Empire of Women & One of our Cities is Missing (Armchair Fiction Double Novels Book 25) (9 page)

“You,”
murmured Aphele, her eyes glowing, “are a man after my heart.
 
You really gave it to her and the rest of
them.
 
They are too long in the saddle to
understand that the worlds were not exactly made just for the purpose of
organizing women into trampling upon all men.
 
Ah, it was worth the long ride to hear it!”

They had
been walking now alone through the trees, and Aphele stopped him.
 
“Now give me a good hard hug and a kiss, as
if I were some sweet damsel you knew when you were young enough to think of
nothing but kissing girls…”

Gan was
not taken unawares by her request, but still he hesitated.
 
Then he remembered how it used to be, when he
was a boy walking in the evening with his chosen, how sweet a kiss could be—and
he seized her and held her close, bent back her fair face and kissed her
heartily.
 
It was sweet, bittersweet,
full of memories of other loves, and none of them quite measuring up to
Aphele’s deep, hungry eyes, nor her strange mouth, so sweet and hungry, yet so
sorrowful.
 

Her smile
after the kiss was not the twisted smile she usually gave him,
but a
full and grateful thanks.
 
Her voice was husky and low as she
said:
 
“Oh, it is
good, even as it used to be when I believed in love and life and men.
 
You are a man such as I have always longed
for but never did quite believe existed.
 
I put a spell upon you, Gan Alain—may you never forget the lips of
Aphele, no matter the years or the space between us.”
 

A low and
scornful voice behind them made them both whirl, and standing there was Celys,
saying:
 
“Not long ago you were making
love to me—Celys!
 
Now you are embracing
Aphele.
 
What is a woman to think?”

Gan was
angry.
 
He gave a short, hard laugh.
 
“Not long ago I did not
know you were grandmother to a grown woman, Celys.
 
May I meet the other Supreme Matriarchs?”

Celys
flushed angrily, and her hand pointed suddenly at Aphele, her fist clenching
tight.
 
“You told him, you ancient thing,
to get him for yourself!
 
You know
there’s not a male like him on all Phira, and I have had his declaration
first.
 
I’ll get even with you,
Aphele!
 
Wait.”
 

Gan stood,
somewhat dismayed at her display, and feeling that this was none of his
argument.
 
But Aphele needed no
help.
 

“You made
him unhappy with your disregard.
 
Now you
claim him, after he gives his kiss to me.
 
There was no reason to think you ever wanted the man.
 
I have not claimed him
,
I only kissed him
.
 
Terrans believe in freedom, not chains; and if I know him, he will
prefer my freedom to your dominance, my dear superior.”
 

“That
could well be, Celys,” growled Gan, seeing now what Aphele had been telling him
all along—these women thought they must dominate all things.
 

Aphele
sensed his thought.
 
“They would brand
men like horses, Gan, and sometimes do.”
 
She went on, coloring as her circulation caught up with her anger.
 
“They think marriage is a thing for a man to
wear like a dog collar around his neck, instead of a glorious partnership and a
joyous one.”
 

GAN’S FIRST
day in Avalaon drew to a close, and Aphele led him to an empty cabin beneath
the trees, lit a fire in the rude stone fireplace,
left
him to his own devices.
 
Almost
exhausted, Gan drew off his boots, pulled a fur over
himself
and went to sleep on the rustic bunk built into the wall.
 

Some hours
later he was awakened by the sound of giggling and soft footsteps.
 
He sat up to find himself surrounded by the
naked young girls who had at first shown such horror at his presence.
 
They stood in a circle about his bunk,
ranging from tiny tots to girls in their teens, peering at him in the dim
firelight and discussing his appearance in excited whispers.
 
One of them, older and
bolder than the rest, stepped up.
 

“You are
the first man we ever saw, and we want to apologize for our discourtesy this
afternoon.”
 

Gan
grunted, slightly irritated to be the cynosure of so many eyes, and awakened
thus for mere curiosity, and slightly embarrassed as his eyes roved over the
slim but womanly body of the one who had addressed him.
 
Then he realized that hers was source of
information not so likely to be close-mouthed as the older women.
 

“You
children are apt to get yourself into trouble if you’re caught here, to say
nothing of me.
 
But now that you’re here,
I’ll give you a few minutes.
 
Ask me any
questions you want, and I’ll answer, provided you answer some of mine in
return.”

