Mack Reynolds - Amazon Planet

There is something about a passenger freighter that is unchanging, down through the centuries. Be it a Phoenecian galley that sets bravely forth from Tyre with stops at Malta, Carthage, Tingis and Cadiz on the way to far Cornwall. Be it a motorship originating in Sydney and stopping off in Madras, Ceylon, Aden and Port Said on its way to Genoa. Or be it a spacecraft, burning off from Earth and orbiting in turn, Avalon, Kropotkin, Shangri-La and Amazonia as touching points en route to Phyrgia, mans furthest frontier in his reaching toward the center of his galaxy.

Unlike on a liner, the freighter passenger is an afterthought. The cargo is the thing, the occasional traveler a secondary matter and a method of realizing a bit more on the trip, but nothing special. His needs can be met when more pressing matters have been disposed of.

He comes hesitantly aboard, often carrying his own luggage. A harried steward, with a thousand duties before departure, hustles him to his drab quarters, mumbles something about the location of the mess, the hour of the first meal aboard, and is gone.

There is the sinking feel of dismay. Is this to be home for the following long weeks? Is it too late to change plans? Couldnt the budget be stretched to acquire more comfortable passage? Couldnt? But no, the die has been cast.

It is with a certain trepidation that he first sets foot into the dining-salon to meet his fellows and the officers of the craft that carries him. Guy Thomas, thirty-odd of years, medium of height, average of weight, less than handsome of face and with a vulnerable quality in his brown eyes, hesitated at the entry of the SS Schirras salon.

A lackluster steward, on the young side for a spaceman, Guy thought, was setting up. He shot the passenger a glance from the side of his eyes, grunted, and went on with his work.

Guy said, I didnt understand just when it was that He let the sentence dribble away.

The steward grunted.

Guy said, I suppose Im in the way. Is there any place I can locate some reading tapes, or He let that sentence fade too.

Youre supposed to bring your own entertainment things, the steward said. You think this is some molly passenger ship, huh?

Guy looked at him. Sorry, he said.

Maybe some of the officers got some stuff you can borrow. They got lots of time on their hands. Nothing to do but sit in front of all them dials a few hours a day. You dont see me with time to sit around reading. I shoulda gone in for deck candidate school.

Guy said, Is it too late? The other was a weasel-like type, in a month of Tuesdays the traveler couldnt have pictured him as an officer, a leader of men.

The steward finished with the table and stood erect. He scowled at the newcomer, possibly wondering if there was a crack intended in that last question.

I wouldnt want to be no molly officer, he sneered. Neither of them had noticed the newcomer who said now, from the door. A what kind of officer, Happy?

The stewards eyes darted, but relief came into them immediately. He said grudgingly, Yes, sir. I was just telling this here passenger, maybe he could get some reading tapes from some of you officers.

Happy, the other announced pleasantly, youre not only the laziest cloddy aboard but a lying funker in the bargain. The ships officer, two gold stripes on his sleeve, grinned at Guy Thomas. That reading tape thing applies only to deck officers. Engineers cant read.

He was cheerfully outgoing, about Guys own age though some forty pounds his senior and already tending to a bit of German goiter around the waist, a heaviness about the jowls.

Guy said, My names Thomas. Guy Thomas. Im one of the passengers.

The deck officer shook easily. That makes you fifty percent of the list then. Theres only one other. He hauled a heavy envelope from a pocket. I might as well get this over with. Sit down and well twist Happys arm until he brings us some coffee. Im the second on the Schirra and one of the duties they shuffle off on the second is the paper work involved in passengers. No purser on a kettle the size of the Schirra

He had plopped himself down at a table even as he spoke. My names Rex. Rex Ravelle. Im an easy going slob. Even cloddies like Happy, here, havent any respect for me. If all the officers were like old Rex, the shipd go to pot, eh Happy? Holy Jumping Zen, how about that coffee, fella?

Happy grunted sourness and left.

Rex Ravelle looked up from the papers he was drawing from the folder and looked after the little steward for a moment, shaking his head. What is it about the eternal yoke? he said.

Guy had taken a chair to one side of the ships officer. He said, Do you mean to tell me theres only two passengers aboard?

Thats right, Ravelle said. And I hate to be blunt, fella, but the other ones better looking than you are. He scanned one of the papers. Lets see. Her names Patricia OGara and shes going towell, wellAmazonia, huh. Doesnt look the type. Well, lets see. Whats your own destination? Have you taken care of whatever landing technicalities apply? Visas? Shots? What citizenship do you carry?

Guy said, Im going to Amazonia, too. Im from Earth. Citizen of United Planets. All papers in order.

But Rex Ravelle was staring at him. Amazonia! Are you drivel-happy? His eyes rapidly scanned the others ticket. Zen, you are!

Guy said, Whats the matter?

The matter ? No man ever sets down on Amazonia. He was goggling at the passenger as though dumbfounded.

Another officer, a one striper, entered the small salon. How about sorne coffee? he said. Wheres Happy?

He couldnt have been more than in his early twenties, and had a freshness about his open face that hinted he needed to shave but once or twice a week.

Ravelle said, Hey, Jerry, Citizen Thomas, here, guess where he thinks hes going? Amazonia.

Jerry looked from one of them to the other. Amazonia? The old man wouldnt let him land there; He wouldnt have the heart.

Guy said, in growing perplexity. What do you mean, I think Im going? Youve got my ticket. Its in order. You put in at Amazonia, dont you?

We orbit the planet, Ravelle told him earnestly. We dont set down. If theres any cargo being dropped, they send up lighters for it. No, sir, we dont set down on Amazonia and neither does any other spaceship.

Happy came in with the coffee, grumbling still, but passed it around to the three of them.

Jerry took a seat next to Rex and across from the passenger. Nobody lands on Amazonia. He dropped a pellet of sweetner in his beverage and stirred as though in agitation at the very idea.

There was an element of mild irritation in the voice of Guy Thomas. Look, he said. You just told me the other passenger was going there too.

But thats a girl, or at least a woman, the second officer said, as though that explained everything.

Guy looked from one of them to the other. What in the name of the Holy Ultimate are you talking about?

They leaned forward, ignoring their coffee in their earnestness. Both began to speak, but the senior officer took the conversation, overriding the one striper.

Listen, that planets a matriarchy. Women run the place.

Well, I know that, of course. Whats it got to do with me? Im a resident of Earth. A citizen of United Planets.

Sure, fella, but the moment you set foot on Amazonia you come under the jurisdiction of old Hippolyte and her government, or Myrine and hers, and then, fella, youve had it.

He pecked at the table top with his forefinger for emphasis. Under Articles One and Two of the United Planet Charter neither Earth, as the planet of your birth, nor even UP itself, can interfere with the internal affairs of Amazonia. And once you land of your own free will, youre under their jurisdiction.