The Soaring Statue
Science Fiction Quarterly – August 1956
(1956)*
L. Sprague de Camp

The statue was tremendous, and carved from one solid block of stone. None of the present tribes of Mars could have placed it there. Who, then?

-

	THE battle of Khye was decided by Semapova's charge. That young Tshimvian, scorning to obey his uncle's orders to slink in a wide detour to raid the Znaci baggage, led his tribe's light cavalry in a long uphill mass charge against the main array of the Znaci. The Znaci crossbowmen, standing four deep, piled their unarmored assailants in heaps, while the Znaci gunners, armed with weapons bought or stolen from the earthmen of Sveho, added to the confusion more by the noise of their weapons than by the accuracy of their fire.

	Semapova reached the Znaci line alone, to fall with a Znaci pike through him and several crossbow-bolts sticking in his feathery pelt. The surviving Tshimvi riders fled. Soon thereafter Horko, the Znaci chief, rode up on his vaciza and tossed Semapova's head into the ranks of the Tshimvi.

	The Tshimvi were at a disadvantage in trying to fight and move their entire tribe at the same time. Crafty old Zhewha (or more accurately Zhe3a, the numeral representing a whistle) had planned to hold off the Znaci by feints and raids until his noncombatants were safely through Khye Pass, but Semapova's folly ruined his plan.

	The arrival of frantic fugitives from the charge shook the Tshimvi. Then at the onset of the Znaci they dissolved into a disordered mass of soldiery afoot and mounted, non-combatants, and beasts of burden, all trying to jam through the pass at once. The Znaci plowed into them, smiting all regardless of age or sex. The sun (that is, 61 Cygni A) went down on a scene of sanguinary carnage: bodies, severed members, dead vacizas, weapons, battle-standards, trumpets, drums, and all the other paraphernalia of barbarian war lying in tangled heaps and soaked with bright-blue blood.

	With darkness, Zhewha slipped away with a few Tshimvi and spent the night rounding up survivors, though more than half of his nation had perished. Horko might have pressed the pursuit more closely had not another matter distracted his attention.

	The baggage-train of the Tshimvi included a litter slung between a pair of vacizas in tandem. This conveyance, like all the others, got jammed in the panic-push into the pass so that the vacizas could do nothing but claw and peck. Horko, blood masking the glitter of his gilded scale-armor, rode up and abated even this activity by striking off the head of the leading vaciza with the sickle-like reverse-curved sword of his people. The fact that he was merely destroying valuable property would not have deterred him in his battle-madness.

	As the vaciza collapsed, two smallish figures leaped out of the litter on the far side and tried to battle their way through the jam afoot. Horko recognized them as earthmen. One of his soldiers drove his mount around the litter to get at them, cutting down a female Tshimvi in his way. As the soldier got within reach of the earthmen, the larger of the two pulled out a small one-hand gun and shot the soldier.

	Meanwhile two other Znaci had pushed to within reach of the earth-men from other angles. He whirled and shot one of these, but before he could shift his attention again the other hewed off his gun-arm and then his head. The remaining warrior turned his attention to the other earthman, who seemed unarmed. Before he could strike, Horko shouted:

	"Give back! Take it alive!"

	He had to repeat the command before it penetrated the blood-maddened mind of the fighter. But Horko was known as a chief not to be trifled with, and at last the other earthman was seized unharmed. Horko dismounted and approached the creature, which like most of its kind was covered with artificial fabrics so that Horko could not perceive its sex. He wiped and sheathed his sword, gripped the fabric in his clawed hands, and ripped.

	"A female!" he said. He had never seen one of that sex so far from Sveho. He spoke to it in trade-pidgin:

	"Who you?"

	The earthman was leaking at the eyes in the curious way the things did under stress of emotion. When it ceased its snuffling noises it replied in the mixture of Anglo-Terran and several Kteremian languages by which earthmen communicated with natives of the planet:

	"Me female belong Chief Holm."