The lovely
heads nodded soberly, like angels gathered about a bier; and Gan wondered if
that weren’t pretty close to the truth.
 
One
asked:
 
“You’re from the Terran worlds, where men and
women are equal.
 
It must be fun to live
that way, with boys and girls together.”
 

“It is
fun,” answered Gan.
 
“They don’t run
about exactly as you do, but they play together, and they are very happy.
 
Tell
me,
don’t you
ever see boys at all?”

“Never, not until mating time.
 
That’s every two years, in the
Fall
, when the grown women chose a mate for three
months.
 
We see some of the boys then,
but we daren’t play with them or talk with them.”
 
There was a wistful note in the girl’s
voice
as she stood there unabashed.
 
“It seems wrong…”

“It is
wrong,” said Gan.
 
“The whole idea is
wrong, to my way of thinking.
 
Men and
women are happier when they live together.”
 

“The old
women are strict and mean and never let us have any real fun.
 
What’s the fun of being young if you never
see a boy?”

Gan’s
heart went out to her suddenly.
 
Here
was one girl who really needed her first kiss.
 
All at once he felt that if it was the last thing he did on this planet,
or any other, he would smash this Matriarchy and set this one, and the others
like her, free to enjoy the fruits she so desperately needed.
 

“Where do
they keep all the men on Phira, anyway?
 
I have seen very few since I’ve been here.”
 

“They keep
them in a place like this on the other side of the planet, except the ones who
work as servants in the homes of the officials and tradespeople.
 
It is a place called Manoa.
 
There all young boys are taken and must stay
until they grow up.”
 

Gan
growled.
 
“A completely
unnatural arrangement, contrary to nature.
 
No wonder your elders grow to be
psychotic.
 
So there are only servants in
the dwellings in the cities?
 
No
man-and-wife teams running the homes?”

“Oh, some
break the rules and keep their men at home; but they have to keep pretty well
under cover and not be seen often.
 
According to the law, mating season lasts but three months, and then the
man must go back to Manoa.”
 

“Servants
and studs,” growled Gan angrily, looking over the serious young faces gathered
close about his bed.
 
“A sad thing you
have made of men on Phira, eh?”

“It is not
us,” they chorused.
 
“We think it is a
sad thing, too.
 
But the old laws and
customs are so rigid, how could they be changed?”

GAN’S EYES
widened.
 
There were more “rebels” in the
Matriarch camp than perhaps even the Matriarchy realized.
 
“On Terran worlds,” said Gan, “in the olden
times, they would have elected a new government, new officials, passed new laws
to suit themselves.
 
Nowadays, since the
Empire has been established, this is not so easy.
 
But it is still done.
 
Do you know what an election is?”

“No, we
don’t.”
 

“Well.”
 
Gan looked at them sharply, “it’s very
simple.
 
It means that you select a
number of persons whom you’d like to govern you,
then
you vote among yourselves.
 
The winner,
the one with the most votes, becomes your ruler and she then rules you
according to your group desires.
 
That
way you have laws that you like, and obey willingly.”
 

A low
whistle from outside sent the girls scurrying through the
door,
and in an instant the cabin was as empty as before.
 
None too soon, for the sound of boots came up
a pathway, and the door was flung open.
 
A light flashed inside, an older woman’s voice
asked:
 
“Is everything all right, Terran?
 
I thought I saw movement about the
cabin.”
 

“Everything’s
all right,” growled Gan, sleepily.
 
“You
woke me up, is all…”

The woman
shut the door and went on along her rounds.
 
For a few minutes Gan lay idly wondering, and was dropping off to sleep
again when the door was opened stealthily and a slight figure came in clumsily,
bearing several chunks of wood.
 
These
she put on the fire,
then
came to his bedside.
 
Her whisper was husky.
 
“We thought you might be chilly, you being
from another world.”
 

Gan looked
at her, slender and beautiful as hand-rubbed marble, her dark eyes two question
marks of youthful innocence in the firelight.
 
She stood there unabashed, and after a few seconds crept closer until
her body touched Gan’s hand where it lay along the side of the bunk.
 

“Tell me
more,” she whispered.
 
“Tell me about
men.
 
We talk and talk among ourselves,
but we really know so little, and it’s all so confusing.”
 

