“Yes. I—the captain, that is—wants to contact an outfit called Cavallo Machine-Tool. You know where they are?”
“Sure. Biggest firm on the south side. Fifteen Street; you can’t miss them. The captain—is she the lady who was with Pilot Breuer?”
“Yes.”
The youngster’s eyes widened. “You mean you were in space—alone—with a lady?”
Ross nodded and chewed.
“And she didn’t—uh—there wasn’t—well—any problem?”
“No,” said Ross. “You have much trouble with that kind of thing?”
The boy winced. “If I’ve asked once I’ve asked a hundred times for a transfer. Oh, those jet pilots! I used to work in a roadside truck stop. I know truckers are supposed to be rough and tough; maybe they are. But you can’t tell me that deep down a trucker isn’t a lady. When you teil them no, that’s that. But a pilot—it just eggs them on. Azor City today, Novj Grad tomorrow—what do they care?”
Ross was fascinated and baffled. It seemed to him that they should care and care plenty. Back where he came from, it was the woman who paid and he couldn’t imagine any cultural setup which could alter that biological fact.
He asked cautiously: “Have you ever been—in trouble?” The boy stiffened and looked disapproving. Then he said with a sigh: “I might as well tell you. It’s all over the station anyway; they call me ‘Bernie the Pullover.’ Yes. Twice. Pilots both times. I can’t seem to say no——” He took another long pull from the jug and a savage bite from a second sandwich.
“I’m sure,” Ross said numbly, “it wasn’t your fault.” “Try telling that to the judge,” Bernie the Pullover said bitterly. “The pilot speaks her piece, the medic puts the blood group tests hi evidence, the doctor and creche director depose that the child was born and is still living. Then the judge says, without even looking up, ‘Paternity judgment to the plaintiff, defendant ordered to pay one thousand credits annual support, let this be a warning to you, young man, next case.’ I shouldn’t have joined you and eaten your sandwiches, but the fact is I was hungry. I had to sell my meal voucher yesterday to meet my payment. Miss three payments and——” He jerked his thumb heavenward.
Ross thought and realized that the thumb must indicate the orbiting prison hulk “Minerva.” It was the man who paid here.
He demanded: “How did all this happen?” Bernie, having admitted his hunger, had stopped stalling and seized a third sandwich. “All what?” he asked indistinctly.
Ross thought hard and long. He realized first that he could probably never explain what he meant to Bernie, and second that if he did they’d probably both wind up aboard “Minerva” for conspiracy to advocate equality. He shifted his ground. “Of course everybody agrees on the natural superiority of women,” he said, “but people seem to differ from planet to planet as to the reasons. What do they say here on Azor?”
“Oh—nothing special or fancy. Just the common-sense, logical thing. They’re smaller, for one thing, and haven’t got the muscles of men, so they’re natural supervisors. They accumulate money as a matter of course because men die younger and women are the beneficiaries. Then,
women have a natural aptitude for all the interesting jobs. I saw a broadcast about that just the other night. The biggest specialist on the planet in vocational aptitude. I forget her name, but she proved it conclusively.”
He looked at the empty platter before them. “I’ve got to go now. Thanks for everything.”
“The pleasure was mine.” Ross watched his undernourished figure head for the station. He swore a little, and then buckled down to some hard thinking. Helena was his key to this world. He’d have to have a long skull-session or two with her; he couldn’t be constantly prompting her or there would be serious trouble. She would be the front and he would be the very inconspicuous brains of the outfit, trailing humbly behind. But was she capable of absorbing a brand-new, rather complicated concept? She seemed to be, he told himself uncomfortably, in love with him. That would help considerably. . . .
Helena and Pilot Breuer showed up, walking with a languor that suggested a large and pleasant meal disposed of. Helena’s first words disposed with shocking speed of Ross’s doubts that she was able 1o acquire a brand-new sociological concept. They were: “Ah, there you are, my dear. Did the boy bring you something or other to eat?”