He sighed relief. “I’m terrified of earthquakes,” he announced.
The balance of the room’s occupants were disposed here and there. Zorro and the chief customs inspector were cowering under the doorway through which Helen and her father had departed for the ladies’ room earlier, and to which Zorro had dragged the other. Jerry was under the inspector’s desk, evidently on the verge of hysteria, since he was laughing madly. The other two customs men were below the long table upon which sat the baggage, Helen beside them and childishly giggling at the fun.
They began to crawl, or stagger, to the room’s center again.
“I once lived in Japan,” Horsten explained to all. “Only thing to do in an earthquake. Get below the overhead of a door. When the roof caves in, you’re comparatively safe.”
“That’s the way we do it on Vacamundo,” Zorro Juarez confirmed.
The inspector, his face slightly dazed, said, “Thank you, thank you, Signore. I’ve… I’ve never been in an earthquake before. It’s the first one I’ve ever even heard of on Firenze.” He shook his head. “What’s the matter with Rudolf?”
Rudolf was the examiner who had been chosen by Helen to save her, in the excitement of the quake. There was a glazed something in his face.
Dorn Horsten stepped nearer and looked into the man’s eyes. He reached out and pulled down one of the other’s eyelids.
“Shock,” he announced.
The inspector looked at him. “Are you an M.D.? I thought your doctorate…”
Dom Horsten puffed out his cheeks. “I have eight doctorates, my good man. My M.D. was taken in Vienna when I was but a lad. This man should be put to bed at once and covered warmly. Give him a double shot of, uh, the best of guzzle, whatever it is alcoholic you drink on this planet. He’ll be all right tomorrow.”
A new voice from the doorway that Horsten had just abandoned said, “What in the name of the Holy Ultimate is going on?”
The inspector turned, came to rigid attention, as did his men—save for Rudolf.
“Yes, Your Eccellenza. The earthquake. Was the damage bad?”
The newcomer was a man in his early middle years. He was physically fit, keen of expression and wore his clothes as though he had never known a suit out of press, a shirt with the slightest wilt, in all his days.
He looked about the room, then at each of its occupants, in turn. He eventually got back to the chief inspector. “What are you talking about, Grossi?”
Inspector Grossi said, “The earthquake, Eccellenza.”
“Are you mad?” But then his expression altered infinitesimally. “You know, I did feel, as I approached this room, a slight shaking.”
Horsten said, mopping his brow again, “That’s the way it is. Some people go right through a quake and don’t even recognize it.”
The newcomer considered him, then turned and stared at the wooden faced Rudolf. “What wrong with him?”
Zorro Juarez spoke up smoothly. “He was terrified. I was watching him. He must have some sort of phobia about earthquakes. He froze with fear.”
“That seems hard to believe. Earthquakes are all but unknown on Firenze. The only acquaintance I, myself, have had with them is through reading.”
Zorro shrugged. “Scared to death,” he said. He shook his head. “You Florentines seem to frighten easily.”
A chill went through the room.
The inspector and one of his men spoke simultaneously. “I demand satisfaction!”
But the newcomer held up a hand. “Please, Signori. These visitors from overspace are our honored guests. Besides, you are all obviously upset. See that this man”—he stared again, unbelievingly, at Rudolf—“is taken care of.”
He turned to the travelers, and to Dorn Horsten in particular. “Undoubtedly, Signore, you are the celebrated Dr. Horsten. May I introduce myself?” He clicked his heels, bowed ever so slightly from the waist. “Maggiore Roberto Verona, of the staff of His Eccellenza, the Third Signore.”
Dr. Horsten was not to be outdone in the amenities, his own bow was even slighter than the other, albeit, if anything, more formal. “Pleasure, Maggiore. And may I present my daughter, Helen…”
Helen, her eyes bright, took the hem of her very short skirt in her hands and dropped a perfect curtsy, ignoring the sigh that indicated relief from her father.
The maggiore, obviously to the manor born, bowed again more deeply. “Signorina.” He smiled. “I am ravished.”
