Amazon Planet up-5

by Mack Reynolds

  “All right,” Ronny said passively. “Under what conditions are men peers so that they’re competent to vote for their governmental officials?”

  Podner’s tone had long since taken on a superior, professorial tone. “My dear Guy, man has come up with but three schemes of representation down through the centuries. The first based on the family, kinship; the second based on geographical lines and property.”

  “And the third?”

  “Based on your work, your profession, where you hold down your job.”

  “There we’re peers, eh?”

  “Yes. If a man is knowledgeable at all, he’s knowledgeable when he talks shop. He may not know the duties of a senator as compared to those of a bishop, he may be tempted to vote for a president because the man projects well on a TriDi, or one with an excellent staff of speechwriters. He might be an absolute flat when it comes to politics—I suspect most people are—but on the job he’s knowledgeable, whether he works at digging ditches or in a laboratory.

  “Let’s picture an industry here on Amazonia. Say the hat-making industry. In one of the hat planets there is a gang of eight men who must vote for one of their number to be foreman. Since they work each day with each other, they are in the best position to know who among them is best suited to hold down the job. It is to their interest to elect the best man, since a good foreman can so coordinate their efforts as to make the job easier for all. Very well. The dozen or so foremen in that particular section of the plant work together each day on the problems involved in being a foreman. They elect from their number a section supervisor. The section supervisors of the plant, who also work together each day,select from their number a factory manager. All the factory managers of the hat industry of all Paphlagonia send representatives to an industry-wide conference of the clothing industry, which meets periodically, and in turn sends representatives to the central congress of the nation. There, of course, are the delegates from each field of endeavor, not only manufacturing, but from the professions and from the arts as well. At this congress is planned the production of the nation.”

  “Syndicalism,” Ronny muttered. “They messed around with the idea in the 19th century in Europe.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Podner said.

  Ronny coud begin to anticipate more of his puzzle pieces falling into position.

  He said, drawing the other out with argument. “Ummm. I see your idea. But look. That’s a pretty limited democracy. Your gang of unskilled laborers on the bottom can vote for their foreman, but that’s all. Suppose the overwhelming majority in the plant are opposed to the, say, manager? There’s no way of getting rid of him. Only the section supervisors have anything to say about him.”

  Podner nodded. “It’s an interesting question, and highly debated. In fact, over in Lybia, they’re trying another system. There, the foremen can only nominate a section supervisor, and he must be confirmed by a majority vote of all the men who are to work under him. In turn, the supervisors can only nominate from their number a manager of the factory, and all employees of the plant must vote to confirm him in office. And so up, all the way to the central congress.”

  Another piece had dropped into place. The puzzle was beginning to show final form. It wasn’t complete by any means, but it was shaping up.

  Ronny, still searching, said, as though half in sympathy, “Ummm. That sounds very fine. Another form of democracy, perhaps. But how does the Hippolyte come into this, and those heads of the pylons, and women’s domination of the planet?”

  “Oh, that’s not important. That’s civil government.”

  Ronny darted a sharp glance at him. “How do you mean…?”

  But suddenly the other’s mouth clamped shut. “I talk too much,” he muttered.

  Ronny said quickly, “I thought the Hippolyte was the supreme head of Paphlagonia. The chief of state.”

  “She is,” Podner said lowly.

  “Well, how does that fit in with the central congress bit?”

  “I’ve said enough,” Podner muttered, unhappily. “Where are we going, anyway?”

  “Here,” Ronny told him, swinging into the curb. “I suspect it’s one place nobody will be searching for me.”

  Podner Bates looked up at the building, showing no signs that he had ever seen it before.

  He said, “You realize, of course, that this amounts to kidnapping? I’m accompanying you under duress.”

  Ronny had to laugh, even as he left the hovercar. “You’re complaining? You should’ve been through what I have in the past twenty-four hours or so. Amazonia, ha!”

