Guy groaned dispair as he came to his feet, brushing a skinned knee.
Clete hustled him into the car, still chuckling, whilst the major and Lysippe, taking no chances, stood between him and the deep breathing Minythyia who still eyed him, half desperately, half wistfully.
VII
Underway in the hovercar, the major, seated next to Guy in the front seat, turned around to face Clete and Lysippe. “Were you two in on that?”
They were both wide-eyed in innocence. “Artimes!’ Clete said. “Of course not. We’re the poor boy’s guards.
Lysippe said, “Didn’t you see me grab her?”
The major snorted but turned back.
Guy was finally regaining his breath. “That was close,” he muttered.
“Minythyia’s too slow on her feet,” Clete explained to him. “You’re lucky it wasn’t one of those sixteen-year-olds. They’re the worst.” She added thoughtfully, “In more ways than one. They don’t really know what to expect from a boy.”
“Shut up,” the major growled.
Clete chuckled.
The drive was a fairly long one, especially through Themiscyra pre-noon traffic. Not that Guy saw any of the latter. The major had turned the windows opaque and growled a surly negative when he requested the polarized view.
He said eventually, out of a clear sky, “All men aren’t like Podner Bates, are they?”
The major scowled at him. “How do you mean? What’s wrong with Bachelor Bates? I’ve always thought him a charming little fellow.”
“But he’s not exactly an average Amazonian male. At first I thought he was.”
“Podner’s more or less like all other men,” the major said. “What brought that up?”
Come to think of it, except for the space launch pilot and the boy who’d brought breakfast, Podner was the only man he was supposed to have met thus far, Guy realized.
“Nothing,” he said. He thought about it some more. Podner was certainly similar to neither Zeke nor Teucer. But, then, they were revolutionists and so offbeat.
The major said, “Is there any chance of finishing your business today?”
He turned and looked at her, his eyebrows high. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he said. “It doesn’t seem very likely.”
“Why not?” the major rapped. “You’ll be meeting our technicians shortly. If you can finish your business and get the final approval from the Hippolyte, we could run you out to the UP Embassy. You’d be safe then.”
“Aw,” Clete said, “he’s safe with us guarding him. Minythyia won’t get him.”
Guy said, his voice worried, “I was thinking in terms of seeing your mines, your smelters, your extracting system. From which minerals do you extract titanium, ilmenite, rutile…?”
“How in the name of the Goddess would I know?” the major said, bringing her cloak up tighter about her neck. “All I know is you seem to be on the philosophical side about getting nabbed by one of these man-short cloddies.”
“It’s like I said. A boy doesn’t really feel fulfilled until a warrior’s taken him under her wing,” Clete told them.
Guy grunted disgust at that opinion. “I’ve got my work to accomplish,” he said. “When that’s done, I’ll depart Amazonia so fast…” He let the sentence fade off.
“This must be it,” Lysippe said. “Sweety, you stick as close to Clete and me as you can. We’ll take care of you.” She glared at the other guard. “If Clete doesn’t go into another laughing fit.”
They were obviously going up a lengthy driveway. The major turned the window knob, allowing them to see out. Guy was impressed. It was an imposing layout, all very Grecian public buildings. Was the largest the palace?
If it was, they didn’t immediately head for there. The hovercar whooshed them, instead, to a comparatively sober-looking building faced with stone rather than marble. They came up before it, the car stopped and Clete and Lysippe issued forth, looking up and down with care before opening the front door for Guy.
“Now you start being careful,” he said bitterly as he came forth. “After that dizzy curve almost got to me back there.”
Clete snorted. “You’re in more danger here than you were there, Sweety. For one thing, Minythyia isn’t so bad.”
He didn’t ask her to elaborate on that.
The major led the way up the wide stone stairway. Guy followed, with Clete and Lysippe on each side and slightly to the rear.
