Empire of Women & One of our Cities is Missing (Armchair Fiction Double Novels Book 25)

by Fletcher, John

  “Who are you? Quick!”

  “It’s only your little Elvir, Captain Gan. I was watching the priestess, and I followed her down here. When I saw what they were doing I started back to get you, but they heard me. I ducked in here and they didn’t even look for me. There’s a door behind us, but it’s locked.”

  Pushing the girl behind him, Gan fired once into the heavy door. The planks splintered and the thing hung half destroyed. Elvir gave a scream as flying splinters struck around them, but the pillars of the doorway protected them from the blast. Gan put his shoulder to the wreckage and shoved the door open. The hand-flash revealed rows of workbenches, a litter of apparatus long unused, dust and disorder. A dim light hung in the center of the chamber, a worn-out glow lamp such as the Phirans use everywhere, but its light was near useless. Gan realized that this had once been a lavishly fitted laboratory, but was now long abandoned. This was the kind of evidence he was looking for, as Celys had claimed there was little scientific activity among the Matriarch order.

  Racing feet behind them drove them forward into the aisles between the work benches, laden down with glassware, retorts, chemicals in jars, intricate experimental assemblies of tubes and fire-rods and glass containers, electrical wiring and other apparatus whose use and nature were wholly mysterious to Gan’s searching eyes.

  They crouched out of sight in the aisle between two rows of work benches, listening to the running feet pause at the doorway, then come forward hesitantly into the laboratory where they waited.

  Gan peered between the interstices of the apparatus, caught a glimpse of the warrior’s harness, that of an officer. Her face was flushed and angry, her pellet gun upraised, her eyes darting about the chamber. Gan could not bring himself to fire, but held his sights on her and waited, thinking how pitiful a culture it was: these lovely creatures trying to repress their own natures and take over all man’s duties and ways, with the result that they lived empty lives of envy and hate and a loveless ambition to surpass other women. It just wasn’t natural for women to be that way, but then, what man wanted to be a soldier either, at heart?

  Step by step she advanced into the room, the shattered door having told her the quarry was here. But her eyes and ears revealed nothing. At last Gan, wearied of the waiting, spoke angrily: “Drop the gun, woman, or I’ll have to kill you. I don’t want to, you know. I can’t get used to the idea of shooting women.”

  The Amazon whirled, eyes wild with startled fear at the sound of his heavy, dominating voice, and conflict appeared on her face—the desire to drop that gun as she was ordered, the wish not to appear a weak, fearful woman making her clasp the gun more firmly. Her fingers trembled on the heavy saw-grip.

  “Drop it, woman. I don’t want to hurt you. There’s a child with me; you can’t fire on me anyway.”

  At the word child the Amazon suddenly relaxed, and Gan realized that he had hit on the one spring that unlocked the Amazons’ frozen hearts—they loved children. The gun hand slowly dropped and the gun slipped to the floor.

  “Go and pick it up, Elvir, but don’t get between us,” ordered Gan in a whisper.

  Elvir scrambled from under the heavy bench, scuttled across the floor, grabbed up the gun and backed away. Gan stood upright, not ten feet from the Amazon.

  “I don’t know what you women are trying to do with all this stealing about and trying to kill. You know Phira has fallen, and you know the Tor won’t relax his hold on Alid for all your guerilla tactics. Why don’t you give up and go back to being women again? Women weren’t meant to rule, only to be loved.”

  HER HEAD reared back, her eyes blazed at him. She was very beautiful in her metal harness, gleamingly polished and jeweled breastplates and the plumes woven into her dark hair. She drew her graceful legs straight under her and assumed a proud carriage as she cried: “We’ll never give up while one Matriarch lives.”

  “It’s such a waste,” Gan growled. “Could you tell me one good reason for not giving it up?”

  “Our knowledge shall not fall into the hands of murderers and thieves…and…men! You should be able to understand that the secret is a sacred trust, given to us by the All-Mother.”

