by Bryce Walton
when they hadn't wanted to laugh, but tohate. It had never been humorous. It had been a war between the sexes,and the women had finally won, destroying the men psychologically, therace physically. Somehow they had managed to go on with a culture oftheir own.
The war between the sexes had never really been a joke. It had beendeadly serious, right from the beginning of the militant feministmovements, long before the last big war. There had always been basicpsychological and physiological differences. But woman had refused toadmit this, and had tried to be the "equal" if not the better of men.For so long woman had made it strictly competitive, and in hersubconscious mind she had regarded men as wonderful creatures, capableof practically anything, and that woman could do nothing better than toemulate them in every possible way. There was no such thing as a woman'srole unless it had been the same as a man's. That had gone on a longtime. And it hadn't been a joke at all.
How ironic it was, there at the last! All of man's work through the ageshad been aimed at the stars. And the women had assumed the final phaseof conquest!
For a long time women had been revolting against the masculine symbols,the levers, pistons, bombs, torpedoes and hammers, all manifestations ofman's whole activity of overt, aggressive power.
The big H-bombs of the last great war had seemed to be man's finalsymbol, destructive. And after that, the spaceships, puncturing space,roaring outward, the ultimate masculine symbol of which men had dreamedfor so long, and which women had envied.
And then only the women could stand the acceleration. It was aphysiological fact. Nothing could change it. Nothing but what they haddone to Bowren.
All of man's evolutionary struggle, and the women had assumed theclimax, assumed all the past wrapped up in the end, usurped the effect,and thereby psychologically assuming also all the thousands of years ofcausation.
For being held down, being made neurotic by frustration and theimpossibility of being the "equal" of men, because they werefundamentally psychologically and physiologically different, women hadtaken to space with an age-old vengeance. Personal ego salvation.
But they hadn't stopped there. What had they done? What about the men? Aman for every woman, yet no men from Earth. That much Bowren knew.Native Martians? What?
He had been transported somewhere in a car of some kind. He didn'tbother to be interested. He couldn't get away. He was held fast. Herefused to open his eyes because he didn't want to see the men who heldhim, the men who had replaced him and every other man on Earth. The menwho were destroying the civilization of Earth.
The gimmicks whereby the women had rejected Earth and left it to witherand die in neglect and bitter, bitter wonderment.
He was tired, very tired. The movement of the car lulled him, and hedrifted into sleep.
He opened his eyes and slowly looked around. Pretty pastel ceiling. Abig room, beautiful and softly furnished, with a marked absence ofmetal, of shiny chrome, of harshness or brittle angles. It was somethingof an office, too, with a desk that was not at all business-like, butstill a desk. A warm glow suffused the room, and the air was pleasantlyscented with natural smelling perfumes.
A woman stood in the middle of the room studying him with detachedinterest. She was beautiful, but in a hard, mature, withdrawn way. Shewas dark, her eyes large, liquid black and dominating her rather smallsharply-sculptured face. Her mouth was large, deeply red. She had astrong mouth.
He looked at her a while. He felt only a deep, bitter resentment. Hefelt good though, physically. He had probably been given something, aninjection. He sat up. Then he got to his feet.
She kept on studying him. "A change of clothes, dry detergent, and hairremover for your face are in there, through that door," she said.
He said: "Right now I'd rather talk."
"But don't you want to take off that awful--beard?"
"The devil with it! Is that so important? It's natural isn't it for aman to have hair on his face? I like hair on my face."
She opened her mouth a little and stepped back a few steps.
"And anyway, what could be less important right now than the way Ilook?"
"I'm--I'm Gloria Munsel," she said hesitantly. "I'm President of theCity here. And what is your name, please?"
"Eddie Bowren. What are you going to do with me?"
She shrugged. "You act like a mad man. I'd almost forgotten what you menof Earth were like. I was pretty young then. Well, frankly, I don't knowwhat we're going to do with you. No precedent for the situation. No lawsconcerning it. It'll be up to the Council."
"It won't be pleasant for me," he said, "I can be safe in assumingthat."
She shrugged again and crossed her arms. He managed to control hisemotions somehow as he looked at the smooth lines of her body under thelong clinging gown. She was so damn beautiful! A high proud body in asmooth pink gown, dark hair streaming back and shiny and soft.
* * * * *
It was torture. It had been for a long time, for him, for all theothers. "Let me out of here!" he yelled harshly. "Put me in a room bymyself!"
She moved closer to him and looked into his face. The fragrance of herhair, the warmth of her reached out to him. Somehow, he never knew how,he managed to grin. He felt the sweat running down his dirty, bearded,battered face. His suit was torn and dirty. He could smell himself, thestale sweat, the filth. He could feel his hair, shaggy and long, downhis neck, over his ears.
Her lips were slightly parted, and wet, and she had a funny dark look inher eyes, he thought. She turned quickly as the door opened, and a mancame in. He was only slightly taller than Gloria and he nodded, smiledbrightly, bowed a little, moved forward. He carried a big bouquet offlowers and presented them to her.
She took the flowers, smiled, thanked him, and put them on the table.The man said. "So sorry, darling, to intrude. But I felt I had to seeyou for a few minutes. I left the children with John, and dashed rightup here. I thought we might have lunch together."
"You're so thoughtful, dear," she said.
The man turned a distasteful look upon Bowren. He said. "My dear, whatis _this_?"
"A man," she said, and then added. "From Earth."
"What? Good grief, you mean they've found a way--?"
"I don't know. You'd better go back home and tend the yard today, Dale.I'll tell you all about it when I come home this evening. All right?"
"Well I--oh, oh yes, of course, if you say so, darling."
"Thank you, dear." She kissed him and he bowed out.
She turned and walked back toward Bowren. "Tell me," she said. "How didyou get here alive?"
Why not tell her? He was helpless here. They'd find out anyway, as soonas they got back to Earth on the cargo run. And even if they didn't findout, that wouldn't matter either. They would be on guard from now on. Noman would do again what Bowren had done. The only chance would be tobuild secret spaceships of their own and every time one blasted, haveevery member of the crew go through what Bowren had. It couldn't last.Too much injury and shock.
As he talked he studied the office, and he thought of other things. Anoffice that was like a big beautiful living room. A thoroughly feminineoffice. Nor was it the type of office a woman would fix for a man. Itwas a woman's office. Everything, the whole culture here, was feminine.When he had finished she said, "Interesting. It must have been a veryunpleasant experience for you."
He grinned. "I suffered. But even though I've failed, it's worth all thesuffering, if you'll tell me--where did all the ah--men come from?"
She told him. It was, to say the least, startling, and then uponreflection, he realized how simple it all was. No aliens. No nativeMartians. A very simple and thoroughly logical solution, and in a way,typically feminine.
Hormone treatment and genetic manipulation, plus a thoroughreconditioning while the treatment was taking place.
_And the women had simply turned approximately half of their number intomen!_
She paused, then went on. "It was the only way we could see it, Mr.
Bowren. Earth was a man's world, and we could never have belonged in it,not the way we wanted to. Men wouldn't stand it anyway, down there,having us going into space, usurping their masculine role. Andanyway--you men of Earth had become so utterly unsatisfactory ascompanions, lovers, and husbands, that it was obvious nothing could everbe done about it. Not unless we set up our own culture, our owncivilization, our way."
"But meanwhile we die down there," Bowren said. "Logic is nice. But massmurder, and the death of a whole world civilization seems pretty coldfrom where I'm standing. It's pathological, but it's too late to thinkabout that. It's done now."
"But we're happy here," she said.