	"Chief belong Sveho?" said Horko, cocking his head with interest.

	"Yes. You hurt me, Chief Holm kill all Znaci."

	If Horko had known how, he might have smiled. This capture opened up a new, and very interesting, line of thought. He indicated the remains of the male earthman:

	"Who that?"

	"Ivan Dolgoruki. Trader."

	Horko told the warriors holding the surviving earthman: "Bring it along." He picked up the pistol and ammunition of the late I. Dolgoruki but paid no further attention to the corpse.

-

	AMAURY Brisson sat in the Northern Cross drowning his sorrows and pouring his troubles into the ears of a fellow-savant named Iflatun Faruq. Brisson was a man of slightly below average height and inclined to plumpness, with thinning light hair, a toothbrush mustache, and a pair of heavy-rimmed glasses that gave him the look of an indignant owl.

	"... so what the hell can I do?" said Brisson, almost upsetting his glass with the eloquence of his gestures. "For fourteen days—no, fifteen—this species of camel has kept me sitting on my behind in his sacred offices. Every day it is the same: 'So sorry, but administrative difficulties prevent ...' or 'So sorry, but Governor Horn is on vacation ... ' I have already missed one ship to earth, and it is probable that I shall miss another. What does he want? For me to die here, of old age?"

	"You have not heard of the curious habits of Ricardo Holm?" said Iflatun Faruq, a slender swarthy man with the look of the Fertile Crescent about him.

	"No. What to me are the eccentricities of some pig of a governor? I deliver myself therefrom. I am an archaeologist, me. I come, I dig, I go. I take my finds to my museum and write my reports. I mind my own business."

	"What detriment!" said Iflatun Faruq, sipping delicately. "I was warned before I left Baghdad, but fortunately Governor Holm's cupidity does not extend to small invertebrates."

	"The animal wishes to be bribed, hein? I might have known."

	"Yes, my friend, but not in the usual way."

	"What is it you wish to say?"

	"Ricardo Holm demands bribes of a particular sort before he will sign the exit-permit of any scientist. To be brief, he wants your collection—or a large part of it at least."

	"Hm." Amaury Brisson made a remark reflecting upon Governor Holm's love-life. "What is the object of this dirty pig? To sell these rarities that I and my colleagues have acquired with such pain and risk? That seems degraded even for a popularly-elected governor."

	"No. This governor is a man of ample means, which he has no need to supplement by such extortion. In most respects he is even considered honest."

	Brisson snorted. Iflatun Faruq continued:

	"Ricardo Holm is a fanatical collector of what he considers curios and objects of art. And since it is not practical for him to roam the galaxy picking up samples, he extorts their finds from archaeologists visiting Kterem. His house, I am told, is something of the fabulous."

	Brisson snorted again. "No doubt with relics strewn about on mantle-pieces and whatnots, with no record of their provenance."

	"Absolutely. He knows nothing of science, but knows what he considers pretty."

	"Well, he shan't have my pieces. I'll see the rascal in the fire first."

	"My poor Amaury! What will you do?"

	"I shall expose the type."

	"To What good? The kind of people one finds in such a place don't care. In fact they would admire him for thinking of such a smart trick. All one could do would be to stay over until the next election, enter politics, and try to displace this Holm."

	Brisson shuddered. "I deliver myself from politics! If there were only some sort of interplanetary government to whom one could appeal—"

	"True, but there is not. And so ..."

	Iflatun Faruq broke off and grasped Brisson's wrist.

	"There! Do you see what I see?"

	"What?"

	"That man! The one in green shorts."

	"What about him?"

	"Ricardo Holm!"

	"Oh, ah!" Brisson gulped the rest of his drink and looked. The man in question was a big heavy-set fellow with abundant gray hair. He plowed up to the bar, said something to the bartender, drank the resulting drink at a swallow, and swept the room with a bloodshot glance. Then he started out.