  “Bah!” Gan Alain curled a scornful lip at the officer-maid. “Hypocritical cant. As if you believed that the Matriarch’s keeping the secret of longevity from mankind was a good deed! It’s a filthy sample of selfishness in a minority placing its own interests above every other human’s health. Now admit it!”

  Her head tossed again, for just an instant of angered pride, then the truth of his words and his charge against the Matriarch sank home. Her head lowered in shame. Gan stood, letting her think it out, watching the flush on her cheeks creep higher.

  “It shows on your face,” Gan said. “Yet you have never admitted it to yourself before.”

  Her eyes on his became curiously alive with intense inner mental activity. It seemed she was trying to read his mind. At last she sighed, her eyes dropped from his and her head bowed lower. Her voice was muted and soft with deep new emotion.

  “Yes, Captain. I have often thought your view might be the correct one, but never allowed myself to admit our wrong. It is so easy to accept teachings one hears all one’s life. That is our creed—the dominance of women, the keeping of sciences to the priestesses, the dominance of the Matriarchy over the simpler people of our worlds. But I cannot honestly say that I do not see that our ways are not just or good.”

  Gan gave a short laugh of triumph. Here was what he had been looking for—one of the leaders who knew the truth, but did not approve of the Matriarchy. Gan moved closer. “Now you’re talking sense, and it’s the first time I’ve heard any from these addled females of the temple since I landed on Phira. Now, I’ll make you a proposition: reveal this so-sacred secret of life to me, and I’ll do my best to get you an adequate reward from the Regent of Konapar.”

  Her eyes saddened, and the idealistic light fled from her face. Her voice became harsh again, a voice used to command. “I am no traitor, Captain, even though I may not approve of our ways.”

  “Your oath, I suppose,” mused the Cap, aloud. “But have you ever heard of honor? The path of honor for you would seem to dictate that you try to right the ancient wrong these female monopolists have committed, rather than to uphold their crime.”

  “My name is Aphele, Captain. I have heard of you and know your reputation—all of it.” Her eyes twinkled for an instant as she asked: “Are you sure you are completely qualified to talk thus of honor?”

  Gan colored, then growled: “I have my code, and I live up to it. Do you? Have you the courage to throw aside your teachings and do the right thing by humanity?”

  Her head lifted again in pride. “I have more courage than you, who only pretend to be honest. Suppose I make you a proposition? I will undertake to guide you to a place where the secret you seek may be learned.”

  “Then there is a secret, and it can be learned, can be taught, it’s not some miracle of nature…” Gan was thinking aloud, his eyes measuring her, seeing trickery there, wondering how to out-smart her.

  “You are afraid,” her low, husky voice taunted him. “You fear I would lead you into a trap.”

  Gan laughed. “You have me in a trap already, Aphele. All you need do is raise your voice and your war-maidens will come running. Is that machine they were working to hide a part of this so-terrific secret?”

  Aphele shook her head. “You could kill me before they arrived, and I do not know that you would not. I’ll strike a bargain with you: I will not call out, you will go back to the upper levels. An hour from now I will meet you here alone, to take you on a journey of some days duration across the desert land where no man travels. There, in a place forbidden to all men, much can be revealed to you.”

  IT WAS A MAD proposition; that he should give himself into the keeping of this woman, his life dependent upon her word alone, to be led to what fate he could only imagine. Yet there was a daring challenge on her face, a stirring call t
o his blood. He knew she was offering him more than her words seemed to indicate. Just what, he could find out only by taking up the challenge. But he did not need to trust her wholly. There were ways unknown to her…

  Gan nodded suddenly, his eyes seeming to take fire from her glance: “I’ll take your offer, Amazon! I would not wish to place my life’s value above that of every human in the galaxy, would you?”

  With this parting shot, Gan turned and left, leading little Elvir by the hand. The woman strode after, whispering sharply. “Treachery means death, Captain. You talk of honor, so come in honesty and you will be dealt with honorably.”

  Gan nodded, did not turn his head. “In one hour I return alone, to see how you keep your word. I may be a fool, but never a coward.”

  Elvir walked beside him, sobbing little hushed sobs of defeat between clenched teeth. Gan turned and caught her up, holding her face level with his own. “Why the tears, little woman?”