Customs Inspector Grossi cleared his throat at that.
Dorn Horsten was saying, “And these gentlemen are fellow passengers from the Half Moon. Citizens, uh, Zorro Juarez, from the planet, uh…”
“Vacamundo,” Zorro supplied.
“Yes, of course. And, uh, Gerald Rhodes from, uh, now don’t tell me,” Horsten dithered.
Jerry said, “If you’re from the tourist bureau, or whatever, what I want is some hotel, the best, of course, where…”
Chief Inspector Grossi, in horror, said, “Signore Rhodes His Eccellenza…”
But Roberto Verona was amused. “Citizen Rhodes, we shall do what we can. Am I to understand you have made no reservations for your stay on Firenze?”
“I never bother with reservations,” Jerry told him. “I always figure, let the other man make the reservations, then I cross the clerk’s palm with a bit of hard credit and—like magic—I’ve got the best suite in the house.”
The maggiore made an amused moue. “My dear Signore Rhodes, believe me, I have been overspace on a few occasions myself and hence am somewhat familiar with usage on other worlds. However, forgive me, I would not suggest you offer the mancia to a male citizen of Firenze. He would most certainly call you out.”
“Mancia? Call me out?” Jerry said blankly.
Zorro growled, “Evidently, try to tip a man here and he wants to duel you.”
The newcomer looked at Dr. Horsten. “You, of course, have reservations at the Albergo Palazzo. If I may say so, Doctor, Academician Udine is most excited at your arrival. It is not every day that a scientist of your attainments honors Firenze.”
“You are too kind.”
Zorro said, “The Palazzo. That’s the hotel I sent a subspace cable to for a room.”
The maggiore said politely, “Most interplanetary visitors at least begin their sojourn on Firenze at the Palazzo, Signore Juarez.”
Jerry said, “Well, I might as well check in there too. I hope they’ve got accommodations suitable to my standing.”
The other was frowning. “Unfortunately, Signore, there is a shortage. You see, His Zelenza and his Cabinet are due for a convention preceding the pseudo-election here in Firenze, beginning tomorrow.” He looked back at Dr. Horsten. “One of the reasons I met you was because the Third Signore suggested I see that you find some sort of quarters, no matter what.”
“The Third Signore?” Dorn Horsten frowned.
“There are nine Signori in the Cabinet of the First Signore, our executive head,” the maggiore explained smoothly.
“Ah, I see. And what portfolio does the Third Signore carry?”
“Anti-Subversion,” the maggiore said pleasantly.
Helen said, “I’m tired. I want my nap. Gertrude wants his nap. I’m awful tired.” She added, to clinch it, “I hate this dump.”
The maggiore looked at Inspector Grossi, who said, “The baggage of the outworlders has been inspected, Eccellenza.”
“Very well, Inspector.” Roberto Verona made a sweeping gesture with his right hand. “This way, Signorina, Signori…”
Helen took his hand and looked up at him. “Gee, you do that pretty.”
He smiled winningly down at her. “Do what, little Signorina?” They passed through the door into the corridor beyond.
“Make that sissy motion with your hand,” she said flatly.
His smile faded.
He said to Dr. Horsten, as the others fell in behind, “You know, an earthquake is quite unique here.”
“This must have been the
very center.” Horsten nodded. “It doesn’t seem to have affected the vicinity.”
“Ah, you need not have worried. This building is well constructed. It would have been really difficult for even an earthquake to shake it.”
“You’re telling me,” Horsten muttered.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said, it seems to be,” the scientist told him in agreement.
Outside the administration building a suitably impressive hover-limousine was pulled up at the curb.
Even as he bowed them into the chauffeur driven vehicle the maggiore was saying, ” I am sure that there will be ample room for all, since our destination is the same.”
“You’re sure you’re not from the tourist…” Jerry began again, even as he ducked his head to take the front seat next to the driver.
The maggiore had visibly flinched, and his smile had sagged, but Zorro covered.
“The major is a high government official, Jerry. He’s come to welcome the doctor. All we’re doing is hitching a ride.”