	Brisson muttered: "I'll see about that filthy beast or my name is not Jean-Pierre Amaury Jules-Cesar Michel Perigord Brisson!"

	"Hey!" cried Faruq, but without effect. Before he had finished reciting his own name, Brisson had leaped up, ignoring the crash of his glass to the floor and the fact that he had not paid for his drinks, to rush after the disappearing governor.

	Brisson arrived at the entrance to the Northern Cross just as Governor Holm was getting into his automobile. With a howl of "Assassin!" Brisson hurled himself into the vehicle beside the astonished governor and grasped the latter's lapels.

	"Now one has you!" yelled Brisson. "Species of dirty animal, you shall not escape the penalty of your crimes! There is no hope!"

	The chauffeur-bodyguard in the-front seat squirmed around and poked a pistol into Brisson's face.

	"Do I shoot?" said the bodyguard.

	Brisson, red-faced and breathing hard, released the governor's jacket.

	"Go ahead, shoot!" he said. "One more to your numberless atrocities, what difference?"

	"Would you mind telling me what this is all about?" inquired Holm.

	"You are the rascal who has been holding up my exit permit, so you can rob me of my archaeological finds! But you shall never succeed, if I have to spend ten thousand years here!"

	"Oh. And who are you?" ■

	Brisson identified himself.

	"I see," said the governor. "Of course I expect courtesy for courtesy ... But right now I've got other things on my mind. I can't worry about your exit permit, or your antiques either."

	"Ah?" Brisson became aware of the strained and stricken face of the governor. "May one ask?"

	Grief showed through the governor's self-possession. "They got my wife."

	"Who?"

	"The damned natives. She would run off—that is, ah—she went sightseeing in the Tshimvi country and got caught in a battle."

	"The battle of Khye Pass of which we have been hearing rumors?"

	"Yes."

	"But how it is frightful! Was she killed, my poor friend?" .

	"No. Horko's got her, but she wasn't hurt."

	"Ah!" said Brisson in a less sympathetic tone. "Sometimes I wish somebody would seize my wife like that. But since the Kteremians are bark-eaters exclusively except at the mating season, and as that is far distant, I don't think you need worry about the fate of the unhappy Mrs. Holm."

	Ricardo Holm looked at Brisson with compressed lips, then said: "There's a hell of a lot more to it than that. You know that country pretty well, don't you?"

	Brisson shrugged. "I've been over it, yes."

	"Do you know those chiefs, Horko and Zhewha?"

	"But yes! In fact I think that I am the only earthman who has ever gained the confidence of the Znaci."

	"Treacherous devils."

	"So would you be, if you'd been treated as they have."

	Holm made an impatient motion. "And you want your exit-permit without any strings attached, don't you?"

	"Of course. That is what I am pushing cries about."

	"Well, come on over to my place and maybe we can make a deal. Home, Lin."

-

	THE bodyguard drove furiously to the governor's mansion, clearing the way with his siren. Inside, Brisson whistled at the gleam of the many archaeological treasures, gold and jade and crystal, that Governor Holm had amassed, hung from the walls and otherwise disposed about. Holm said:

	"A pretty swell little collection, isn't it? Even if I say so myself."

	"I don't suppose you ever kept records of where and from what strata these finds were taken, did you?"

	"Wasn't interested. Maybe the guys who gave 'em to me know."

	"So, as a result of your unprincipled rapacity, the clues that make these objects of value to the interpretation of the past are scattered and lost for all time. It is the cow-heads like you—"

	"Look here, damn it, I didn't bring you here to lecture me! Anyway this planet's got enough ruined cities to stock every museum on earth. So let's get down to business."

	"Well? I attend."

	Holm lit a cigarette. "Do you—did you know a man named Ivan Dolgoruki?"

	"A trader, no? I encountered him once at Severak, but I shouldn't say I knew him."

	"Was, you mean. He was killed in the battle."

	"So?"

	"But my Euphemia was captured by Horko, who's holding her as hostage."