  “You’ve made a date with a sorceress, and you’ll never get away from her. You’re not mine anymore.”

  Gan put her down, pausing as he realized the girl knew what was supposed to be a secret to himself alone. Then he laughed and put aside the thought. She would either keep silent or not. It made no difference to him.

  CHAPTER NINE

  IN HIS quarters, Gan found the Regent of Konapar, seated on Gan’s own chair, his fingers drumming impatiently upon the table. “Where have you been keeping yourself, Captain? Rendezvous with some captive Phiran priestess?”

  Gan, irked by his attitude, did not smile. “Exactly, your Highness. That is just where I have been. I’ve arranged a meeting, supposedly with one who will reveal the secret we seek. But I’m under oath not to reveal the matter to you.”

  The Regent scowled, puzzled. “But you’ve just broken that oath, haven’t you?”

  “No. I can’t break it until I return. The oath may look different then, you know. They may try to kill me or keep me captive—hard to say what can happen. But I intend to learn whether it is a trap or the genuine thing.”

  “I’ll have you followed. You’re a valuable man to me, Captain. I’ll not have this.”

  “Exactly why I brought the matter up at this time. My men will know where I am. There is no need for you to have me followed. You’ll have to trust me, Your Highness. It’s my neck I’m risking, you know.”

  The Regent looked thoughtful. “You have a point. If some blunder revealed you were followed by us, it could mean your death, right enough. Very well, Captain. Luck to you. But, to repeat a phrase I picked up from you—don’t do it, Captain! Don’t even think of it! I’ll have you spitted over a slow fire.”

  Gan laughed. “I’ll not keep it from you, Tor Branthak, though I may drive a hard bargain. I’ll sell it to you once I get it.”

  The Tor grimaced. “I’ll wager it will cost enough. But then, there’s always another means if you prove difficult.” His eyes lighted. “After all, we will have two chances. I came here on suspicion, meaning to have it out with you, hammer and tongs. I have just ordered the so-called Supreme Matriarch, that young-looking one, taken to the plateau. There, on my own ship, we can give her a thorough going over with instruments, with truth serum, with lie-detectors, injections of drugs—get the facts out of her.”

  Gan heaved himself to his feet. Unaccountably, the order for Celys’ arrest set his blood afire. Rage choked him. The idea of the noble Matriarch handled like a criminal, given dangerous injections, questioned interminably, put through an inquisition that could well ruin her health or worse, was one he could not accept without emotion. But with an effort he held his tongue until his wits cooled.

  The Regent noticed nothing, went on drumming with his fingers on the tabletop. “I’ve taken quite a fancy to that woman…what’s her name now…Celys, Pelys—something. Where the priestesses get their names I can’t fathom. They seem to have no family names. The temple is their only family tie. She should make a most ornamental addition to the gems in my harem, if she proves reasonable.”

  Gan’s breath nearly choked him with the hot fire in his lungs. He could not have foreseen this. The man had given no hint of his intentions toward the head Matriarch. Better to wait, bide his time. No good to speak of the thing now.

  Gan was having his first full realization of his own attachment to the sharp-tongued Matriarch. This thought struck him, and he relaxed. He nearly smiled as he perceived that there had not been enough between them to give him any confidence that the woman would not prefer the Regent’s harem to his own company. She thought of him as an unscrupulous adventurer. Gan stilled his anger, thrust some garments into a small duffel bag, slung it from his shoulder. Clips of pellets for his sidearms completed his preparations. He turned to the Regent and bowed slightly, his smile ironic.

  “I trust my departure will cause you no inconvenience, Your Highness. I expect to be gone but a short time, and I hope to find you well on my return. I have your best wishes for success?”

  The Regent studied him for a second, then nodded stiffly. “Formality becomes you, Captain. Don’t let the plagued women bamboozle you. Get the facts, and let them stuff their ideals and fine talk where it will do most good.”