“Ha!” Jerry said. “Fascinating. If Mother could only hear that. Surprised the old girl didn’t send ahead. Some sort of boring reception committee. Interplanetary WCTU or SPCA, or DRR, or something. Mother belongs to everything.” He added absently, “Everything she doesn’t own.”
Dorn Horsten, if only to keep the conversation going, said, “I’ve heard of the Interplanetary WCTU and of the SPCA, but the DRR eludes me.”
“Daughters of the Russian Revolution,” Jerry said. “One of my great-great grandmothers was from Leningrad. Very conservative outfit. Bunch of old hens. Flag wavers. You know the type. Origins of the outfit lost way back in the mists of antiquity.”
“Revolution?” Maggiore Verona said, his voice slightly less suave. “Upon Firenze, we frown upon that term, Signore.”
Horsten said, in quick cover, “If my studies of boyhood serve me, Citizen Rhodes refers to a revolution that took place a long time ago, Maggiore. I have found that revolutions become acceptable in proportion to the time that has elapsed since their inception. Lucius Brutus and Collatinus were on the wild-eyed fanatic side when they overthrew the Tarquins, however, as the centuries passed, these founders of the Republic gained acceptability, and later comers, such as the first Caesars, were happy to be able to trace themselves back to the Julian and Claudian gentes which were instrumental in expelling the Etruscans. Later, in history, the better elements in the British American colonies fled to Canada or back to the motherland before the fury of the mob, which, fanned to a white heat by Sam Adams and Tom Paine, and led by malcontents such as Washington, dubbed themselves Sons of Liberty and stole, burned and destroyed the property of the Tories. But in a century or so the posterity of those mobs became the most conservative members of a now conservative nation and proudly claimed the descent.”
Jerry Rhodes yawned. Helen was rocking her doll in her arms and crooning something about three little girls in blue, tra la.
“Sons of Liberty?” the maggiore said. “It has been my experience that organizations with such titles are inclined to be subversive.” He hastened to add: “Of course, Firenze follows the democratic ethic, however, there is a limit to liberty. For instance, you wouldn’t allow someone to stand up in a crowded theater and shout Fire! in the name of freedom of speech.”
“Why not?” Jerry said innocently. “Certainly, freedom of speech is more important than a few theaters full of people. Besides, somebody else has the right to stand up and yell, He’s a liar, there is no fire!
Zorro shook his head at him unobtrusively.
The maggiore looked at Jerry in growing suspicion.
But Jerry Rhodes was happily underway.
“It reminds me of a historical period on Mother Earth I had studied when I was attending the university. All the major nations of the time were continually sounding off about liberty and freedom and democracy. They’d send off expeditionary forces of hundreds of thousands of men, all equipped with the latest military devices, to preserve the liberties of some people halfway around the world from them; people who often didn’t have the vaguest idea of what the word meant. Then a Negro—or a Jew or Hindu—would get up in the square of his town and try to sound off about local injustices. Sixteen cops would jump him and run him in, on the grounds that by his exercising these liberties he supposedly had, he was threatening to upset the peace. He might irritate some uneducated slobs, by saying something they didn’t like to hear.”
Jerry chuckled amusement. “It was a great situation. The powers that be were willing to kill off hundreds of thousands of gooks, abroad, to preserve their liberties such as freedom of speech, but they allowed that liberty in their own country just so long as people said what they liked to hear. You could write anything you wanted, but so far as getting into print in the mass media was concerned, it had a dim chance if you weren’t writing what they wanted to read. You could vote for anybody you wanted to, just so long as it was one of their candidates—election laws made it practically impossible for anybody else to get on the ballot You could demonstrate in the streets until…”
Dr. Horsten put in hurriedly, his voice rising above his young colleague’s, “Ah, Maggiore Verona, although this is not my first visit to your estimable world, I must confess a considerable ignorance of your institutions. I note that you use a certain amount of terminology foreign to Earth Basic.”