	"What does he want you to do?"

	"To recognize his claim to the ownership of the whole Sveho Purchase. He claims title to the tract on the ground that the sale to the earthmen by the Tshimvi was invalid because his people owned the land before the Tshimvi drove 'em out. Now that he's chased the Tshimvi clear out of the whole damned country, he claims the Znaci ownership of the Purchase is still valid."

	"Ah," said Brisson. "And does he expect all the earthmen in Sveho to pack up for home?"

	"No, he'll settle for a lease. But I can't admit anything but outright, legal, incontestable ownership, or some day in the future some windbag will persuade the natives to try to drive us off the whole damned planet. You know, the old foreign-devil gag."

	"Did the Znaci own the tract at one time?"

	"Depends on who you're talking to. They say yes; the Tshimvi say no, mostly, I think, just to spite the Znaci. As neither of 'em have any written records it's a tossup which is the bigger set of liars. The Znaci claim their ancestors built Ozymandias."

	Ozymandias was a huge statue on a sort of natural pedestal, a few miles outside the city of Sveho, well within the bounds of Sveho Purchase. Nobody knew who had carved it. The Kteremian tribes had various stories of its origin, but these were either obvious myths or were suspiciously designed to serve the interests of the tribes that told them, and in any case they were wildly contradictory. The name "Ozymandias" had been casually conferred by an earthman who, though evidently a person of some culture, could not be bothered with mastering the grunts and whistles of the Kteremian languages. Holm continued:

	"I sometimes wonder, how come these natives worked up to civilization so many times, but always went back to the way they are now? Maybe you know the answer?"

	"It seems to be the nature of the beast. They are intelligent but emotionally unstable, much subject to envy, feelings of inferiority, and destructive impulses. We have those qualities too, of course, but not to the same degree. That's why every time a tribe has raised itself to a standard above its neighbors, the latter have attacked it and pulled it back down. They cannot bear that another should surpass them, which also accounts for the rancorous feelings they often hold towards earth-men even when they have been well treated. It also explains why they have never been able to achieve a political unity—with a few exceptions like the Hrata Empire—larger than the tribe."

	"Just as good for us. If they all got together ... But to get back to our deal: The tribes aren't all in on this plan of Horko's by a long shot. They're afraid it'll lead to open war, they don't want their trade disrupted, and they're afraid of our fire-power. On the other hand they're afraid of the Znaci, since these are the strongest tribe. So they're calling a conference of chiefs at Gdoz to thrash the matter out. Now, I want you to go there and get Euphemia away from them."

	"What?" cried Brisson. "Am I a magician? How am I supposed to do that without an army?"

	"Oh, you'll figure out a way. Promise anything you like; shoot Horko in the back; I don't care, so long as you get results and don't start a general holy war against earthmen."

	"And why, my dear governor, should I undertake this mad scheme?"

	"Because until you get Euphemia back here I won't sign your exit permit. That's final."

	"Give me a day to think about it," said Brisson. Mentally he cursed the surplus of males in Sveho, which resulted in the fact that those who did have women would go to extraordinary lengths to keep them.

-

	NEXT morning Amaury Brisson and Iflatun Faruq chugged out on motor-scooters for a look at Ozymandias. The statue stood near the lower end of Sveho Valley, which was more or less congruent with the Sveho Purchase. The valley narrowed here: a flat alluvial plain through which the Sveho River wound its way, surrounded by steep black cliffs of intrusive basalt. The pedestal towered over the heads of the earth-men, the red of its sandstone contrasting with the black of the statue.

	Faruq said: "Now we have two madmen: Holm for proposiny this project and you for falling in with it."

	"Be of good heart, my friend. It is an intolerable delay on one hand, against a small display of courage on the other. Besides, I have an idea that may make the venture a little less desperate. This statue was evidently not carved where it now is. Does one know from whence it came originally?"

