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So they put us through customs without any fuss and a lot of laughs at my expense. They spoke Euro on
Ceres and mine was sort of rusty. I pulled the most ridiculous boners, getting the French, German, and
Italian all mixed up. They enjoyed it and coaxed me to go on talking, but when the Herr Douane Capo
actually patted my cheek in delight I felt it had gone far enough. I shut up and simply kept repeating, El
Greco, bitte.
I figured that ought to mean Poulos to them, but they were disconcerted. They shook their heads. I said,
Poulos, bitte, and more head-shakes. El Greco, Poulos Poulos, capo von E. Gay Farben. One bright
boy suddenly exclaimed, Ah! Oui! Greco. Capisco, capisco, and put us into a little shuttle shaped like
half a melon, punched buttons on the control panel, stood back, and waved as we slid off. All the rest
were waving and laughing. It reminded me of happy Rome before Mussolini-F.
We slid along transparent tunnels from building to building but never saw the interiors because we
passed through the lower mezzanine floors. We did see the sun set, though, and that was rather startling.
It was a brilliant white golf ball that dropped swiftly below the horizon and there was instant night and a
blaze of stars. An enormous double star on our left was the Earth-moon enclave. Mars showed a distinct
disk. Jupiter, on our right, was an orange smudge with the major moons showing as pinpoint sparkles.
Quite a sight. Natoma was oohing and ahing. Nothing like this on the Erie reservation.
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The shuttle stopped in a mezzanine and we were handed out by an efficient young tech who pointed to a
broad stair leading up. No need for elevators on Ceres, where gravity is so slight that you practically
float. So we floated and bounced up the stairs, on our way to see the powerful Poulos Poulos and found
ourselves on the main floor of the Greco department store. So much for bright boys.
I was all for leaving in disgust but Natoma took a quick survey and ran wild. Since it was such a joy to
indulge her, I tailed along, grumbling now and then to make her feel guilty. It doubles the pleasure of
buying when you feel a little guilty about it.
I m not going to itemize everything Natoma bought. Let it go at this: luminous body paints, singing scents
and cosmetics, disposables by the dozen, tech work clothes for men, Be v. chic for womens next year,
Glig, body stockings transistorized to change color, Old fashion come back, Glig, gifts for the family,
language textbooks Spang, Euro, Afro, and XX self-taught. And enough luggage to hold it all.
She paid no attention to the dazzling display of synthetic jewels. It was then I learned that what I d
thought were cockamamy turquoise stones set in her headband and bracelets were really raw emeralds. I
presented my passport to pay but when I saw the total I was amazed at how small it was. They told me
that Ceres was a free port and begged me to keep quiet about it; they didn t want a tourist invasion.
I promised, but in return asked to speak to the Chef du Magasin. She was a large lady, most
cooperative and understanding when I explained my difficulty. She told me that Poulos was not known
by name on Ceres; only as Der Directeur, the one title I hadn t used. She escorted us down to the
mezzanine, put us and our luggage into a shuttle, and punched buttons for us. Auguri, she called as we
slid off. Tante danke, I called back and she burst out laughing. Evidently I d goofed the Euro again.
Later I remembered that I should have said, Grazie sehr.
It was a curious scene in the office of the Directeur. For a moment I thought I d been there before. Then
I realized I was remembering an atrium I d seen reconstructed in Pompeii. Square marble pool center,
marble columns around it with marble galleries behind, the walls done in Etruscan red. I explained
haltingly to the receptionist on duty who we were and what I wanted. She tilted her head back and
repeated the message in a clear, sharp E-flat. A door opened and a typically hostile Frog came out,
looked me up and down, and snapped, Oui?
At this moment my excited Natoma could no longer resist the null-G. She plunged into the pool and
more or less skimmed on the surface with incredible grace. She came to the edge and pulled herself up,
streaming water and smiling like an enchanting Nereid. The Frog wilted and murmured, Ah. Oui. Entre,
per favore. Then he shifted to XX. What tongue do you prefer? Don t ask me how he knew that I
preferred Early English.
The inner office was like the reception room but without the pool. I am Boulogne, assistant to the
Director, the Frog said. He threw his head back and spoke in a clear C-major. A towel for Madam
Curzon, please. He smiled at us. We are required to speak all tongues in this office. Tongues? Is that
correct XX?
At that point I liked him, but I didn t like his news.
I am so sorry, M sieur and Madam Curzon. The Director has not been here for a month and most
certainly has not yet returned. I know nothing of your Dr. Guess and his cryocapsule. They have not
arrived on Ceres, vero. What you look for is not here.
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But the message, Mr. Boulogne.
May I see it, please?
I handed him the gram. He examined it carefully, shrugged, and handed it back to me. What am I to
say? It has every appearance of the authentic but it was not sent from Ceres, I promise you.
Could they have arrived in secret and be hiding?
Impossible. And why hide?
Dr. Guess is involved in highly sensitive research.
That cryocapsule?
And its contents.
Which are?
I m not at liberty to tell you.
Germaphrodites, Natoma said. I glared at her but she smiled reassuringly. Truth always good, Glig.
Secret bad.
I agree with madame, Boulogne said, in view of the fact that there really is no such thing as a secret.
Sooner or later it breaks. Hermaphrodites, eh? Very odd. I did not think such monsters truly existed,
outside of fable.
Do now, Natoma said proudly. Mia frère invent. Now she was breaking into Euro.
So where does that leave you now, M sieur Curzon?
Feeling like a patsy.
Pardon?
I ve been had, deceived, decoyed. I think I know who did it and I m scared.
He clucked his tongue sympathetically. And your plans? Will you not stay and enjoy the Director s
hospitality? You will be safe and I am certain we can entertain madame lavishly.
Thank you, but no. We re for Brazil.
Dieu! Brazil? Warum?
I m completely turned off by an exasperating and dangerous situation, so my wife and I are going to run
away and enjoy our honeymoon. If Poulos returns tell him my plans; he ll know where to find us. Thank
you so much, Boulogne, and peace.
Hermaphrodites, he mused as we left. One wonders what they do for kicks.
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Brazil has always been centuries behind the times. By now it had struggled all the way up to the 1930 s
in a curious way. We were driven into Barra from the landing pad on a bus. A goddamn Greyhound-type
bus. And we passed Fords and Buicks chugging along the freeway. When we hit the outskirts of Barra
we passed trolley cars and trams. Incredible. Delightful.
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