The Garments of Caean Read online

  Minutes later the Callan, accompanied by its escort, moved off and headed deeper into the Arm of Tzist.

  The Ziodean ship was approaching Inxa, Verrage’s sparkling main city, when Captain Wilce again called Amara’s department. He sounded slightly embarrassed.

  ‘Captain Grieuard –’ he gestured to a bearded Caeanic standing behind him, just visible on the vidplate – ‘requests that the head of the sociology department joins us on the bridge.’

  ‘We have no sociology department,’ Amara answered adamantly.

  ‘It’s no good, Amara. He knows. He seems to know everything except your name.’

  ‘All right,’ she said, becoming sullen and downcast. ‘I’ll be along presently.’

  She cut the connection and spoke furiously to Estru. ‘This is intolerable. We should ram the cruiser and self-destruct.’

  ‘Don’t start thinking of suicide yet, Amara. Maybe we can still get back to Ziode.’

  ‘Hmph. I can just see these people ever letting us into the light of the day again.’ She folded her arms across her chest.

  ‘Well, let’s hang on to our scientific objectivity for a while,’ he said drily. ‘Would you like me to come with you?’

  Dumbly she nodded.

  Estru had been watching on the vidplate as the Callan glided over Inxa and put down near the centre of the city, which in contrast to the uniformly rectilinear style of Ziodean towns was built on the principle of curving terraces. Clearly the Caeanics displayed in their architecture some of the flair they put into costume. He was put in mind of an aerial whirlpool of frosted colour, a titanic amphitheatre, or a vast swirling orchid.

  It was tempting to compare it with some Ziodean city, such as Gridira, also a state capital. Although neither side would ever admit to any similarity in their political institutions, they both followed the system of maintaining several equivalent capital worlds, none having preeminence and each capable of exercising government. The difference was that Caean seemed to have no regular machinery for policy-making. Ziode saw this as a dangerous source of instability and indicative of a lack of self-control. Ziodean propaganda was always warning of ‘the mindless hordes of Caean’.

  Estru was surprised to see no sign of activity on the landing ground. He took his eyes from the screen as Amara coughed. She was ready to leave.

  On the bridge the four Caeanic officers who were keeping awkward company with Captain Wilce and the bridge crew turned and smiled charmingly at the entry of Amara and Estru. While they were being introduced Amara stared fascinated at their jet-black uniforms, which even to her untrained eye made those worn by Wilce and his men seem shabby and desultory. The Caeanics wore a type of galea, or helmet, which curved closely round the skull and flared outward at the front in a paradigm of the Mintov formula for space strains. The supple lines of tunic and leggings further suggested the relativistic curves and tensors of the void. The whole uniform was a paradigm of deep space. If she let herself gaze at it too long she seemed to be hurling through long black light years, deep into infinity.

  Captain Wilce’s voice brought her out of her trance. ‘Captain Grieuard wishes to assure us that his government has no hostile intentions towards us,’ he said stiffly, ‘and hopes we will consider them as hosts, rather than captors.’

  ‘We have no wish to molest you,’ Captain Grieuard added in heavily accented Ziodean, flashing Amara a dark grin.

  ‘But you have molested us,’ Amara replied indignantly. ‘You have waylaid us, destroyed one of our boats –’

  ‘With respect, madam, you were trespassing, ignoring all diplomatic procedures – and have been doing so for some time. Our actions are not unreasonable. But let us not begin on a basis of hostile feeling. If Captain Wilce and yourselves will be so good as to accompany us into Inxa, there are certain personages there who are earnestly desirous of meeting you.’

  ‘And while we are gone the Callon will be turned inside out,’ she retorted.

  Captain Grieuard waved away the idea with an elegantly dismissive hand, pursing his lips in amusement and shaking his head. Amara had to admit that he was disarming – and handsome, and vigorous, and winning. A dashing young officer …

  She arrested her train of thought. The space-clad Caeanic spoke again. ‘Take the view that you are making a diplomatic call, even a social call. Those are my instructions.’

  ‘And afterwards will we be permitted to return to Ziode?’ Amara asked coldly.

  Captain Grieuard shrugged.