	Faruq pointed. "That recess in the hills is supposed to be the quarry from which it was taken, though nobody knows how these unknown builders hauled it up on to its pedestal. It would be quite a feat even with modern construction-machinery, and as far as is known the Kteremians have never mastered any such engineering technics."

	"Unless the Doznyi did it," said Brisson, frowning. He referred to the race of prehistoric demigods that lurked at the back of the Kteremian myths. "But that is also improbable, for the material evidence of their existence shows a cultural level no higher than that of the historical Kteremian peoples."

	They walked around the high narrow mesa on which stood the statue. On the far side they came upon a group of tame Kteremians eating a picnic lunch of bark. The two parties glanced at one another before turning back to their own affairs. Like most earthmen who had had to do directly with wild Kteremians, un-contaminated by earthly influence, Brisson had a poor opinion of the half-terra-fied product of trader and missionary influence, wearing pants over its feathery pelt and sedulously imitating the aliens' vices. Unlike most, he pitied rather than scorned these deracinated barbarians who had lost most of their own culture without mastering that of the earth-men.

	Brisson walked away from Ozymandias to snap a few photographs, then went back to the base of the pedestal, shed his burdens, and began to climb up the furrows that erosion had cut into the sandstone.

	"Take care that you do not break the head," said Faruq.

	"Don't worry, my old, I have climbed higher mountains than this."

	Despite his plumpness Brisson expertly wormed his way up to the base of the statue proper. Ozymandias was in the form of a figure seated on a throne, sitter and throne chiselled from the same huge block. At least it looked as much like that as anything, for time had so weathered and worn it away that no small details, such as facial features or inscriptions, remained. One could not even be sure that the sitter was one of the present species of semi-civilized Kteremians, though Brisson felt fairly sure that it at least did not represent an earthman. His head barely topped the sitter's feet.

	He took out a small petrographic analyzer and ran a series of quick tests on the rock: hardness, gonio-photometric, and so forth. He picked up a couple of small pieces of rock that had spilled off and lay around the base, climbed back down, and joined Faruq, who asked:

	"Have you made up your mind yet?"

	"I think so. Of course," Brisson made a deprecating gesture, "this isn't the science. This is the tactics of a lawyer: make the most of everything that supports your side, and suppress or distort everything to the contrary. Ah, well."

-

	AMAURY Brisson flew to the outpost of Severak, whose factor had a helicopter which he rented out on a drive-yourself basis. Brisson rented this machine on Holm's expense-account, and with one tame Kteremian helper to carry his food (as he could not live on bark like the natives) and flew to the small plateau overlooking the Valley of Plashce. This is the only practical landing-place near the ruins of Gdoz. Then he had an arduous three-day scramble over ledges and through swamps to reach the ruin itself.

	The chiefs' conference was already going. Armed guards pounced on Brisson as soon as he approached the city. As he was well-known among the tribes represented at this pow-wow, he was treated less roughly than a strange earthman would have been.

	The meeting was held in the ruined amphitheater of Gdoz. There was a commotion among the chiefs and their retainers as the guards led Brisson forward. Chief Horko, who had the floor at the moment, stopped his speech to stare, his great incisors showing pink. Behind the huddle of chiefs, on one of the stone benches that had seen enacted the great but forgotten dramatic compositions of the Hrata Empire, sat Euphemia Holm, a dark well-developed wench with the remnants of her clothes pinned together with thorns.

	Horko said: "What are you doing here, Biso?"

	Brisson replied in fluent Znaci: "Chief Holm heard that there was to be a conference of chiefs and sent me as his deputy. His feelings are much hurt that you did not invite him."

	The chiefs grunted and whistled at one another. This was motivation that they could understand. Brisson continued:

	"So, hearing that matters concerning him were to be discussed, he thought it beneath his honor that he should not be represented. Have you come to these matters yet?"

	"We were just beginning," said Horko. "If you wish me to repeat my preamble—"

	"Thank you, that will not be necessary," said Brisson, who knew something of Kteremian oratory. "Pray continue."