  He had the actor precede him to the entrance and then up the stairs.

  Ronny said, in half explanation, “I was here just a short time ago. I doubt if anyone would expect me to return. We can talk it out further, and there’s someone else here that might help out with a few matters.”

  The door of Patricia O’Gara’s apartment was ajar. Ronny scowled at that. Instead of activating the eye, he pushed his way through, saying over his shoulder, “Don’t try to buzz off. A beam in the leg doesn’t look good, fella.”

  Podner grunted.

  Ronny Bronston came to an abrupt halt, his right hand flicked to the gun in his belt. On the floor, partly obscured to his view, lay a girl. Over her, back turned, bent a figure, a gun in one hand.

  Ronny snapped, “Drop the shooter!”

  The figure stiffened, held the pose for a moment, then let the gun go. The head turned. The man came slowly erect.

  Ronny said, “Teucer!”

  The other looked at him warily, his hands held wide from his body, palms forward, showing he was taking no action.

  Ronny Bronston said, “Get over there by the window. Quick!”

  Teucer said, “She’s dying.”

  Minythyia, her face contorted in pain, opened her eyes and stared up at the Section G operative.

  Ronny said, even as he sank to his knees beside her, “What happened? This doesn’t make sense. This doesn’t fit in!”

  “It fits in,” Teucer growled from his position near the window. There was no belligerence in him.

  “Artimis!” Podner Bates ejaculated. “It’s the Hippolyte’s daughter! She’s been hurt. We’ve got to get help.”

  “Shut up!” Teucer said wearily.

  Minythyia looked up at Ronny Bronston. Pain racked her again. She whispered, “Cutey…kiss me the way they do in the Tri-Di shows from Earth…”

  His face agonized, he bent toward her.

  But she was dead.

  XII

  Ronny Bronston came up, Arctic cold. The gun was steady in his hand. He looked at Teucer.

  “Who killed her?”

  Teucer took a deep breath. “Evidently, you did.”

  “Make more sense, and fast. You’re right on the edge. On the very edge.”

  “Look at the shooter.”

  Ronny stared down at it. It was an H-Gun. It was his own H-Gun, last seen, dismantled, in his supposed tool kit.

  Teucer said, “Tuned to your coordinates, and controlled from the Octagon. Nobody else in the system can use it without blowing themselves up. Except possibly some other Section G agent, fully acquainted with the gismo.”

  Ronny looked at him for a long moment. “Who are you working under?” he said finally.

  “Supervisor Lee Chang Ghu. And you?”

  “Sid Jakes.”

  Teucer said, “I thought I made you, there at Heliopolis Street, but I didn’t have time for identification. What happened to you there? I thought you were following me.”

  “I got hung up. I didn’t have much of an idea of what was going on at that time.”

  “I could see you didn’t,” Teucer said.

  “Have you got your badge?”

  The slightly built man reached into his belt and brought forth a wallet. He flicked it open. There was a badge inside that gleamed silver when he touched it with his finger, and read simply, Matt Halloday, Section G, Bureau of Investigation.

&nbs
p; “Where’s yours?” Teucer said.

  “I didn’t dare bring it,” Ronny said. “We knew how thoroughly I’d be searched when they found it was a man wanting to land on Amazonia, rather than the girl the visa was issued to. My name’s Bronston.”

  “I’ve heard about the work you did on Phyrgia,” Matt Halloday nodded.

  Podner Bates had gone into the bedroom and returned now with a sheet which he draped over the dead girl. He looked at the others. “What are you two talking about?”

  They ignored him.

  Ronny said, “What’s this about me killing…my wife?”

  “Your wife!” the other Section G operative blurted, but then went on. “When I got here, on the off-chance I might find you with this Patricia O’Gara, Minythyia was like that. A few minutes to live. I’ve seen H-Gun wounds before…so have you. The gun was on the floor beside her. What happens when she’s found and the hippolytes’ people come in? You’ll get the credit.”

