"The first Aristodemus, presumably, kept women in their proper place—down, well down. This latter-day Aristodemus would go one better. He would do without women at all." Grimes looked at Margaret Lazenby. "At times I think that he had something."
"He didn't have women, that's for certain. But go on."
"All right. Aristodemus—as we shall call him now—was lucky enough to command the services of like-minded biochemists. The sperm, of course, was all neatly classified—male and female being among the classifications. Soon that first birth machine was turning out a steady stream of fine, bouncing baby boys. When the adult populace started to get a bit restive, it was explained that the stock of female sperm had been destroyed in the crash. And somebody made sure that the stock was destroyed."
"But," Brasidus interrupted, "but we used to reproduce by fission. Our evolution from the lower animals has been worked out in detail."
"Don't believe everything you read," Peggy Lazenby told him. "Your biology textbooks are like your history textbooks—very cunningly constructed fairy tales."
"Yes," said Grimes. "Fairy tales. Aristodemus and his supporters were able to foist an absolutely mythical history upon the rising generations. It seems fantastic, but remember that there was no home life. They—like you, Brasidus, and like you, Admiral—knew only the Spartan state as a parent. There were no fathers and mothers, no grandfathers and no grandmothers to tell them stories of how things used to be. Also, don't forget that the official history fitted the facts very neatly. It should have done—after all, it was tailor-made.
"And so it went on, for year after year, for generation after generation, until it became obvious to the doctors in charge of the birth machine that it couldn't go on for much longer. That bank of male sperm was near exhaustion. This first crisis was surmounted—ways and means were devised whereby every citizen made his contribution to the plasm bank. A centrifuge was used to separate X-chromosome-bearing sperm cells from those carrying the Y-chromosome. Then the supply of ova started to run out. But still the race was in no real danger of extinction. All that had to be done was to allow a few female children to be born. In fact, this did happen now and again by accident—but such unfortunates had been exposed on the hillside as defective infants. Even so, the doctors of those days were reluctant to admit female serpents into this all-male paradise.
"And now Latterhaven comes into the story. I'm sorry to have to disappoint you all, but there never was a villainous Admiral Latterus. And, apart from the ill-fated Doric, there never were any spaceships owned by Sparta. But while Aristodemus was building his odd imitation of the original, Terran Sparta, the First Expansion ran its course. Then, with the perfection (not that it ever was perfect) of the Ehrenhaft Drive came the Second Expansion. Finally, there was the Third Expansion, and there was the star ship Utah, commanded by Captain Amos Latter. It was Latter and his people who founded the colony—one run on rather more orthodox lines than yours—on Latterhaven, a world only a couple of light years from this one.
"The Latterhaveneers made explorations of the sector of space around their new home. One such expedition stumbled upon Sparta. The explorers were lucky not to be slaughtered out of hand—the records indicate that they almost met such a fate—but they were not, and they dickered with the Spartan top brass, and all parties eventually signed a trade agreement. In return for the spice harvest, Latterhaven would send two ships each Spartan year with consignments of unfertilized ova.
"The situation could have continued indefinitely if we hadn't come in—or if Diomedes hadn't found out about the doctors' secret harem."
"The situation would not have continued," stated Heraklion. "As I've told you, Commander, it was our intention to introduce a reversion to—the normal way of birth."
"That's your story and you stick to it. It could be true, I suppose; it would account for the way that Diomedes hated you." He refilled and relit his pipe. "The question is, what happens now?"
"What does happen?" asked Admiral Ajax.
"To begin with, I've been recalled to base. I shall have to make my report. It is possible that the Federation will replace your birth machine—although, come to that, you should be able to import materials and technicians from Latterhaven. You might even be able to build a new one for yourselves. But . . .
"But the Federation is apt to be a little intolerant of transplanted human cultures that deviate too widely from the norm. Your monosexual society, for example—and, especially, your charming custom of Exposure. This is your world and, as far as I'm concerned, you're welcome to it. I'm a firm believer in the fifth freedom—the freedom to go to hell your own way. But you've never heard a politician up on his hind legs blathering about the Holy Spirit of Man. If you want to reconstruct your society in your own way, in your own time, you'll have to fight—not necessarily with swords and spears, with guns and missiles—for the privilege.
"I advise strongly that you send a representative with us, somebody who'll be able to talk sense with my lords and masters, somebody who'll be able to take a firm line."
"There's Brasidus," said Peggy Lazenby softly, looking directly at him. You and I have unfinished business, her eyes said.
"Yes, there's Brasidus," agreed Grimes. "After all, he knows us."
And he'll get to know us better. The unspoken words, her unuttered thought, sounded like a caressing voice in Brasidus' mind.
"But we need him," said Heraklion.
"A first-class officer," confirmed Ajax. "He has what's left of the Police eating out of his hand."
"I think that one of my colleagues would be a better choice as emissary," said Heraklion.
"So," murmured Grimes. "So . . ." He looked steadily across his desk at the Spartans. "It's up to you, Lieutenant or Colonel or whatever you are. It's up to you. I'm sure that Admiral Ajax will be able to manage without you—on the other hand, I'm sure that Doctor Heraklion's friend will prove a quite suitable envoy.
"It's up to you."
It's up to me, Brasidus thought. He looked at the woman sitting beside the space commander—and suddenly he was afraid. Diomedes' words about the frightening powers wielded by this sex lingered still in his mind. But, in the final analysis, it was not fear that prompted his answer, but a strong sense of responsibility, of loyalty to his own world. He knew—as the aliens did not, could never know—how precarious still was the balance of power. He knew that, with himself in command—effective if not titular—of the ground forces, peace might be maintained, the reconstruction be commenced.
"It's up to you," said Peggy Lazenby.
He said firmly, "I'd better stay."
She laughed, and Brasidus wondered if he alone were aware of the tinkling malice that brought an angry flush to his face. "Have it your own way, sweet. But I warn you, when those tough, pistol-toting biddies of the Galactic Peace Corps get here, you'll wonder what's struck you."
"That will do, Peggy." Grimes' voice snapped with authority. "That will do. Now, gentlemen, you must excuse us. We have to see our ship secured for space. How soon can you get your envoy here, Doctor Heraklion?"
"About an hour, Commander."
"Very good. We shall lift ship as soon as he's on board." He got to his feet, shook hands with the three Spartans. "It's been a pleasure working with you. It's a great pity that it was not in pleasanter circumstances."
This was dismissal. Ajax in the lead, the three men walked out of Grimes' cabin. Brasidus, bringing up the rear, heard Peggy Lazenby say softly, "The poor bastard!"
And he heard Grimes reply, in a voice that held an unexpected bitterness, "I don't know. I don't know. He could be lucky."
For a long while Brasidus wondered what they meant, but the day came at last when he found out.
THE END
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