	"As I was saying, the blood of our ancestors cries out from the ground: give us back our land! Who are these arrogant creatures from other worlds, to claim a single foot of sacred Kteremian soil? Any sale to them is automatically invalid, and the punishment lately inflicted upon the Tshimvi was surely visited by the gods for their sin in alienating the Sveho Tract, which did not even belong to them—"

	"Excuse me," said Brisson, "but why did it not?"

	"Because under the immemorial customs of the Kteremian peoples, a tribe does not get firm title to a tract until it has occupied it in adverse possession for a hundred and ninety-six years!"

	Brisson recognized the square of fourteen, the base of the Kteremian number-system, as they had that total number of digits each—three on each birdlike foot and four on each hand.

	"But," continued Horko, "we, the Znaci, possessed the Sveho Tract up to two hundred and fifty-eight years ago, at which time we were ejected from it by the Tshimvi, as a result of an unjust and aggressive war."

	"You never did own the tract!" shouted one whom Brisson recognized as Zhewha, the Tshimvi chieftain. "Moreover the war to which you allude was forced upon us by the refusal of the Znaci to surrender the murderers of Yesil to justice—"

	"What kind of justice could an accused Znaci expect of the Tshimvi?" shrieked Horko. "Coward and liar—"

	All the chiefs yelled to sit down and shut up. At length, unable to make themselves heard over the din, the disputants did so. After mugs of native wine were passed to cool tempers all around, Horko was allowed to resume:

	"At any rate, the Tshimvi occupied this tract for only a hundred and twenty-three years, when the first earthmen arrived on Kterem with their vices and their insolence." Horko glanced at Brisson. "I do not mean you, Biso. You are not like an earthman; you are quite decent. But these creatures at once contrived the so-called Sveho Purchase. As they have been in possession only a hundred and seventy-five years, obviously neither Tshimvi nor earthmen have complied with the requirements for title."

	"I still say you l—you are misinformed," said Zhewha. "Even before we drove the treacherous rabble of your ancestors into cowardly flight, the Sveho Tract was included in our boundaries."

	"It was not. It was ours!"

	"It was so. It was ours!"

	"It was ours!"

	"It was ours!"

	"IT WAS OURS!"

	The yelling began again until the argument was quieted. Brisson interjected:

	"You are both making strong statements, but on what evidence? Neither of you could have been alive then."

	"True," said Zhewha, "but my great-grandfather was, and from him the story has come down through the generations. I can produce as many witnesses as you like to prove that such is the tradition."

	"We can do better than that," retorted Horko. "Not only do the Znaci have a tribal tradition giving the tract to us in former times, but we have left tangible proof of our occupancy in the form of the great black statue near the city of Sveho."

	"Oh!" said Brisson, who had been waiting for this. "Do you claim your people made Ozymandias?"

	"Certainly, though not under that ridiculous earthly name. That is a statue of Uyedna the Fourth, chief of the Znaci in the days of the Hrata Empire."

	Horko swept his glance around the ruins of the Hrata capital.

	"And so," said Brisson, "you are employing your alleged authorship of this monument to persuade the chiefs to back you in this matter, while simultaneously using your possession of the female of Chief Holm to induce him to accede to your claim. Is that correct?"

	"That is right."

	"Then, chiefs, may I say a word? Good. Most of you have, I suppose, seen this statue. Perhaps you noticed that it was carved of a single piece of a notably hard, dense, heavy rock. Perhaps it occurred to you to wonder how the makers succeeded in hauling it up an almost vertical slope, several times the height of a full-grown Kteremian, to the top of that spire or natural pedestal on which it stands."

	The assembled chiefs squatted silent and watchful.

	"Perhaps you even wondered how that pinnacle happened to grow in just the right size and shape to serve as a base for the statue," Brisson continued. "Perhaps my good friend Horko can explain these things. How did your people get the statue up there, Horko?"

	Horko's incisors clicked wordlessly. At last he said: "How should I know? I am no earthman."

