"Sir?" replied the Marine at last.
"Come back here and get dressed. At once!"
"Sir."
Titanov managed to extricate himself from his female admirers. They let him go reluctantly. He walked slowly back towards the ship. He had lost his underpants, but did not seem to be at all embarrassed.
Chapter 16
"And what now?" Grimes asked Mayhew. He looked with pity towards the groaning Herak, still huddled on the grass, now in a foetal position. He said, "Perhaps I should send for the Doctor to do what he can for that poor bastard . . ."
"No, sir. I advise against it. I have an idea that the local wise woman or witch or whatever will be out soon from the village to take care of him . . ."
"And what's the king saying?"
"He's ordering his women to present the gifts to you."
"Oh. And what do I do?"
"Accept them graciously. Smile. Say something nice. You know."
"Mphm. I think that can be managed. And do I reciprocate?"
"Only to the king, sir. His name, I think, is Hektor . . ."
"And what would he like?"
"He's rather hoping, sir, that you'll present him with something fancy in the way of weapons . . ."
"Firearms are out of the question," snapped Grimes testily. He was feeling out of his depth. On a normal survey voyage there would have been a horde of specialists to advise him—experts in linguistics, sociology, zoology, botany, geology . . . The list was almost endless. Now he had not so much as a single ethologist. He was lucky to have two excellent telepaths; their talent helped him to surmount, after a fashion, the language barrier.
"Your dress sword . . ." suggested Sonya. "I never did like that anachronistic wedding-cake cutter."
"No."
"If I may make a suggestion, sir," said Dalzell, "my Artificer Sergeant has been amusing himself making some rather good arbalests—crossbows. He thought that such weapons could be useful if, at some time, we ran completely out of ammunition for our projectile rifles and pistols . . ."
"Thank you, Major. One of those should do very nicely . . ."
Dalzell spoke into his wrist-transceiver, then said to Grimes, "The arbalest will be down in a couple of seconds, sir."
"Good."
The king was approaching slowly, his gleaming sword once again held proudly aloft. Behind him marched the women with the jars and the baskets, the slaughtered lamb, balanced on their heads. They moved gracefully, their naked bodies swaying seductively as they walked. Some of them were blondes and some brunettes, and the skins of all of them were a lustrous, golden brown. Grimes—and the other men—watched them with undisguised admiration.
Sonya said sharply, "Beware the Greeks when they come bearing gifts!"
"Ha!" snorted Grimes. "Ha! Very funny."
"But rather apt, my dear."
The king stood to stiff attention, a little to one side of the line of advance of the gift-bearers. Slowly the leading woman, a statuesque blonde, approached Grimes. With both hands she lifted the jar from her head and then, falling to her knees with a fluid motion, deposited it on the grass at the commodore's feet. She got up, bowed, then turned and walked away.
"You didn't thank her," said Sonya. "But no doubt your mind was on other things, although not higher things . . ."
"I think that's oil in the jar," said Mayhew. "Olive oil."
Grimes was ready for the other women. As each of them made her presentation he smiled stiffly and murmured, "Thank you, thank you . . ." Some of the baskets, he saw, contained grain and others held berries. Probably, he thought, some of the jars would contain wine or beer. He began to wonder what it would be like . . .
"Sir, sir!" It was Dalzell's Artificer Sergeant. "The crossbow, sir."
"Oh, yes." Grimes took the. weapon in his right hand. It was heavy, but not overly so. He examined it curiously and with admiration. There was a stirrup at the head wide enough to take even a big foot. For cocking it there was not a small windlass, as was used in the first arbalests, but an ingeniously contrived folding lever. The construction was metal throughout. Modern in design and manufacture as it was, it would never be the superb rapid-fire weapon that the longbow became (was to become) but it was powerful, and deadly, and accurate . . . The king had approached Grimes, was standing over him. Eager anticipation was easy to read in his bearded face.
"Would you mind demonstrating, Sergeant?" asked the commodore, handing the crossbow back to the man.
"Certainly, sir." The sergeant lowered the stirrup to the ground, put his right foot into it, then heaved upwards with both hands grasping the cocking lever, grunting with the effort. There was a sharp click as the pawl engaged. He then took a steel quarrel from the pouch at his belt, inserted it into the groove. He raised the skeleton butt to his shoulder. He kept it there, but looked puzzled. "What's me target, sir?" he asked.
The king guessed the meaning of the words even if he did not know the language in which they were spoken. He smiled broadly, pointed to the unfortunate Herak. The defeated wrestler had managed to sit up, was being attended to by a filthy old hag in a tattered skin robe who was holding a crude, clay cup of some brew to his lips.
The sergeant would have been quite capable of using this target—but, "No," ordered Grimes firmly. "No."
"But I could shoot the mug outa her hands, sir . . ."
"You're not to try it. Use that!" That was a small, yellow-white boulder about two hundred meters distant.
"But it'll damage the quarrel, sir."