  GAN TURNED on his heel and left. But he had no intention of leaving without making sure of something that was bothering him. He moved off toward the Mother’s shrine, where he knew Celys might conceal herself in the sanctum if she had heard of the order to arrest her. It could be that she had not been found as yet.

  His guess was correct. The Matriarch had been warned by her eavesdropping young acolytes of the order to take her to the plateau outside the city, and had slipped out of her usual regal green ritual robe and donned one of the simpler white gowns belonging to her acolyte, Eloi. Mingling with the chattering groups of adolescents, she was indiscernible to the searching eyes of the soldiery and had escaped recognition for several hours.

  But a few hours ago, when they had all filed into the dining hall, one of the guards had recognized her and given a cry of alarm. Celys had fled headlong, dodging through the familiar and intricate passages with the skill of a hunted fox. Darkness had come on, and she had slipped into the great sacred shrine where the dim light and the huge pillars, which supported the dome, gave her effective cover.

  The crew of Gan Alain were standing guard at their usual posts, while two-score of the Konaparian warriors scoured the halls and rooms of the temple with search beams in their hands.

  Gan paused for a moment beside Chan DuChaile’s post before the big arch of the shrine of Myrmi-Atla, and murmured a question. “Have they caught the white bird yet, Chan?”

  Chan glanced about, shook his head. Then he whispered: “If you’re figuring on something else for her, I can tell you where she is, but not for the likes of Tor Branthak.”

  “I was planning on taking her to the Mother. Do you know what that means?”

  Chan nodded, for he had discussed many things with the chattering young girls who were penned in the temple. “She’s slipping from pillar to pillar in her own sacred shrine while the Konapar heroes steal about with lights…”

  CHAPTER TEN

  CELYS crouched behind the great central pillar in the shrine of Myrmi-Atla, watching the swinging lights of the searching Konaparians and praying they would conclude she was not within the darkened shrine and pass on. She shrank back as one small beam swept toward her, then mysteriously blinked out. Feet whispered softly on the stone, and she nearly shrieked as a heavy hand clamped down on her face, shutting off her breath. In her ear a familiar voice whispered.

  “Will you be quiet, you beautiful fool? Or must I beat sense through your hide with a whip? I am your friend. Now, tell me, how do we get out of this place before some of the Regent’s men spot you?”

  The hand slowly released its powerful grasp and Celys shuddered as breath came back into her lungs. The beast was still trying to trick her with his honest blue eyes, with his heart-ensnaring curls and fearful brawny arms about her. T
here was nothing he would not stoop to! What was she to do? She who had thought men so simple and easy to fool before—and this one was not fooled in the least, whatever his game. If only he was what he seemed, an honest, strong man trying to do the right thing, rather than an amorous beast trying to undo her reason with his love-making in order to secure the ancient secret from her.

  Celys, in a sudden flash of hatred for all things masculine and alien, tugged out a little dagger from a hidden sheath. Her hand drew back, darted forward, and Gan’s hand caught her wrist just as the point touched his throat. A few drops of blood stained her wrist as she twisted, and the knife dropped with a sinister tinkling on the floor between them.

  Gan had half a mind to call out and bring the searchers down upon her, but he growled softly into her ear: “For a woman who is unable to resist my arms, you show small gratitude for my affection. I come to help you escape the Regent’s third-degree, and you try to knife me. Are you just a common murderess, and not the high-minded woman I thought?”

  Celys was sincerely thankful the blade had done no harm. The spasm of rage had passed, and she realized she was near the breaking point from strain, or she would never have done such a thing. Tears came to her eyes, and at the same time anger burned in her cheeks, trembled in her hands—anger at her own impotence against these males from another world. She wanted so very much to believe in this man beside her, yet she felt certain he was but a scoundrel who mimicked the ways of honor to betray her.

  Gan murmured: “Lead the way to the secret passages that lead from this temple. I have a way of contacting your forces—in fact, a guide is even now awaiting me in the subterranean passages.”

  Celys nodded her head in mute acquiescence, her eyes on his with something of final defeat in them. Gan knew that it was the defeat of an overweening feminine pride, which could not bear to think of any man as superior. Her voice was very weak, whispering into his ear.