At the door, two sentries sprang to the salute. Guy Thomas took in the short, stubby scrambler guns they carried and winced. It was the most deadly handweapon he knew of in the whole UP confederation. Either of these Amazons could have leveled everything within half a mile’s radius. What in the name of the Holy Ultimate did sentries need with a scrambler?
The major marched on through, Guy and his guards right behind. Inside, as on Earth, the antiquity motif dropped rather sharply away. The interior of the building was quite as ultramodern as a business establishment on Earth or Avalon.
The major marched up to a reception desk behind which was seated a bright looking young man done up as usual in the tunic garb of the Amazonian male. Guy and his guards were still to the rear.
“Yes, Madam?” the receptionist said.
“Major Oreithyia with the Earth representative, Guy Thomas,” she said with military snap.
The receptionist took a moment to scan Guy top to bottom in curiosity. He said kindly, “Welcome to Themiscyra, darling.”
“Thanks,” Guy grunted. He was getting tired of these endearments between men. At least the underground didn’t seem to use them.
The other smiled tolerantly at the major and the two Amazon warriors. “Goodness, it’s like we’ve heard. They’re rather unmanly on the other worlds, aren’t they?”
Nobody bothered to answer. He said, a bit miffed, “You’re being awaited in the conference chambers, down at the end of that corridor, Major.” And then he blinked, as though he had noted the style of Guy’s tunic for the first time. “Goodness me,” he said. “A virgin.”
Guy began to growl something at him, decided the hell with it, and gave up.
They marched down the indicated corridor, the major again ahead, the two warriors bringing up the rear. They reached a door.
Clete said, “Just a minute.” He hand on her gun, she opened up and looked in. Evidently satisfied, she opened it wider and stood to one side.
Guy Thomas followed the major inside.
It was a conference room that would have been duplicated, ten thousand times, in Greater Washington, or, for that matter, on practically any of the advanced planets. A long table, obviously of wood, Guy Thomas noted, was equipped with all the latest taping and other recording devices. Around the table were heavy, comfortable chairs, about twenty in all although there weren’t that many persons present. Otherwise, there was little furniture.
There were six persons present and already seated at the table. Somewhat to Guy’s surprise, half of them were men. They were the first middle-aged males he had seen on the planet—in fact, one must have been at least in his sixties. The three women were in the same age group. The women were dressed, somewhat uncomfortably it seemed to him for some reason, in much the same garb as the major and her warriors, albeit a bit more conservatively and without weapons. The men wore what he assumed were standard garments for more elderly males, something like a Roman toga. They didn’t seem to be particularly used to the dress; possibly it was only worn under special circumstances, and they anticipated being presented to the Hippolyte later on.
The major barked, “Citizen Guy Thomas, of the planet Earth, representative of the Department of Interplanetary Trade of United Planets.”
One of the women, who sat at the table’s head, took Guy in from top to bottom. “You look on the young and flat side to be holding down an important mission.”
Guy said evenly, “I’m old enough and have the necessary background to handle the job.” The old biddy looked like a warhorse. He would h
ave hated to have worked under her.
“Just what is your job?” one of the men said. “We don’t seem to be clear on just how far your authority goes, just how binding your decisions can be considered.”
The old biddy said, “My name’s Lampado. Take a chair, Citizen Thomas.” She indicated and introduced the remaining five, giving some of them titles meaningless to Guy, but obviously indicating some technical rank or position involving imports and exports.
Guy sat down, the major took a position against the wall where she could scan the entire room, and each of the girls stationed themselves at one of the two doors.
Guy looked at the man who had asked the question. He had been introduced as Aeasus. Evidently, second names were seldom used on Amazonia. Bates, Podner’s family name, was the only one he could recall having heard.
Guy said, “As I’ve explained before, I’m a United Planets expediter. Eventually, UP will step out of the picture altogether. I have no power to finalize a deal between Amazonia and Avalon, all I can do is gather preliminary information.”
“All right,” Lampado gruffed. “The Hippolyte has named us the committee to handle the initial conference. If you don’t mind, first a few questions.”