"That's too bad. Aim. Shoot!"
"Very good, sir," responded the man in a resigned voice.
The taut wire bowstring twanged musically. The short, metal shaft flashed in the sunlight as it sped towards the rock. It hit in a brief, sudden explosion of glittering dust. And when this cleared the boulder was seen to be split in two; sheer good chance had guided the projectile to a hidden fault line.
The king rumbled obvious approval. He thrust his sword into the ground, held out both his big hands for the new toy. He took hold of it lovingly and then, with almost no fumbling, succeeded in cocking it. The sergeant handed him a bolt. Grimes moved as unobtrusively as possible so that his body was between the native ruler and what probably would be his choice of targets.
But there was a herd of goats drifting slowly over the grassy plain towards the ship. The king grinned again, took careful aim on the big, black buck in the lead. He seemed to be having a little trouble understanding the principle of the sights with which the weapon was fitted, but at last pulled the trigger.
It was another lucky shot, catching the hapless animal squarely in the head, between the horns.
What have I done? Grimes asked himself guiltily. But surely the bow was already in existence, and the introduction of the arbalest into this world, even though it might be a few centuries too early, would make very little difference to the course of history.
"We have a satisfied customer, sir," said Dalzell smugly.
"Mphm," grunted Grimes.
Chapter 17
After the exchange of gifts—the crossbow, a few knives, a couple of hammers and a saw for the baskets of produce and the jars of oil, beer and milk—the natives returned to their village. Grimes wondered if he and a party should accompany them, but Mayhew advised against it. "They wouldn't object, John; they're essentially too courteous. But the party's laid on for tonight, and they have to get things ready . . ."
"What party?" asked Grimes.
"Do you expect a gilt-edged invitation card?" Sonya asked him.
"I suppose not." He turned again to the telepath. "So there's to be a feast, is that it?"
"Yes. In our honor."
"Then the samples of the local foodstuffs will be useful. Major Dalzell, please have these gifts delivered to the Bio-Chemist, and tell him from me to go into a huddle with the Quack to find out if we can enjoy the wine and food of the country without serious consequences . . ."
"Yes, sir."
"And, Major . . ."
"Sir?"
"There is to be no, repeat no, fraternizing with the natives. I shall give the same order to Commander Williams regarding the spacemen and women of the ship's complement."
"Understood, sir."
Grimes could not help noticing the expressions on the faces of Dalzell's Marines. If looks could have killed, he would have had only another second to live. Titanov glowered even more ferociously than his mates.
"And what about tonight's . . . er . . . feast?" asked the Major.
"I'll let you know later," said Grimes. He heard one of the men mutter, "One o' those officers-only bun struggles, I suppose . . ." But it would not be, he had already decided. It would all too probably be the sort of affair at which any staid, respectable senior officer should be conspicuous by his absence.
* * *
Back aboard the ship Grimes called Williams, Mayhew and Clarisse into his quarters. He said, "We know where we are. We still don't know when."
"Wasn't there a Bronze Age?" asked Williams. "The sword that the chief or king or whatever he. is was carrying looked like bronze . . ."
"An Age is an Age is an Age," remarked Sonya. "In other words, it's not a mere two or three weeks."
Grimes grunted irritably. His wife was right, as she usually was. The Bronze Age, following the Stone Age, had lasted for quite a while. But when, roughly, had it started? He, Grimes, did not know, and he doubted very much if anybody in the ship knew. Faraway Quest's data banks were stuffed almost to bursting with information on just about everything but ancient Terran history.
"This period," said Sonya, "must be towards the beginning of the Bronze Age . . ."
"How do you make that out?" asked Williams.
"Metal artifacts are so scarce as to be the perquisites of the rulers. The local king has a bronze sword. The spears of his soldiers are tipped with stone."
"Could be," admitted Grimes. "Could be. On the other hand, this may be a backward, poverty-stricken little kingdom. Just as in our day and age not every world can afford the very latest in sophisticated weaponry."
"There are precious few planets that can't," she told him. "Guns before butter has been a working principle of Man for all the millennia that he has been Man. It was a working principle ages before that mad German dictator—Hitler, wasn't it?—coined the phrase."
"So we can assume," said the commodore, "that bronze artifacts are rare as well as being expensive."
"You can assume all you like, my dear, but that does seem to be the way of it."
"Mphm. 2,000 B.C.? 3,000? I read up on Greek history after I got involved in that Spartan Planet affair, but I'm afraid that not much of it stuck in my memory. In any case, I never could remember dates. This land, as I recall it, was settled by a variety of peoples, some coming by sea and some by land. Our friends in the village seem to be land nomads who have settled down in one spot, who are living in permanent wooden houses rather than tents. But they should have horses, and we haven't seen any . . ."
"Horses," said Sonya, "have been known to die. Perhaps some epidemic in the past wiped all their horses out, so they had to stay put and make the best of it."
"But they should have cattle," persisted Grimes.