	"Come, come! Did they equip it with wings so that it could soar to its present position?"

	"Do not mock me! I suppose they plaited ropes of grass or hide and stood on the top to haul it up."

	"Have you measured that top? I have, and I assure you that it would not accommodate one-hundredth the number of Kteremians needed to haul that weight into position. Well?"

	Horko muttered: "The Hrata kings had some powerful magicians. Maybe one of these put a spell on it."

	"Oh, now really! If the Hrata kings had possessed the powers your myths attribute to them, the Znaci and their allies could never have overthrown the Hrata Empire, now could they?"

	"Well, you insolent earthman, have you an explanation?"

	"Certainly. I examined the statue just before I came here, and I can give you a good idea of how it originated. It was built, not by the Znaci or any other present-day people, but by the Doznyi; and it was erected not a few hundred years ago, but hundreds of thousands or even millions of years ago."

	The audience gave a slight whistling gasp. Brisson, suppressing a grin, hurried on:

	"The quarry from which this statue was dug still exists in the hills flanking Sveho Valley. I went over the valley carefully, and found indications that back before Doznyi times it was not just a valley but a lake. The streams flowing into this lake laid down a deposit of sandstone. Then the outlet eroded its way down until the lake-water ran out, leaving this flat sandstone surface dry save for the Sveho River.

	"Then the Doznyi civilization rose. The Doznyi carved this statue of some king or god—we shall never know which—and hauled it across the level valley on sleds or rollers to its present site, then on a level with the rest of the valley floor. In later ages the valley rose and erosion came into play. The Sveho river cut down through the sandstone into the softer strata beneath, and the downpours of the rainy season washed away the topsoil—except where this statue stood. Protected by the monument, the sandstone under the statue remained in place while that all around was broken up and washed away. So now the statue stands on the pedestal it made for itself. If it were not of a fine-grained and extremely hard rock it would long since have disappeared too, and as things are it is badly worn.

	"Therefore, you see, this statue could never have been built by the Znaci, because they could not have raised it to its present height. And so I fear I must tell you that my friend Horko, no doubt from the most praiseworthy motives, is a liar and a fraud, who has tried to draw you into dangerous conflict with the earthmen in order to satisfy his inordinate ambition.

	"Now, since there is no reason for you to back his demand upon Sveho, his whole plan falls to the ground. There is therefore no further excuse for his holding this female earthman, thus straining the relations between our two peoples."

	As he spoke, Brisson walked calmly to where Euphemia Holm sat. He held out a hand to her, hauled her roughly to her feet, and started for the exit, saying:

	"Friend chiefs, this has been a most interesting session. Any time you wish some such puzzling question solved, drop in on me at Sveho for a consultation. Good-bye."

	He walked briskly, dragging Euphemia almost at a trot. Behind him, after a moment of stunned silence, a violent squabble broke out among the chiefs. A backward glance showed Brisson that a couple of them were holding the struggling Horko. The tame Kteremian joined the terrestrials. As soon as the shattered walls and pillars of Gdoz hid the conference, Brisson said:

	"Run!"

	"But—"

	"Run like anything! If we can get a good start, we might just beat them to my helicopter!"

	They ran, like anything.

* * *

	FIVE days later Ricardo Holm met Amaury Brisson and Euphemia Holm (more adequately clad) at the little airport outside Sveho. He pecked his wife's cheek, wrung Brisson's hand, and gave them a ride to the gubernatorial mansion. Again Brisson repressed a grimace at the sight of the scores of archaeological objects serving as mere decorations.

	The governor rummaged in his desk and came up with a bottle. "Here," he said, "is real honest-to-God earthly champagne. Practically priceless, and I've been saving it for some such occasion."

	He poured and they drank appreciatively while Brisson and Euphemia told of their experiences. Brisson noticed that Euphemia said very little about Ivan Dolgoruki, whose part in this affair remained curiously vague. Finally Brisson looked at his watch and said:

	"I must pick up my gear and get to the airport."