  “But why…!”

  Halloday looked around the small apartment. “I wish there was a drink around this place.”

  “I’ll go round up a bottle,” Podner Bates said.

  Ronny looked at him. “Like curd, you will. You stay here with us. We’re going to need some answers, and quickly.”

  The actor looked him in the eye. “I’m on your side, gentlemen. I was a friend of Minythyia’s. It was she who brought me into this game, this masquerade. I know neither of you killed her. I don’t know who possibly could have. There is no crime on Amazonia. This is unprecedented.”

  “No crime!” Ronny blurted his rage.

  Podner looked at him, shaking his head. “Unless you count crime deeds performed by mentally upset persons. We deal with such, of course, in our hospitals. We have no police, no criminal courts, no jails.” He added bitterly. “And no need of them save when we are invaded by strangers from over-space.”

  Ronny turned to Matt Halloday. “I’m surprised we didn’t know about each other’s presence here on Amazonia. What’s your assignment?”

  “To track down a defecter. A Section G operative who decided to leave the service.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “He didn’t bother to go through the usual process of submitting to memorywash, and to turn in such items as his Model H shooter, his badge and his communicator.”

  Ronny Bronston waited for more.

  Halloday said, “He’d been stationed on Palermo. He must have gotten together with some of the old Maffeo outfit, remnants of the administration we were instrumental in overthrowing.”

  “I worked on that,” Ronny nodded.

  “I know you did. At any rate, the boys evidently struck upon the biggest attempted romp in the history of crime. They weren’t interested in anything short of taking over a whole planet, an advanced one at that. Why, next to these stutes, Ghengis Khan, Tamerlane and Alexander were all cloddies.”

  He went on. “You see, somehow or other they’d hit upon the true nature of this planet, Amazonia. They must have decided it was a plum just waiting for the picking. A whole world…all but defenseless.”

  Ronny had some questions, then and there, but he didn’t interrupt.

  “The Maffeo gang couldn’t have swung it themselves, but with the aid of Damon Kane—”

  “Who?”

  “Our Section G turncoat. With his help they figured it all out. They had a small spacescout, hidden away from the days when they dominated Palermo. That enabled them to transfer their forces from Palermo to Amazonia. Later on, it was also used to bring Alfredo Verrocchio back from Earth, where you had met him.”

  “Alfredo Verrocchio?” Ronny scowled.

  “You knew him as Sarpedon. Supposedly a citizen of Amazonia. You and Zeke talked about him.”

  “Sarpedon! He disappeared.”

  The other Section G operative nodded. “That was all part of the plot they were building up against Amazonia’s government, in the eyes of the Bureau of Investigation. It looked as though the Amazonian Embassy to United Planets must have done away with him. Actually, he was simply picked up by their spacescout and brought back here again.”

  Ronny said slowly, “His fling had been that all males were being exploited here, and that United Planets should intervene.”

  Podner Bates laughed sourly at that.

  Halloday went on. “I’m not sure of details, of course. The part that interested me was getting Damon Kane before he could spill too much of the inside workings of Section G. I was far too late, of course. The very essence of their scheme involved such secrets.”

  “I still don’t quite get it,” Ronny said.

  “Damon and Alfredo Verrocchio and their gang were working on the old saying that there is as much wealth to be made in the collapse of a civilization as there is in the building. And they were working on Kane’s knowledge that when Section G comes upon a world that is supposedly being held back by some restrictive governmental, religious or socieconomic system, it takes secret steps to overthrow such a government. Once again, I don’t know all the details, but their basic plan was to organize their outfit which they dubbed the Sons of Liberty, and project it as a farflung, militant organization, capable and desirous of taking over the reins of government once the Hippolyte on Paphlagonia and the Myrine in Lybia had been overthrown. Actually, they really had only a handful of malcontents, romantics and crackpots.”

  Ronny said, “How many members are there in this supposed revolutionary movement?”