Gan
bunched up his surcoat, which he had balled under his head for a pillow, so
that his eyes were near level with hers.
 

“More talk
from me would do you little good, girl.
 
Your problem is one that plagues all youth, and nothing but time and
experience will cure your ailment.”
 

“Then show
me,” she begged, her lips pouting prettily.
 
“Just show me what a kiss is like, and what love might be when I grow
old enough to mate.”
 

GAN
GASPED, but the sweet young eyes begging of him what he was not unwilling to
give were too much.
 
He reached out and
tugged her angelic young face close and touched his lips to hers, or meant
to.
 
But she pressed forward, clasped him
tight, and her lips were burning hot on his, her young body shivering with
delight under his hands.
 
Abruptly he
pushed her back and she stood with hands clasped together, her breath panting
in rapture, her eyes dewed with wonder.
 

“So that
is a kiss!
 
It’s wonderful.
 
Love must be wonderful…”

Gan
decided to stick strictly to words from here on, and pulled up his furs close
about him.
 

“Yes, love
can be wonderful, girl, when it comes to you.
 
And if the rule of the Matriarchy can be broken, you’ll have a chance to
find it, which you have precious little as things stand.
 
It is the lack of a solution to your problem,
which has embittered the old women about you.
 
If I have my way…”

“I can
help you,” she whispered, her eyes glowing.
 
“They mean to kill you, soon.
 
First they will have a meeting, and pretend it is all legal and right.
 
But they will decide you must die, as all men
must die who find their way here, so that the sanctuary will stay hidden from
men.”
 

Gan
scowled and whispered:
 
“I had guessed as
much when I first set eyes upon the old shrew
whom
you
call Mother.
 
But what puzzles me, is
what can I do about it now?
 
There is no
way of escape open to me.”
 

“There is
a way.
 
If you accept
one of the warrior maids in marriage.
 
The law is so worded that they cannot kill a mate.
 
They can beat you, but not kill.”
 

Gan smiled
grimly.
 
“I doubt if they will allow me
time or opportunity for that.”
 

“I could
hide you,” the girl went on in an earnest whisper.
 
“I know this forest well, and there are
places where they would not find you easily.
 
It would take many days, and we could keep on fleeing, on and on…”

“What
would happen to you, sweet one, if we were caught?”

She hung
her head.
 
“If they did not sentence me
to death, they would banish me to the desert, which is almost as
certain.”
 

Gan shook
his head.
 
“I’m afraid I will have to use
my own devices, little angel.
 
Go now,
and don’t worry about me.
 
My own gods
will care for me where your All-Mother will not.
 
I will be safe.
 
Go.”
 

The girl
went hesitantly, pausing to peer back at him in the flickering firelight,
lovely in her pity and concern and her innocent nudity, so that Gan’s heart
went out to her as his own daughter.
 
Then she closed the door and was gone.
 

Gan
flicked the switch on the radio device upon his belt.
 
He knew that, on his ship, Chan DuChaile
would be
waiting,
tubes set for super-sensitivity, and
would not miss a whisper.
 

“Listen,
Chan; try to get the ship aloft unobserved, and then home on this wave until
it’s beneath you.
 
Then wait.
 
When I shut off the wave, come down with your
guns peeled for trouble.”
 

Gan
repeated the message a half-dozen times, at intervals of fifteen minutes.
 
Then he drifted off to sleep much easier in
his mind.
 

IN THE
morning Gan Alain was awakened by the voice of Aphele, calling from
outside.
 
Gan slipped on his boots,
opened the door to her.
 
She had removed
the masculine uniform with its harsh steel breast and abdomen plates, and was
wearing instead a kind of
sarong which
left her
breasts bare, and on her soft, floating hair a wreath of wood flowers gave her
a dryad look of extreme attractiveness.
 
Gan flushed guiltily at sight of her, for some reason he himself could
not understand.
 

“It is
good,” said Aphele in a husky voice, “to dress as a woman and to wake a man
with one’s heart knocking at one’s ribs.
 
I had almost forgotten how good it could be.
 
I give you good morning, and hope you will
live the day out.”
 

He
grimaced, and she laughed, but not without worry.
 

“The
council seems set upon your death, even though I am correct in guaranteeing
your life and liberty under the normal status of a military truce.
 
They are a bunch of abnormal old biddies,
who
see only evil in all men and most things related to
sex.”