s description to little Elvir of what a pirate looked like
was fulfilled, for they looked very bold and bad, and the blasters in their
hands seemed very large indeed.
 

They
quickly disarmed the warrior women, who could not bring themselves to begin
firing in the mass of people present.
 
Gan kept the deadly fission ring gun trained upon the group of officers
who had gathered about the old leader.
 
As soon as things looked safely in their hands, Gan gave orders to his
mates.
 

“Take that
group of females about the old hag, there, aboard the
Warspear
.
 
Then scout around and pick yourselves wives;
you’ll never get a better chance.
 
If
they behave, they can make our dismal rock hangout into a home for us.
 
I see no reason why we can’t let Tor Branthak
search for the secret in his own way, now that we have it.
 
These women know what the secret is and how
to use it, and we will have it merely by taking them with us.”
 

In some
twenty minutes they had secured nearly a hundred and fifty captives from among
the most beautiful of the warrior maids, as well as the dozen sleek officers
of the Amazon army who had clustered about their leader, and the old woman
also.
 

Aphele
went aboard willingly, while Celys and her two look-alikes, her daughter and
granddaughter, had to be dragged aboard.
 
Then the
Warspear
lifted into the sky and Gan set course for far
space, where the lonely Black Rock circled about a dying sun.
 

IT WAS
some months later when the
Warspear
reappeared over Phira.
 
She did not land, but dropped off a
life-raft
, moved on out of vision.
 

Within the
life-raft
Gan and Chan DuChaile, as well as the old
Matriarch who had ruled for so long from hidden Avalaon, drifted slowly to a
landing upon the plateau above the city.
 
There were still a score of Konaparian vessels cradled there, as well as
fifty or more damaged vessels of Phira, which had been captured and brought
in.
 
The rest of Konapar’s original
war-fleet had returned home, or patrolled the skies above Phira for the chance
of retaliation by some ally of Phira.
 

Gan and
his two companions were led before Tor Branthak in his ship, in the same
chamber where Gan had toasted the long life of the Phiran women.
 

“You
traitor!” shouted Tor Branthak when he recognized the Cap.
 
“You dare return here?
 
I had thought you would have better sense
than to put yourself in my hands again.”
 

“Why not?”
Gan said.
 
“Wasn’t that our bargain; that I would return
with the secret?
 
So, I have
returned.
 
I didn’t say when, as it was a
question only to be determined by events.
 
Tell me, Tor Branthak, have you discovered the secret yet?”

Gan
laughed, and after a moment the Regent laughed too.
 
“Tell your tale, Captain.
 
But I must warn you, for this length of time
I have considered you a liar and a scoundrel who stole away with the greatest
treasure on Phira.”
 

Gan
said:
 
“No,
Your
Highness.
 
I did not steal it.
 
I needed this time to get to the bottom of
their secret.
 
I abducted the core
personnel and their leader because I believed there is only one way to get the
secret—your tactics of pulling out their toenails seemed too drastic, and less
liable to work than mine.”
 

“And what
is your method?”

Gan drew
himself up to his full height, demonstrating the magnificent manhood in
him.
 
“Your Highness, when a human being
has been without a vital element of life for a thousand years, that element
should prove to be a very potent persuasive force.
 
Besides, it has the advantage of not killing
or maiming them.”
 

The Tor
grimaced at him.
 
“Had you left me
any
core personnel at all, Captain Gan Alain, perhaps I
too
might have had
the means to learn the secret.
 
But, go
on, our bargain still holds.”
 

Gan
pointed to the old lady.
 
“I have brought
her to you.
 
She knows the secret of
their long life, and will give it to you, in return for consent to return Phira
to the rule of women.”
 

Tor
Branthak scowled.
 
“A hard bargain, that,
but the method might be worth it.
 
But
how explain to the men who have fought and been wounded, who have settled here
on lands deeded to them?
 
How can I give
it back?”

Gan
shrugged.
 
“That is
her
price.
 
I promised to bring her here and
present it.
 
But, if you want
my
price, I can offer you an alternative.
 
I
have learned the details of their methods, a rather simple preparation of
certain reagents, which eliminate the substances that cause old age from the
body, thus insuring perpetual youth.
 
I
will settle for a governorship on Phira, under your suzerainty, because I think
you are a man’s man, so that Phira would become in effect a province of
Konapar, with me as its head.
 
I have an
itch to teach these Matriarchs something about the rights of the human male.”
 

As Gan
delivered these words, the old Matriarch turned on him with a sudden fierce
exclamation, as if a serpent had bitten her.
 
She flashed a knife from her full bosom, sprang upon Gan.
 
The knife plunged into his chest.
 
But the point turned on the heavy leather of
his corselet, and he caught her wrist, twisted until her hand released the
blade.
 

The Tor’s
eyes gleamed.
 
“I understand your itch,
exactly, Captain Gan Alain.
 
Or, as I
should say, from now on, Governor Gan Alain!”

Gan
whipped up the Matriarch’s knife and lifted it in salute.
 
“To my Regent’s long life!” he bellowed.
 

SO ENDED
the ancient dominance of the female on Phira; and later, on the other worlds,
which had come under the sway of the Matriarchs of Myrmi-Atla.
 
But, as can be seen, if it had not been for
Gan Alain and his
Warspear
, the fleet of Konapar would have been driven
back by the dreadnought of Mixar, and with their monopoly of the
secret
,
the Matriarchy would have grown in time to engulf all mankind.
 

Today,
centuries after, the methods for fighting age developed by the Matriarchs have
become the common property throughout the civilized portions of the
galaxy.
 
And on Phira, the harem of the
mighty Gan Alain, Governor of Phira, in Alid, is the most famous for its beauty
and talent of any in all the polygamous worlds.
 

The
favorite of the Governor’s harem is a very lovely brunette named Aphele, but
the three identical beauties, Celys I,
II
and III are
more celebrated.
 
The woman called Elvir
is also much spoken of, because of her pranks and her mischievous beauty; and
so too is a slim young beauty who still remembers her first kiss, and gets as
much of a kick out of each succeeding one.
 

And the
children of Gan Alain number seven hundred and ten.
 

THE END