	"Are you leaving for earth?" asked Holm.

	"Yes; I am already far behind my schedule. So if you will please sign my exit permit ..."

	"Oh, what's your hurry? Stay over till the next ship."

	"I'm sorry, but the next ship doesn't leave for forty-three days, and I have professional business to attend to back on earth. Will you please sign, governor?"

	Holm looked at him through narrowed lids. "Now, wait a minute, pal. I said I wouldn't sign unless you got Euphemia back, but I didn't say I would sign when you did."

	"Oh, you fibber! You said as plainly as you are speaking now—" 

	"Whatever I said then, it's what I'm saying now that counts. I still expect courtesy for courtesy."

	"You mean you're still trying to rob me of my specimens?"

	"I wouldn't put it that way, but I do expect something for my consideration of your interests. Just let me pick half; you can keep the rest."

	"You—" Brisson choked. "You miserable brigand! You vile poltroon!"

	"Well?"

	"Before I do that, I will go back to Horko and tell him how his ancestors could have got that statue up on the pedestal!"

	"What?"

	"Certainly. They could have used a long inclined ramp and dug it away afterwards. I still think my first theory is the more probable, but Horko won't care about that. Ha, filthy wretch, you cower and pale, do you not?"

	"You wouldn't betray your own kind!" '

	"Wouldn't I? What have my own kind done for me on Kterem, except to try to rob me of the fruits of my scientific labors?"

	"Well, it won't happen anymore." Holm pressed a spring and a drawer of his desk flew open. He snatched out a pistol and pointed it at Brisson.

	"I'm sorry to kill you, little man," he said, "but you're too dangerous. I can't have anybody running around here with such subversive ideas."

	"You do not dare. They will hang you."

	"Hang me, the guy who makes up the jury-lists? Not likely. Anyway we don't care much for scientists here; always poking their noses into other folks' business and taking the side of the damned natives against their own kind."

	Ricardo Holm raised the gun. Before he could shoot, Euphemia, who was standing beside him, picked up an ithyphallic brass statue of Aletshim, the fertility-god of the Fshi, from the gubernatorial desk and brought it down on her spouse's head.

	Before Holm could even roll out of his chair to the floor, Brisson pounced upon him and snatched the gun from his limp hand.

	"He doesn't seem badly hurt," he said after a brief examination. "But what shall I do now, me?"

	"Your rocket leaves in a couple of hours, doesn't it?"

	"Yes. You mean I should go and catch it? But my exit permit?"

	"I'll forge Ricardo's signature."

	"That is wonderful. But why ...?"

	"Because you're taking me with you,"

	"What?" cried Brisson.

	"Certainly. You don't think I want to be around when this awful husband of mine comes to, do you? I can't stand the stinker even when he's in a good humor, and now ... Why do you suppose I eloped with Ivan Dolgoruki?"

	"Oh, ah." Brisson thought. So that was it! And such was the effect of the woman-shortage that Holm had been prepared to take her back with no more than a scolding. Brisson reflected. that his own wife would probably find out about this and make life hell for him when he got back, but she always made it hell for him anyway.

	"The native servants are all out for the afternoon," continued Euphemia, "so there's nobody on the grounds but Lin, and he can drive us to the port. Help me drag a trunk down from the attic so I can throw a few dresses into it."

	"I will do more than that." Brisson wrestled the governor's shirt off and tore it up to bind and gag him. "I will get a couple of trunks and fill one with these relics your spouse has so villainously extorted from my poor colleagues. Perhaps I can return some of them to their rightful owners. And then I should like to see this species of assassin get them back!"

	Euphemia Holm straightened up from the task of rolling the bound and unconscious governor into a closet. "You are a funny fellow! Dolgoruki wasn't very bright, but at least at a time like this he wasn't thinking about archeological relics! Oh, well, I suppose that's science for you. The attic is this way."

The End