The Florentine had been staring at Jerry, but now he shook his head slightly and turned to the scientist. “You are probably referring, my dear Doctor, to an admitted bit of affectation. The first colonizing ships to land on Firenze, though immediately from the planet Avalon, originally came from the most elite section of Mother Earth—Italy.”
“Wops,” Helen muttered, rocking the doll vigorously.
The maggiore did a double take. ” What?” he said, his voice unbelieving.
Helen tossed Gertrude up high. “Whoops!” she said. “Whoops we go.”
The maggiore, his expression slightly shaken, looked back at the bland faced scientist. “At any rate, a few words of the mother tongue are still retained.”
“I see.” Horsten nodded.
The chauffeur said something over his shoulder and the maggiore announced, “Here we are, the Albergo Palazzo.” He opened his own door before the driver could get around to it, and helped the others from their places. Half a dozen hotel employees darted forward to assist.
On the way to the reception desk, the self-named assistant to the Third Signore was in apology.
“You have no idea, Signore Horsten, how short hotel accommodations are. Firenze—the capital city, you know, has the same name as the planet—is packed. But packed, Doctor. We are desolated, but we have had to reserve for you and Signorina Helen what was formerly a single room, on the ground floor, behind the main dining hall.”
“Oh, I’m sure we’ll manage,” the doctor murmured, somewhat taken aback.
“And you, Signore,” Roberto Verona said to Zorro. “This is most regrettable. The room of an assistant janitor, down in the basement, has been requisitioned as an emergency measure.”
Zorro Juarez winced. “Oh, great,” he growled.
Jerry said, “How about me?”
The Florentine rubbed his hand over his mouth. He said, finally, “Well… we’ll have to see, Signore Rhodes.”
Helen looked up at Jerry from the side of her eyes, and snorted amusement. She had her doll under one arm, her hatbox of toys held in her other hand.
At the reception desk, the Horstens and Zorro were taken care of quickly and with the ambiance of another era. The Section G operatives had already noticed, in mild surprise, the presence of bellhops. Evidently the carry-over of Latin temperament had led to various anachronisms so far as hotels were concerned on Firenze.
But then the morning-suited dignitary officiating as reservation clerk looked at Jerry Rhodes. “Yes, sir?” he said.
Maggiore Verona spoke up, an element of despair in his voice. “Ah, the Sign
ore Rhodes is an honored guest from the planet Catalina. If it is at all possible…” He let his sentence sink away, knowing full well the Palazzo was packed to the rafters.
But the clerk broke into a beam. He evidently had misinterpreted the government official’s concern about Jerry. He gushed, “But how fortunate, sir!”
Jerry said, his voice off-hand, “I’d like the largest suite you have available. Something in tune with my standing.”
Helen snickered.
The reception clerk gushed, “By the most fortunate of circumstances, Signore, we have just received a message from the First Signore’s secretary, informing us he will not attend the convention. Hence, his suite will be available.”
“Gurg,” the maggiore said.
“That should do it.” Jerry nodded.
“Oh no,” Helen muttered.
Jerry turned to Dr. Horsten, grinning hospitably. “I say, Doc. It occurs to me…” He turned back to the clerk. “How many rooms in this suite? Bedrooms?”
“Why, Signore, there are six, not including the master bedroom of the First Signore, when he is in residence. Six and six baths, and…”
Jerry turned again and spread his hands. “Fine. Doc, you and little Helen. Move in with me. You won’t bother me at all.” He hesitated slightly, but then turned on his hospitality once again. “You too, Juarez. That janitor’s room of yours wouldn’t be any too comfortable.”
Zorro hesitated, his dark face unhappy. “Well… thanks,” he said. “A janitor’s room isn’t exactly the place I’d like to take business contacts.”
Jerry waved a hand nonchalantly. “Then it’s all settled.” He turned to the maggiore. “See that they send up all the bags, eh, like a good chap.”
The assistant of the Third Signore flinched.
On the way up to the penthouse, where the suite of the First Signore was located, Helen kept her eyes on Jerry accusingly. She said, a nasty element in her voice, “I’m not even going to ask how you ever pulled that off. I know the answer.”
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