The Rival Rigelians

Though he was not aware of the fact, Taller Second was a near duplicate of his grandfather, the Khan of all the People who had first greeted the Earthmen upon their original arrival in Tula. Taller Second was a large, very handsome man, born with the air of command, even in his youth, Now, in the uniform of a field officer, he strode through the portals of the hospital, the second largest of the new buildings springing up throughout the city. Even in his own memory, Tula had more than tripled in size. Its growth had not necessarily coincided with beautification. Primitive pyramids stood cheek to jowl with rearing distribution centers or office buildings. Community adobe structures, once inhabited by families belonging to the same clans, adjoined modern apartment buildings going up for the rapidly evolving New Class, the bureaucrats of the State.

Within the building, he looked about. It had been some time since he had been here. However, he remembered his way.

Though he was the son of Reif and high in the ranks of the Tulans, he was little known in the hospital and his passage drew small attention. He strode down one corridor, through a heavy door, down another corridor, to bring up finally before a guarded portal.

The guard wore a highly decorative tunic and kilts, the design of which was unfamiliar to Taller, and, somehow, in its finery, repugnant. The other came to attention, his carbine held athwart his chest.

He snapped briskly. “It is forbidden to enter the private chambers of the lady of Number One.”

Taller looked at the man. He said, finally, “Soldier, do you know who I am?”

The other looked straight ahead. “Yes, sir.”

“Are you sure, soldier?”

“Yes, sir. You are Taller Second, son of the Khan of all the People.”

Taller looked at him levelly. “Then, soldier, if I were to ignore you and pass through this door, what would you do?”

There was a pleading element in the other’s expression, even as he tried to stare straight ahead. The carbine slumped in his hands. He said, “Sir, it is by command of Number One that I am posted here.”

“I didn’t ask you that,” Taller said.

“No, sir.” The other was bewildered.

Taller breathed deeply. He said, “As it is, I am here by invitation, soldier. Go through whatever routine is standard to take me…to take me to the lady of Number One.”

In obvious relief, the guard retreated through the door in question, to return almost immediately.

He came to the salute. “Enter the quarters of the lady of Number One, Taller, son of the Khan.”

Taller grunted and passed the other.

Inside, he looked about, his eyebrows rising. He had never been here before, although he had heard rumors of the inner-most sanctum of Doctor Isobel Sanchez. Being only two generations away from a primitive background, he was poorly prepared to confront the ultra-modern furnishings, art work and atmosphere of Earth.

A serving girl scurried up, her eyes averted, an all but cringing quality in her approach. She was bare-footed, bare above the waist, and her physical qualities were undeniable, indeed; she had obviously been selected for them. She wore nothing save a mini-kilt.

“My lord,” she said. “The Doctor awaits you.” She began to turn to lead the way. Taller said, “A moment.” She hesitated and there was a fearful quality. He looked at her, at her bare bosom, which was superb. The Tulan people were not so far from their primitive past but that they still held to the simple modesty. Taller had never seen a woman’s nipples before. Taller said, “You are of the People?”

“Yes, lord.”

“Do not call me lord. Such is not a term of address to be used to a son of the People. My father is Khan, but the office is elective. Some day I may, in turn, be Khan, but only if the People so decide. We have no lords amongst the People, as you should know.”

The girl was apprehensive. Taller was not a man to be stood up to by a wisp of a girl. She said, her eyes down, “But, sir, it is the Doctor’s orders that I entitle all her guests lord.”

“Why do you go without proper garments?” The girl was miserable. “It is the orders of the Doctor.” He looked at her for a long moment, grimly. Finally, “Take me to her.”

Isobel Sanchez had been reclining on an Etruscan type lounge. Upon his entry, she came to one elbow and shrugged into a jacket which was, however, so diaphanous that it concealed her figure little better than the serving girl’s who bowed him in and then quickly bowed herself out.

Taller looked at Isobel Sanchez for a moment, then after the girl. His gray eyes came back to the Earthwoman.

He said, “Why is she so attired?”

Isobel tinkled a laugh. “Because I find it amusing. I call the dress Cretan Revival.”

“Cretan?”

“A very old people of First Earth. They developed one of the highest civilizations.”

“And became shameless?”