  “I don’t know. But I doubt if there’s more than a couple of thousand on both continents.”

  Podner said in puzzlement, “This is all new to me. I’ve never even heard of the Sons of Liberty.”

  Matt Halloday looked at him. “I doubt if many have. They wouldn’t even approach someone, unless they already knew he was a misfit who couldn’t have made the grade under any sane social system. But you would have heard of them, all right, if, through the workings of Section G, they had taken over all news media, the Tri-Di, vi-ziophone and all other methods of communication. How much of a fight could Hippolyte’s outfit have put up against such a coup?”

  The actor shook his head. “None. Practically none. I told you we haven’t any police—except, of course, traffic officials, that sort of thing.”

  Ronny said, “How many are there of this Maffeo gang which Damon Kane leads?”

  “I’ve met about five of them, I think. They try to blend in with the Amazonian Sons of Liberty, pretend to be Amazonians themselves, but you can tell the difference if you’re looking.”

  “Zeke’s one, eh?”

  “Of course.”

  Ronny said, “Something just cleared up. There was an attempt to kill me on the way to that Heliopolis Street hideout. They must have known I was coming. Possibly they have someone planted in the Hippolyte’s offices. They tried to kill me.”

  Matt Halloday scowled. “I don’t know if that makes sense.”

  “Oh, yes it does,” Ronny mused. “They also searched my room and broke my communicator so I couldn’t get in touch with Sid Jakes to make a report. They were afraid of me making a report. It might not completely bear out what Sarpedon had reported. I was better dead than alive. Damon could have told them that Section G looks after it’s own. Something like the old days when a criminal killed a cop. All police dropped everything, until the cop-killer was caught. That had to be the rule, if crooks were to be taught that they just couldn’t afford to kill policemen. Kill hold-up victims in the line of work, even kill bank presidents during a stick-up, but don’t kill a cop, or you’ve had it.

  “What do you think would have happened, if word had got back to the Bureau of Investigation that supervisor Ronald Bronston had been shot down on the streets of Themiscyra? Hippolyte’s government would have immediately been given credit, and, probably with precious little further investigation of the true situation, Section G would have landed on her like a ton of bricks. The present government would have been tossed into the waste
bin. Leaving who? Leaving our Damon and his gang. Once Section G pulls a romp, they fade out quickly, leaving the scene to the locals. They don’t want to be conspicuous. Some of the other restrictive governments of other worlds might smell a rat.”

  Podner looked down at the sheet covered girl. “But why Minythyia?” he wailed. “What possible reason did they have for killing her?”

  Ronny shook his head, as miserable as the actor. “She must have walked in on them when they were kidnapping Pat O’Gara. They killed two birds with one stone. They finished off the witness, and then, by leaving my Model H shooter, placed the blame on me. That in turn should have infuriated the Hippolyte against the Bureau of Investigation and made more likely some overt move on her part which would sooner or later bring the weight of the Bureau against her.”

  Halloday looked at him, thoughtfully. “Why snatch Miss O’Gara?”

  “She’s a citizen of Victoria. If something happens to her, on Amazonia, then Article Two of the UP Charter has been brought into effect…” He broke off and snapped suddenly, “Zen! What are we standing around and jabbering about here? They’re going to kill the girl. Nothing else makes sense. They’re getting desperate. Zeke tried to shoot me again, after I untied you. They must be afraid the fat’s in the fire, that I might be getting on to them, not to speak of you. Let’s get going!”

  “Going where?” Matt growled. “That Heliopolis address was the only one I knew. I wasn’t with them long enough to find out where Damon and Sarpedon make their central headquarters. Zeke suspected I wasn’t one of the usual Amazonian crackpots who joined the Sons of Liberty, no matter how I tried to act the part.”

  Ronny rapped, “He gave me another address. Come on. He’ll remember they did, and possibly they’ll evacuate the place.” He rammed his gun into his waistband.