  She took Captain Wilce to one side. ‘A tactfully put piece of coercion, Captain. Still, not quite what we had expected. Are you coming with us?’

  ‘In the present circumstances my duty is to stay with my ship. If they’ll agree to it I’ll send Second Officer Borg instead.’

  ‘All right. But what happens if they don’t let us back on board?’

  ‘Let’s be realistic, Amara. We always knew this might happen. We are entirely in their hands. Just see what pressure you can exert on whoever it is you’ll be seeing.’

  ‘Perhaps they won’t be eager to make too much of the incident, after all.’

  ‘Let’s hope so.’

  Grieuard affected uninterest when Wilce offered Borg in place of himself. ‘It is a matter of choice on your part, Captain, though my principals would certainly be displeased not to receive Madam Corl. Frankly I am more concerned that we should not keep our dignitaries waiting any longer than we must. Perhaps we could now debouch? …’ He made an elaborate gesture that was almost gallant in its insistence.

  A few minutes later Amara, for the first time in her life, breathed the air of a Caeanic planet.

  While they had been negotiating, a traction platform had quietly moved the Callan away from its point of touch-down. By the time the seven-strong party emerged from the main port it had been deposited amid a complex of graceful buildings, and nestled among them so neatly as to seem to be one of them.

  Amara took a deep breath, inhaling the warm scents of a summery afternoon.

  Before them, somewhat below the level of the platform extruded by the port, stretched a pleasant esplanade on which had gathered a small crowd. Her first impression was of a fancy dress ball, all dazzling colour and finery.

  Then she seemed to suffer a momentary paramnesia. The esplanade became a stage. On it, standing motionless and frozen, the figures in the crowd were no longer recognizably human, but were transformed into archetypal caricatures, primeval and menacing.

  The dream-like experience passed. To clear her brain she shook her head, telling herself that the paramnesia must have been brought on by stress.

  The crowd was waving and gesticulating. A cry went up. There was jeering, or cheering, she could not tell which. But Second Officer Borg had few doubts, and looked grim.

  ‘It looks as if we’re in for a rough time, madam,’ he murmured.

  Amara frowned with discomfiture, trying to assess the crowd’s costume for herself from her somewhat inadequate knowledge. The gathering’s adornment could fairly be called sumptuous even by Caeanic standards, she hazarded. Nearly all present were of high rank, or at any rate prestige.

  Captain Grieuard urged them down the ramp to meet two men of mature years who stepped from the crowd to meet them. The apparel of one of them was enormously self-assertive: a blazing-hued panoply, flounced, scalloped and bombasted, with flying lappets of lucent fabric so that to the observer’s fancy the wearer seemed to be throwing off fiery splashes of verve and energy; spurting feathery jets of panache. There was enough ostentation, enough magnificence, clearly to denote a man of leadership. And there was more than enough wildness to suggest that he was not bound by rules of convention.

  Keeping a step to the rear, the second of the two was of a different style. He wore a variant of the diask known as the grid, exemplifying rectitude and dependable rigidity. Amara peered closely at both faces, hoping to see the look of passive, stylized consciousness a Ziodean automatically expected of a Caeanic. For a fleeting in
stant she thought she discerned it; but confessed that the impression was probably due to imagination. Far from appearing robotic, the faces confronting her were disconcertingly natural and individualistic.

  Captain Grieuard made introductions: Abrazhne Caldersk, Director of Harmonic Relations; and – wearing the grid – Svete Trupp, his Foil (the title baffled Amara; she could not tell if Trupp were merely some kind of servant or private secretary, or himself an official of high rank).

  Warmly Caldersk shook hands all round. ‘This is a splendid occasion!’ he exclaimed in a vigorous voice, speaking his native Caeanic. ‘It is not every day that we receive distinguished visitors from Ziode!’

  Estru and Borg looked at him sourly. But Amara’s reaction was much more positive. She giggled, glancing again at Caldersk’s extraordinary features, and even the handsome space officer Captain Grieuard faded into nonexistence in her mind.

  Her male companions aboard the Callan had been a dour lot. Caldersk was going to be entertaining, she promised herself.

