Guy Thomas looked at the major.
She said, “You’re coming in incognito, obviously. There’ll be a hovercar out shortly.”
A hovercar. Guy Thomas had to bring himself up sharply. Why not? They had this modern space launch, didn’t they? Why shouldn’t they use hovercars? It was just that their uniforms simulated the armor of antiquity to such a point that he wouldn’t have really been surprised had they got about on the surface in chariots. But, of course, that was silly.
Shortly, they could make out the landcraft gliding toward them at a breakneck speed. It came to a halt, settled to the ground. There was no driver. He realized he was continuing to be a flat about his anticipations. Obviously, automation was no mystery to Amazonia. Why should it be?
But he stirred unhappily. The technical progress of this world certainly didn’t seem to jibe with its social institutions. He thought about it uncomfortably. Or did it? Was he so chauvinistic, as a male, that he identified an advanced economy with man’s domination of the sexes? Why should Amazonia be backward, just because women were in the saddle? He had no reason to so expect. But he still felt uncomfortably unhappy.
“Come along, Sweety,” Clete said. They left the launch’s pilot behind to take care of his craft. The four of them got into the hovercar, a large limousine affair, and the major immediately turned a knob. The windows went opaque. She fingered controls and the vehicle rose and got under way.
Guy said, “Can’t we even see out the windows?” The major said, “We don’t want anyone to spot you, even though you are in men’s clothes now.”
Lysippe said, as though unthinking, “Turn it over to polar.”
The major looked at her. Lysippe said, “Well, why not?”
“Shut up,” the major said.
Guy said, “You can switch the screen so we can look out but no one can look in?”
The major started to say something, shut her mouth sourly and turned the knob again. They were passing the administration buildings of the transportation complex and heading out onto what was obviously a major roadway. It was all as modern as anything Guy Thomas could remember having seen.
Nor, for that matter, were the streets of Themiscyra as different as all that from Greater Washington or any of the other larger Earthside cities such as New Copenhagen, Peking or Lagos. Largely, that was due to the fact that for the past half century Earth architecture had been going through an antiquity revival phase which involved exteriors, at least, looking like the buildings of ages past. To Guy’s taste, it was all on the far-out side, what with a Florentine palace standing cheek to jowl with a Babylonian temple, next in its turn to a Zuni adobe pueblo. A phase, undoubtedly, but the quicker it passed the better, so far as he was concerned.
Actually, he had to admit he preferred Themiscyra. Situated on both banks of a winding river, something like Nouvelle Paris, architecture was based on ancient Greek. Or, at least, a modernized ancient Greek, if that made sense. It occured to Guy Thomas that present day man knew precious little about Greek architecture save for a few temples and theatres that had come down through the ages. The Parthenon and Theseum in Athens and the even better preserved Greek temples in Magna Graecia of Southern Italy, and on Sicily. But what had the ancient Greeks themselves lived in? What sort of house did Pericles or Aristotle call home? He didn’t know, and he rather doubted than anyone else did.
Which hadn’t prevented the Amazonians from using their imagination. And their imagination was tasteful—give them that. The city was a planned dream. Wide boulevards, spacious parks and plazas. An unbelievable number of fountains, monuments and statuary. Marble and stone predominated as building materials, especially on the grand boulevards.
It was well into the night and the streets were comparatively free of pedestrains and of motor vehicles. However, Guy, staring in obvious fascination, could make out a few of the citizenry, in spite of the speed at which the major was hurrying them through to their destination. She was obviously pushing to get him under wraps, soonest. Well, considering the circumstances, that was understandable to Guy Thomas.
Those pedestrians he did see, set him back somewhat. He had gained the impression from the major, Clete, Minythyia and Lysippe that all Amazons, or nearly all, were warriors and hence probably garbed in much the same manner as were his guards. To the contrary, he spied no uniforms whatsoever on the streets, save what were probably some form of police involved with traffic. But what surprised him even more was that at the speed they were traveling, and due partially without doubt to the darkness, he couldn’t distinguish woman from man. There didn’t seem to be enough difference in dress to differentiate. Every pedestrian he saw in the half light could have been either man or woman, so far as clothing was concerned.
But then he brought himself up abruptly as a new thought occured. Possibly all of these citizens he was seeing were women. Was the institution of the gynaecum so strong that men, particularly married men, were not allowed on the streets at all? Or could it be that they simply were not allowed out after dark? Some of the things he had read about the Arabian harem, the Turkish seraglio, came back to him. Could a person really be forced to spend his adult lifetime in the confined quarters of a few rooms? What difference between that and prison?
He got the impression that the major was trying to direct them down back streets. But whether or not that was true and for whatever reason, they eventually pulled up before a two-story building of some magnitude which reminded Guy vaguely of the reconstructed Agora in Athens.
“Where are we?” he said.
The major was opening the hovercar’s hatch. “One of the bachelor sanctuaries,” she said.
He didn’t ask what that meant. For one thing, it seemed self-explanatory; for another, he realized he’d soon find out.
“Come along, Sweety,” Clete said.
They hurried him up a walk, through a rather elaborate garden which surrounded the building, and to a door. There were neither doorman nor guards. Somehow, he had expected a guard. Some burly wench, possibly, to keep off the predatory warriors bent on acquiring a husband or two.
Lysippe threw open the door and held it for them. Guy went on through, the major following.
The major looked back over her shoulder and said, “What in the name of the Goddess is the matter with you two?”
Lysippe was embarassed. “I’ve never been in one of these places.”
“Me either,” Clete said.
“It’d be like going into a beauty parlor,” Lysippe said. She squirmed her shoulders under her military cloak.
The major said in disgust. “All right, you two flats. Stay out here. I won’t be long. There’s nothing to be done tonight.” She slammed the door shut behind her. However, Guy Thomas got the impression that she wasn’t any too happy about this atmosphere herself.
He looked about him. The place wasn’t as offbeat as all that. It looked like an apartment hotel, minus much in the way of public rooms. Perhaps the public rooms, lounges, reading rooms, restaurant, card rooms and such were tucked away here and there in other parts of the building.
“Where’s my luggage?” he demanded. They had taken that down the first day, and he hadn’t seen it since.
“Already in your room,” the major said. “Where in the name of Artimis is that confounded cloddy?”
A figure came hurrying toward them.
A wrist fluttered. “Oh dear, I am so very sorry, my sweets. I didn’t truly, not truly, expect you for another half hour or so. Please forgive me, Major. And you, my dear boy, I’m sure you’re simply exhausted.”