After the exchange of gifts—the crossbow, a few knives, a couple of hammers and a saw for the baskets of produce and the jars of oil, beer and milk—the natives returned to their village. Grimes wondered if he and a party should accompany them, but Mayhew advised against it. "They wouldn't object, John; they're essentially too courteous. But the party's laid on for tonight, and they have to get things ready . . ."
"What party?" asked Grimes.
"Do you expect a gilt-edged invitation card?" Sonya asked him.
"I suppose not." He turned again to the telepath. "So there's to be a feast, is that it?"
"Yes. In our honor."
"Then the samples of the local foodstuffs will be useful. Major Dalzell, please have these gifts delivered to the Bio-Chemist, and tell him from me to go into a huddle with the Quack to find out if we can enjoy the wine and food of the country without serious consequences . . ."
"Yes, sir."
"And, Major . . ."
"Sir?"
"There is to be no, repeat no, fraternizing with the natives. I shall give the same order to Commander Williams regarding the spacemen and women of the ship's complement."
"Understood, sir."
Grimes could not help noticing the expressions on the faces of Dalzell's Marines. If looks could have killed, he would have had only another second to live. Titanov glowered even more ferociously than his mates.
"And what about tonight's . . . er . . . feast?" asked the Major.
"I'll let you know later," said Grimes. He heard one of the men mutter, "One o' those officers-only bun struggles, I suppose . . ." But it would not be, he had already decided. It would all too probably be the sort of affair at which any staid, respectable senior officer should be conspicuous by his absence.
Back aboard the ship Grimes called Williams, Mayhew and Clarisse into his quarters. He said, "We know where we are. We still don't know when."
"Wasn't there a Bronze Age?" asked Williams. "The sword that the chief or king or whatever he. is was carrying looked like bronze . . ."
"An Age is an Age is an Age," remarked Sonya. "In other words, it's not a mere two or three weeks."
Grimes grunted irritably. His wife was right, as she usually was. The Bronze Age, following the Stone Age, had lasted for quite a while. But when, roughly, had it started? He, Grimes, did not know, and he doubted very much if anybody in the ship knew. Faraway Quest's data banks were stuffed almost to bursting with information on just about everything but ancient Terran history.
"This period," said Sonya, "must be towards the beginning of the Bronze Age . . ."
"How do you make that out?" asked Williams.
"Metal artifacts are so scarce as to be the perquisites of the rulers. The local king has a bronze sword. The spears of his soldiers are tipped with stone."
"Could be," admitted Grimes. "Could be. On the other hand, this may be a backward, poverty-stricken little kingdom. Just as in our day and age not every world can afford the very latest in sophisticated weaponry."
"There are precious few planets that can't," she told him. "Guns before butter has been a working principle of Man for all the millennia that he has been Man. It was a working principle ages before that mad German dictator—Hitler, wasn't it?—coined the phrase."
"So we can assume," said the commodore, "that bronze artifacts are rare as well as being expensive."
"You can assume all you like, my dear, but that does seem to be the way of it."
"Mphm. 2,000 B.C.? 3,000? I read up on Greek history after I got involved in that Spartan Planet affair, but I'm afraid that not much of it stuck in my memory. In any case, I never could remember dates. This land, as I recall it, was settled by a variety of peoples, some coming by sea and some by land. Our friends in the village seem to be land nomads who have settled down in one spot, who are living in permanent wooden houses rather than tents. But they should have horses, and we haven't seen any . . ."
"Horses," said Sonya, "have been known to die. Perhaps some epidemic in the past wiped all their horses out, so they had to stay put and make the best of it."
"But they should have cattle," persisted Grimes.
"Not necessarily. They have sheep, and goats . . ."
"And figs," added Williams. "And some very small pears . . ."
"How do you know?"
"I looked in the baskets when the pongoes brought them aboard."
"I hope," said Sonya, "that you did no more than look."
"I was tempted," admitted the commander. "But I've no desire to come down with a case of the squitters. I hope that the local tucker is passed fit for human—our sort of human—consumption."
"Yes," said Grimes, "I do, too. We have this feast tonight. Have you any idea, Ken, what's being laid on for us?"
"It'll be a barbecue," answered the telepath. "Already they're slaughtering lambs and kids . . ."
"Sounds a bit of all right," commented Williams, licking his lips.
"I'm sorry, Billy," Grimes told him, "but you won't be among the guests."
"Have a heart, Skipper!"
"I'm sorry, and I mean it. But somebody has to watch the shop. I shall require a skeleton crew remaining on board—you, in command in my absence, and Hendriks, in case any show of force is required, and either the Chief or the Second Engineer . . . And such ratings as you consider necessary."
"Talking of the engineers—the Chief wants to have a grand overhaul of the inertial drive. He was telling me that it'll not be safe to lift off until he's satisfied himself that everything is as it should be."
"We'll see how things go tonight," said Grimes. "If I'm reasonably happy he can take things apart tomorrow. Meanwhile, arrange a meeting of all hands for 1600 hours."
Faraway Quest's people were in a restive mood when they assembled in the Main Lounge at 1600 hrs. This was understandable. Outside the ship there was an unspoiled world, bathed in sunshine. Inside the ship there were the same old drab surroundings, and the subtle scents of thyme and asphodel, mingled with the aroma of distant pines, drifting through the ventilation system, made their virtual imprisonment harder to endure.
However, Grimes, when he mounted his platform, had the attention of the meeting.
He opened proceedings briefly, then said, "You will all be pleased to learn that the samples of foodstuffs and liquor brought on board have been passed as fit for human consumption. It will be necessary, however, for all hands to receive a broad spectrum anti-biotic injection to ensure their continuing good health while on this world. This will also lessen the possibility of our transmitting any diseases to the natives, although after our long spell in Space we should be practically sterile." He smiled briefly. "In the surgical sense of the word, of course. Mphm.
"As many of you are already aware there will be a feast in the village tonight. I am given to understand that we shall be the honored guests. Save for a shipkeeping skeleton crew—the duty list will be posted by Commander Williams—we shall all attend. Rig of the day—of the evening, rather—will be Number Seven. Major Dalzell will see to it that his men wear the Marine equivalent. Side-arms will be worn only by officers of Lieutenant Commander's rank and up, although Marine other ranks will carry stun-clubs. Weapons, however, are not, repeat not; to be used unless in circumstances of extreme provocation.
"All hands attending the feast will behave in a gentlemanly . . ." he grinned . . . "or ladylike manner. Remember that we are ambassadors. Do not partake too freely of the local liquor—or, if you do, do not fail to counteract the effects with anti-drunk tablets that you will all be carrying. Do not molest the native women. And as for you, ladies, try to avoid too close contact with the native men.
"And do not forget that even though you are away from the ship you are still subject to discipline.
"That is all."
He heard somebody mutter, "With old Pickle Puss keeping an eye on us it's going to be a fine party. I don't bloody think!"