“Of course,” Guy said. He had to watch himself now. He could spill the beans without hardly trying. These people were obviously trained technicians.
Lampado said, “Thasius?”
A keen-eyed, overly heavy man who seemed even more uncomfortable in his toga than the others leaned forward. “We understand that this planet Avalon has a surplus of columbium. Frankly, Amazonia is largely lacking in this element and we had about decided to find an alternative. Our steel industry has utilized it in the preparation of stainless steel to prevent corrosion at high temperatures and to permit fabrication without added heat treatment.”
Guy nodded thoughtfully.
Thasius said, “Do we understand that this Avalon has extensive deposits of niobite, the ore from which columbium is extracted?”
“Extensive,” Guy repeated. “Far beyond her own needs.”
“Very well,” Lampado gruffed. “And we understand her own need is for titanium.”
Guy nodded. “Correct. Although titanium, of course, is one of the most common elements there are comparatively few, especially on Avalon, ores bearing it that are worth the extraction. Could you inform me which you have, here on Amazonia?”
Thasius said, “We have ilmenite, rutile, arizonite and particularly perovskite. Titanite, too, but not in particularly large quantities.”
Guy said, “It’s not part of my assignment to explain Avalon’s need of titanium, but aside from its more usual uses, she has been turning out gem stones from it in remarkable quality and quantity and has been trading them throughout the confederation.”
Lampado said, “Well, there seems little doubt here. We can supply an almost unlimited amount of titanium, in ingots, of course, and can take as much columbium as Avalon is likely to be able to export. What else is there to discuss, Citizen Thomas?”
Guy cleared his throat. “Possibly the most important facet of all. The basis of exchange. How are we to evaluate your titanium as compared to Avalon’s columbium? I might suggest you put it all in the hands of the planet Geneva, which specializes in just this sort of clearinghouse problem. Her medium of exchange is gold. It would be up to the Geneva experts to work this out in detail with you both, but I understand that what it amounts to is that, on paper, she buys your titanium for gold, at the going interplanetary rate, and Avalon’s columbium. She then sells you Avalon’s columbium for gold, and sells Avalon your titanium for the same medium. Actually, of course, it is mostly paperwork. The gold never leaves the vaults of the planet Geneva.”
They were staring at him.
Lampado blurted, “Why?”
Guy said, “I beg your pardon.”
She demanded, “What does this parasite of a planet, this Geneva, get out of the deal?”
“Oh,” Guy said. “Well, I understand it’s based on volume. In this case, I doubt if they would require more than one percent”
Lampado rumbled in disgust, “Aeasus?”
Aeasus was rubbing the side of his face as though in confusion. He said, “See here. Why don’t we trade with Avalon, even-steven? What is the need for this intermediary?”
Guy looked at him blankly. “You’ve got to have some exchange medium in common. Avalon’s is based on platinum. One of the few in the system. I confess, I don’t quite understand your own, but I assume it conflicts. What do you mean even-steven? Columbium is considerably more valuable than titanium. You certainly wouldn’t expect to trade a ton of your titanium for a ton of columbium. The Avalonians aren’t drivel-happy.”
“Of course not,” Aeasus said reasonably. “Our medium of exchange is the hour. Actually, so is their’s ultimately,. Their platinum is actually valued, as an exchange commodity, according to the number of hours it takes to produce a given amount.”
Oh, oh. He had run into this before. Who from? Teucer, the refugee revolutionist from Lybia. Guy scowled.
Aeasus said, “We propose to exchange with Avalon, hour for hour. The amount of man hours it takes to produce a ton of titanium will be traded for the amount of columbium that can be produced in that time.”
Guy gave a quick shake to his head. “Look,” he said. “Suppose they have a higher degree of automation than you. Suppose in their niobium reducing plants only half a dozen men are required. In a hundred hours they could reduce one hell of a lot of columbium, but by your way of figuring it would be worth much. Suppose on the other hand, a lot of your mining and smelting is manual. Can’t you see, it wouldn’t be fair?”