  Then she checked her thoughts, aware that she might be succumbing to some particularly seductive brand of Caeanic blandishment, and wondering if it might not even be naïve to read anything but sarcasm into Caldersk’s welcome.

  ‘I trust you treat your visitors with humanity, Director,’ she said stiffly.

  The other threw up his hands in shock. Then he laughed, loud uninhibited laughter. ‘Surely you do not fear for your safety? You know nothing of Caeanic hospitality if that is the case. Why, you are celebrities, dear lady. Celebrities!’

  ‘If I may say so, you credit us with little percipience,’ Abrazhne Caldersk said affably, about half an hour later. ‘It is practically impossible for a complete foreigner to live in Caean without being noticed, however well he knows the language.’

  ‘Even if he wears Caeanic clothes?’ Amara asked.

  ‘Especially if he wears Caeanic clothes!’ The Director seemed amused. ‘There is more to wearing apparel than merely pouring oneself into it!’ He paused, and raised a hand reflectively. ‘Suppose a foreigner in Ziode were to – well, to wear all his clothes back to front, to wear garments totally unsuited to his nature and the circumstances. That is some indication of the impact your agents made among us! We were aware of them from the beginning. From there it was easy to guess the location of your ship, to penetrate its bafflement and to track it from planet to planet.’

  Amara responded huffily: ‘Then why did you not arrest us all immediately? Why wait until now?’

  ‘For what reason? What harm were you doing? We are an open society, dear lady. Anyone may come and go as he pleases. No visas are required!’

  ‘But you have taken us into custody now,’ Second Officer Borg pointed out.

  The grid-wearing Trupp spoke. ‘We are concerned that you should not return to Ziode with misinformation about Caean,’ he said in a gentle but firm voice. ‘We are perturbed by the reports of increasing fear and hostility towards us in your country. We wish to correct any wrong impression you have gained; and since you are on a sociological mission this is an excellent opportunity to remedy misunderstandings that apparently are rampant in Ziode.’

  ‘Does that mean you will allow us to return home?’ Amara said in surprise.

  Caldersk clapped his hands, causing the flying lappets on his upper garment to make volatile, feathery leaps. ‘We have arrived!’ he announced with enthusiasm.

  Riding through Inxa’s concourses in an open carriage, the Ziodeans had been given the opportunity to see the sights of the city, the serried terraces, the hanging gardens and the throngs of people, many of them in fantastic garb, and to enjoy the invigorating, exotic atmosphere. Now they halted alongside an oval-shaped bowl or depression about the size of a stadium, set apart from the main avenues. Here a banquet had been prepared. A huge table was burdened with food. Footmen, stepping neatly in black, carapace-like suits, were busy completing the arrangements.

  And there were guests: perhaps a hundred in all. The brilliance of their costume was bewildering. It was like entering some novel zoological garden where evolution had run riot. The Ziodeans descended from the carriage and moved hesitantly into the stadium, feeling the strangeness of it all. Amara wondered how her dress seemed to their hosts – and then firmly shut her mind to the thought. She was a Ziodean, she told herself sternly. She did not have to worry about what foreigners thought.

  Shortly they found themselves seated at the long table, after being introduced to a score of guests, all flowered, flamed, bedizened and bedecked so as to resemble a tropical menagerie. Abrazhne Caldersk sat on the left of Amara, plying her with food and drink, while Estru and Second Officer Borg were ranged stiffly to her right, being entertained somewhat more formally by Svete Trupp. Amara, herself refusing to unbend, consumed as little as was politely possible. Like her companions, she felt herself to be Caean’s enemy and had expected to be dealt with as an enemy. It was unnerving to be fêted instead.

  ‘Will you have some syllabub?’ offered Caldersk, providing her with a dollop of aromatic jelly. She tasted it, and unfamiliar flavours melted in her mouth. Then she turned to him challengingly.

  ‘I wish you always maintained such a friendly attitude towards Ziodeans,’ she said in a suspicious tone.

  Caldersk chuckled. ‘That is exactly what I want to set straight between us – these ridiculous notions you have about us. You think we are “clothes robots”, having no individuality. You think we want to invade Ziode and enslave you all.’ He laughed. ‘It has its comic aspect, I must admit.’

