There was a lot to argue with there, maybe not a lot but some. A good deal of jumping-to-conclusions and more than a bit of rationalization. I sidestepped for the moment, until I knew more about how this society ticked. I raised a finger.

“Nov, let me see if I have this straight. You ladies have a comfortable existence on this side of the wall. You provide the scientific backup to the males on the other side. To keep them chuntering along in their locker-room paradise. Correct?”

“Among other things. That is basically correct.”

“Dare I ask what they supply in return?”

“Very little, if the truth be known. Fresh meat from the nomads. Who not only won’t trade with us but now heartily deny our existence, though they secretly would love to wipe us out. Then there is an occasional supply of sperm to top up our cryogenic sperm bank. Little else. We watch them and keep them going mostly by habit-and for our own safety. If the man in the street doesn’t know that we exist he can’t cause us any trouble. The men also get a lot of pleasure in bashing the nomads when they start bothering us. Altogether a satisfactory relationship.”

“It certainly sounds that way.” I finished the glass of wine and realized that I was beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol. Which was better than feeling the bruises and sore ribs. Which should be looked at soon-but not too soon. The unfolding drama of cultural mish-mash was just too interesting. “If you please-a question or two before we call in the medics. First is the most important question. You mention sperm banks so I assume that pregnancy and motherhood still exist?”

“They certainly do! We would never consider depriving women of their hormonal, psychological and physical rights. Those who wish to become mothers become mothers. Simple enough.”

“Indeed it is. And looking around I see that they are lucky enough to all have female babies.”

For the first time I saw Mata less than completely relaxed and calm. She looked away, looked back-took up her glass and sipped some more wine.

“You must be tired,” she finally said. “We can finish this discussion some other time…”

“Mata!” Madonette gasped. “I think that you are avoiding the topic. This cannot be. I have so admired you and your people here. You are not going to tell me that I am wrong?”

“No, never!” Mata said reaching out and taking Madonette’s hands in hers. “It has just been so long since we discussed these things. Decisions were taken that seemed excellent at the time. Some of us have had reservations since, but, well nothing much can really be done at this point… ”

Her voice ran down and she emptied her wineglass. She was upset and I felt sorry for pinning her down like that. I yawned.

“You’re right,” I said. “I think rest and recuperation come first.”

Mata shook her head in a firm no. “Madonette is right. These decisions must be faced, discussed. Approximately half of the pregnancies are male, male fetuses. This is determined in the first few weeks.” She saw Madonette’s worried expression and shook her head again.

“No-please hear me out and don’t think the worst. All healthy pregnancies are brought to term. In the case of the males the bottle banks are used – ”

“Bottle banks! Isn’t that an unfortunate term?”

“Perhaps in your society, Jim. But here it simply signifies highly perfected artificial wombs. Technically superior if truth be known. There are no spontaneous miscarriages, no effects of bad diet and so forth. And at the end of nine months the healthy male babies are – ”

“Decanted?”

“No, born. As soon as they are viable the men take over. Specially trained nursemen who supervise the healthy growth of the boys. Their education and assimilation into their society.”

“Very interesting,” I said, for it certainly was. I hesitated about the next question, but curiosity was gnawing away and could not be suppressed. “Even more interesting is where do the men think the babies come from?”

“Why don’t you ask them?” Mata said coldly and I realized that this interview was at an end.

“Now I really am tired-to be continued,” I breathed, dropping back into the couch. “Is there a doctor in the house?”

This kicked a lot of maternal instinct into gear and extracted a great deal of attention. I didn’t feel the injection that knocked me out. Or the one that brought me to much later. The women were gone and we were alone. Madonette was holding my hand. Which she dropped with slow deliberation when she saw that my eyes were open.

“The good news, stalwart Jim, is that none of your bones are broken. Just a lot of bruising. Better news is that the treatment for the bruises is under way. Best news is that Steengo is in pretty good shape, all things considered, and wants to see you.”

“Bring him in.”

“In a moment. While you were sleeping I talked to Mata. She told me a lot more about how things work around here.”

“Did you find out about the babies?”

“She really is a nice person, Jim. Everyone here has been very nice to me and…”

“But you are beginning to have some reservations?”

She nodded. “More than a few. Things look so nice on the surface-and maybe they are. But it is the babies that bother me. I am sure that they are well taken care of physically, even mentally. But to believe a stupid myth!”

“Which one of the stupid myths going about is the one that bothers you?”

“Spontaneous creation would you believe! All the males gather around Iron John’s pool for a ceremony of life. The golden balls drift up through the water and are seized. And each one contains a healthy happy baby! And grown men believe that nonsense!”

“Grown men-and women-have believed worse nonsense down through the ages. This myth was a common one for the so-called lower forms of life. Flies being spontaneously created in manure heaps. Because no one bothered making the connection between grubs growing there and flies laying eggs. All of the creation myths of mankind, all the gods dropping down and molding clay and breathing life, the virgin births and the like. They are all nonsense once they are examined. But we have to start somewhere I suppose. I’m just not happy where some of these people are ending up.”

There was a rattle and a thump as the door was opened. Floyd pushed in the wheelchair and Steengo lifted a whitewrapped hand.

“Looks like you did it, Jim. End of mission. Congratulations.”

“And the same to you-and Floyd. And since it is The Stainless Steel Rats together, perhaps for the last time, would you mind making a few things clear. I have long felt that there was more than random chance in your selection. Dare I ask just who are you three people? I suspect that you were chosen for more than musical ability-right Steengo?”

He nodded his bandaged head. “Almost right. Madonette is just what she appears to be… ”

“Just an office drudge-singing for a hobby.”

“The office’s loss is music’s gain.” I smiled and blew a kiss her way. “One down, two to go. Steengo, I have a feeling that you really aren’t retired. Right?”

“Right. And I do take some pride in my musical abilities. Which, if you must know, was why I was suckered into this operation by my old drinking buddy, Admiral Benbow.”

“Drinking buddy! He who drinks with an admiral… ”

“Must be an admiral too. Perfectly correct, I am Arseculint…”

“I didn’t quite catch that.”

“Arseculint is an acronym for Area Sector Commander Cultural Intercourse. And you can uncurl your lip. Perhaps, in context, ‘intercourse’ is not quite the right word. Cultural Relationships might express it better. My degrees are in archeology and cultural anthropology, which is what attracted me to the civil service in the first place. Sort of hands-on application of theory. I followed the matter of the alien artifact with a great deal of interest. So I was ripe for the plucking, you might say, when Stinky Benbow asked me to volunteer.”