“Not at all,” Aeasus said, still reasonably. “The time expended in inventing, designing and building their automated plants would, obviously, be considered in the number of hours involved. Depreciation of plant is obviously a very important part in adding up the hours necessary to produce a given amount of columbium, or any other commodity. If our extraction of titanium was done by the primitive methods you suggest, then little plant would be involved, but actually, we too have automation.”
Guy was trying to assimilate it.
Aeasus pressed on. “The exchange value of any commodity is determined by the socially necessary number of hours required to produce it.”
Guy said, “Look, just about everybody else seems to think the exchange value of a commodity is determined by supply and demand.”
Aeasus shook his head, as did all the others around the table.
“If that were so, what would happen when supply and demand equalled each other? Would the value simply disappear? Obviously not. Supply and demand can effect temporarily the price of a commodity, but not its real exchange value. And its price tends to average out at its real value.”
Lampado put in with a snort, “Can’t you see? If exchange value depended only on arbitrary prices set artificially, what you would continually win as a seller, you would lose as a buyer. We’d have a picture of two persons in the bottom of a well, selling hats to each other and both getting rich.”
Guy said suspiciously, “Something is coming back to me. The so-called Law of Value. Wasn’t it originally dreamed up by Karl Marx, a long time ago?”
“Marx?” Aeasus said frowning. “Oh you mean the 19th Century economist? No, actually the theory was first developed in 1721 by a young man named Benjamin Franklin in his first essay entitled, A Modest Enquiry into the Nature and Necessity of a Paper Currency. He used wheat and gold as examples, pointing out that if the same number of hours of work were involved in producing a quarter of wheat and an ounce of gold, then they were equal in value. A good many of those who came after Marx gave him credit for, or blamed him for, various teachings that never originated with the man. In fact, there are few scholars in history whose teachings have been so completely distorted—especially by his supposed followers.”
“All right,” Guy said. “Lets leave that for a time. How ab
out this? How can you simply add all the hours together in a lump? Take your titanium production. Out in the mines you’ve got a man…” he cleared his throat “…or woman. A big brawny type. Bucking a drill. Back at the plant you’ve got a chemist who’s running tests on the final product. This chemist spent ten years in school after the brawny yoke dropped out. He’s trained. He’s spent the better part of his youth getting that training. He’s of more value to society than the drill bucker!” His voice had gone slightly high.
Actually, of course, the whole thing meant little to Guy Thomas and his real assignment. The Avalonians actually did wish to trade titanium for their surplus columbium but this expediter nonsense was a front. However, the argument was getting to him, adding to the frustration he was finding everywhere on this madhouse planet.
Aeasus said, “But obviously when the yoke, as you call him, dropped out of school, he went into his chosen field, mining in this case, being paid the number of hours he expended. Your chemist continued in school for as long as he wished, so long as he could pass the examinations. When he finally finished his education, he too went to work in the titanium industry.”
“There!” Guy blurted. “He was a flat to spend all those years in school if he doesn’t get paid any more than the unskilled driller.”
Lampado leaned forward again. She said, unbelievingly, “Don’t they pay students on Earth to go to school?”
Guy Thomas closed his eyes for a moment’s communion with higher powers. “No,” he said. Then, “How much do you pay a student, such as our hypothetical chemist, to go to school?”
“The same as anybody else,” she retorted, as though the question couldn’t have been sillier. “For every hour he puts in as a student, he accrues one hour. By attending school he is adding to his value to society. He is thus contributing to the common store of value.”
“Look,” Guy demanded. “Suppose he’s really stute, see? He keeps on going to school. Every time they throw an exam at him, he gets top marks. Okay, he likes school. He keeps going and going, taking more and more courses. Finally he’s sixty years old, or whatever. How old do you have to be to retire on Amazonia? Don’t you see, if he spent his whole life studying and getting paid as much as anybody, he’d have never put in a lick of useful work in his life!”
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