  ‘Do you actually claim that you have no aggressive claim on Ziode?’ Amara snapped sharply.

  ‘Absolutely none!’ Caldersk’s laughter nearly punctured her eardrums. ‘Caean has neither the intention nor the desire to embark upon a career of conquest. It would be contrary to our way of life.’

  She reflected for a moment, taken aback. ‘Well, do you claim that you have never had such ambitions?’

  ‘Again, absolutely.’

  ‘Oh, I know better than that!’ Amara flared.

  Noting that she had rejected the syllabub, Caldersk reached across the table and drew close a succulent meat dish. ‘Try this.’

  Amara waved it away.

  He shrugged, raising his eyebrows with an air of deliberation. ‘Remember that we see the Art of Attire as being the essence of civilized life,’ he said. ‘It is true that, in the past, idealists among us have wished to spread Caean’s unquestionable superiority in this field to the rest of mankind. But their plans were of a missionary, rather than a military, nature, and took the form of loading up fleets of giant spaceships with sumptuous apparel with which to bombard the barbarian planets. Even this scheme was abandoned, owing to the hostility of other nations, chiefly Ziode – though for a fact many of the ships still lie in their hangars, fully laden. I expect it is stories of these efforts that have produced the fears prevalent among your people.’

  Amara became aware that by her side her assistant was listening intently. ‘So you do admit that you have expansionist leanings,’ Estru remarked drily.

  Trupp answered him from farther up the table. ‘That is so, but only in a cultural sense. The urge to propagate one’s cultural values is nowhere regarded as reprehensible.’

  ‘It is where those values are inimical to one’s own – which is our case.’

  Caldersk made a jovial, explosive gesture. ‘Come, come. We no longer think of swamping Ziodean culture beneath our own – until, that is, the superiority of Caeanic attire becomes evident to the Ziodeans themselves. I have just explained that the missionary zeal of an earlier generation has abated. You have nothing to fear from us – nothing but your own ignorance of our nature.’

  ‘So you say,’ Second Officer Borg put in. ‘But if I may put matters bluntly – how can we confirm this? The Ziodean Directorate will take a lot of convincing.’

  ‘Exactly!’ Caldersk agreed with satisfaction. ‘I am glad you asked that. We would ask you to confirm
for yourselves that our society is peaceful, our natures unaggressive. To demonstrate our good faith we give you liberty to travel about Caean at will, without let or hindrance, to carry out your sociological investigations.’

  Amara glanced wildly at Estru, unable to conceal her amazement. ‘You will let us take the Callan anywhere? Survey any planet? Talk to anyone – obtain information from universities, cultural scientists, military establishments? Without supervision?’

  ‘You may regard yourselves as free agents,’ Caldersk said, ‘though I must draw the line at giving you carte blanche with the military – that will have to depend on the local commanders.’

  ‘But that’s wonderful – that’s just what we need.’

  ‘There was never any need to go sneaking about the fringes,’ Caldersk told her. ‘All you needed to do was come and ask. We are a much more easy-going society than you are in Ziode.’

  ‘One thing needs to be said,’ Estru put in. ‘You are trying hard to represent yourselves as reasonable and harmless. If that’s the case how could our people be so wrong about you, even to the extent of preparing for war? Our people at home think of you as being far from harmless.’

  He was answered by Svete Trupp. ‘As sociologists, you must be aware of the theory of cultural repulsion. Disparate cultures repel one another, is that not how the theorem goes? In fact the bad relations between us are solely the result of mistrust and misconception. We are probably not as unalike as you have always imagined. You believe, for instance, that we have some kind of obsession with clothing. This is not true.’

  Amara raised her eyebrows and seemed about to laugh.

  ‘I am sure your coming researches will show you that you have exaggerated our preoccupation with costume,’ Caldersk took up, seeing her expression. ‘Very few Ziodeans have studied Caean, after all. What reference sources do you use?’

  ‘Matt-Helver’s Travels in the Tzist Arm is the standard text,’ Amara told him defensively.

  ‘Ah yes, Matt-Helver. Full of inaccuracies – a very amusing book! Yet in the end Matt-Helver settled here himself and came to know us better, I believe.’