Free First Command by A. Bertram Chandler

considerable military strength?”
    “Considerable strength, Your Majesty. My ship, for example, is but a small and unimportant unit of our fleet.”
    “Indeed? And your whereabouts are known?”
    “The movements of all vessels are plotted by Master Control.”
    “And so . . . and so, supposing that some unfortunate accident were to happen to your ship and your crew on Sparta, we might, just possibly, expect a visit from one or more of your big battleships?”
    “That is so, Your Majesty.”
    “And we could deal with them, sire!” interpolated a portly, blue-robed Council member.
    The King swiveled around in his throne. “Could we, Admiral Philcus? Could we? We wish that we possessed your assurance. But we do not. It does not matter how and by whom the planets of this Federation were colonized—what does matter is that they own spaceships, which we do not, and even space warships, which even Latterhaven does not. We, a mere monarch, hesitate to advise you upon naval tactics, but we remind you that a spaceship can hang in orbit, clear of the atmosphere—and therefore beyond reach of your airships—and, at the same time, release its shower of bombs upon our cities. Consider it, Philcus.” He turned back to Grimes. “So, Lieutenant Commander, you seek permission for you and your men to range unhindered over the surface of our world?”
    “I do, Your Majesty.”
    “Some of our ways and customs may be strange to you. You will not interfere. And you will impart new knowledge only to those best qualified to be its recipients.”
    “That is understood, Your Majesty.”
    “Sire!” This time it was one of the doctors. “I respectfully submit that permission to leave this outworld ship be extended only to human crew members.”
    “And what is your reason, Doctor? Let Margaret Lazenby advance so that we may inspect him.”
    The Arcadian walked slowly toward the King. Looking at his face, Brasidus could see that the being had lost some of his cockiness. But there was a certain defiance there still. Should this attitude result in punishment ordered by the King, thought Brasidus, there will be a large measure of injustice involved. The major portion of the blame would rest with Grimes who, after all, had so obviously failed to maintain proper disciplinary standards aboard his ship.
    Cresphontes, King of All Sparta, looked long and curiously at the alien spaceman. He said at last, “They tell us that you are an Arcadian.”
    “That is so, Your Majesty.”
    “And you are a member of a space-faring race.”
    “Yes, Your Majesty.”
    “Turn around, please. Slowly.”
    Margaret Lazenby obeyed, his face flushing.
    “So . . .” mused the King. “So . . .” He swiveled in his throne so that he faced the Council. “You have all seen. You have all seen that this Arcadian is smaller than a true man, is more slightly built. Do you think that he would be a match for one of our warriors, or even for a helot? A thousand of these creatures, armed, might be a menace. But . . .” He turned to address Grimes. “How many of them are there in your crew, Lieutenant Commander?”
    “A dozen, Your Majesty.”
    “A mere dozen of these malformed weaklings, without arms . . . No, there can be no danger. Obviously, since they are members of Seeker ’s crew, they can coexist harmoniously with men. So, we repeat, there is no danger.”
    “Sire!” It was the doctor who had raised the objection. “You do not know these beings. You do not know how treacherous they can be.”
    “And do you, Doctor Pausanias? And if you do know, how do you know?”
    The Councilman paled. He said, lamely, “We are experienced, sire, in judging who is to live and who is not to live among the newborn. There are signs, reliable signs. She”—he pointed an accusing finger at Margaret Lazenby—“exhibits them.”
    “Indeed, Doctor Pausanias? We admit that a child emerging from the birth machine with such a deformed chest would be among those exposed, but