"Not necessarily. They have sheep, and goats . . ."
"And figs," added Williams. "And some very small pears . . ."
"How do you know?"
"I looked in the baskets when the pongoes brought them aboard."
"I hope," said Sonya, "that you did no more than look."
"I was tempted," admitted the commander. "But I've no desire to come down with a case of the squitters. I hope that the local tucker is passed fit for human—our sort of human—consumption."
"Yes," said Grimes, "I do, too. We have this feast tonight. Have you any idea, Ken, what's being laid on for us?"
"It'll be a barbecue," answered the telepath. "Already they're slaughtering lambs and kids . . ."
"Sounds a bit of all right," commented Williams, licking his lips.
"I'm sorry, Billy," Grimes told him, "but you won't be among the guests."
"Have a heart, Skipper!"
"I'm sorry, and I mean it. But somebody has to watch the shop. I shall require a skeleton crew remaining on board—you, in command in my absence, and Hendriks, in case any show of force is required, and either the Chief or the Second Engineer . . . And such ratings as you consider necessary."
"Talking of the engineers—the Chief wants to have a grand overhaul of the inertial drive. He was telling me that it'll not be safe to lift off until he's satisfied himself that everything is as it should be."
"We'll see how things go tonight," said Grimes. "If I'm reasonably happy he can take things apart tomorrow. Meanwhile, arrange a meeting of all hands for 1600 hours."
* * *
Faraway Quest's people were in a restive mood when they assembled in the Main Lounge at 1600 hrs. This was understandable. Outside the ship there was an unspoiled world, bathed in sunshine. Inside the ship there were the same old drab surroundings, and the subtle scents of thyme and asphodel, mingled with the aroma of distant pines, drifting through the ventilation system, made their virtual imprisonment harder to endure.
However, Grimes, when he mounted his platform, had the attention of the meeting.
He opened proceedings briefly, then said, "You will all be pleased to learn that the samples of foodstuffs and liquor brought on board have been passed as fit for human consumption. It will be necessary, however, for all hands to receive a broad spectrum anti-biotic injection to ensure their continuing good health while on this world. This will also lessen the possibility of our transmitting any diseases to the natives, although after our long spell in Space we should be practically sterile." He smiled briefly. "In the surgical sense of the word, of course. Mphm.
"As many of you are already aware there will be a feast in the village tonight. I am given to understand that we shall be the honored guests. Save for a shipkeeping skeleton crew—the duty list will be posted by Commander Williams—we shall all attend. Rig of the day—of the evening, rather—will be Number Seven. Major Dalzell will see to it that his men wear the Marine equivalent. Side-arms will be worn only by officers of Lieutenant Commander's rank and up, although Marine other ranks will carry stun-clubs. Weapons, however, are not, repeat not; to be used unless in circumstances of extreme provocation.
"All hands attending the feast will behave in a gentlemanly . . ." he grinned . . . "or ladylike manner. Remember that we are ambassadors. Do not partake too freely of the local liquor—or, if you do, do not fail to counteract the effects with anti-drunk tablets that you will all be carrying. Do not molest the native women. And as for you, ladies, try to avoid too close contact with the native men.
"And do not forget that even though you are away from the ship you are still subject to discipline.
"That is all."
He heard somebody mutter, "With old Pickle Puss keeping an eye on us it's going to be a fine party. I don't bloody think!"
Chapter 18
The sun was well down and the silvery sliver of the new moon, swimming in the afterglow, was about to lose itself behind the black peaks to the west'ard when the invitation to the feast was delivered. From the village marched a small procession—six men bearing aloft flaring, pine-knot torches, four drummers, two pipers. All of them were wrapped in cloaks of sheepskin against the evening chill. They paraded around the ship to the squealing of their pipes and the rattle of their drums.
Said Grimes sourly, "It could be a serenade . . ."
Mayhew told him, "I'm picking up their thoughts. It's a traditional melody, John. It could be called Come To The Party . . ."
"To be played on the typewriter?" asked Sonya. Then, "Now is the time for all good men to come to the party."
"And can we take our quick red foxes and lazy brown dogs with us?" wondered Grimes aloud. He got up out of his chair, reached for and put on his third-best uniform cap. He was wearing Num
ber Seven uniform—tunic and trousers of tough khaki drill over a thick black sweater, black knee boots. It was the standard wear for shore excursions in rough country in less than subtropical temperature. For an occasion such as this promised to be the cloth had the big advantage of being stain-resistant.
Before leaving his quarters he said to Williams, "I don't anticipate any trouble, Billy. But if there is, we'll yell for help on our personal transceivers."
"I'll be listening, Skipper. Have a good time."
The commodore led the way down to the after airlock, followed by Sonya, Mayhew and Clarisse. The others were assembling there—ship's officers and ratings, Dalzell and his Marines. They stood to one side to allow Grimes to be first down the ramp.
The Way Back Page 8
