The Garments of Caean

Then she checked her thoughts, aware that she might be succumbing to some particularly seductive brand of Caeanic blandishment, and wondering if it might not even be naïve to read anything but sarcasm into Caldersk’s welcome.

‘I trust you treat your visitors with humanity, Director,’ she said stiffly.

The other threw up his hands in shock. Then he laughed, loud uninhibited laughter. ‘Surely you do not fear for your safety? You know nothing of Caeanic hospitality if that is the case. Why, you are celebrities, dear lady. Celebrities!’

‘If I may say so, you credit us with little percipience,’ Abrazhne Caldersk said affably, about half an hour later. ‘It is practically impossible for a complete foreigner to live in Caean without being noticed, however well he knows the language.’

‘Even if he wears Caeanic clothes?’ Amara asked.

‘Especially if he wears Caeanic clothes!’ The Director seemed amused. ‘There is more to wearing apparel than merely pouring oneself into it!’ He paused, and raised a hand reflectively. ‘Suppose a foreigner in Ziode were to – well, to wear all his clothes back to front, to wear garments totally unsuited to his nature and the circumstances. That is some indication of the impact your agents made among us! We were aware of them from the beginning. From there it was easy to guess the location of your ship, to penetrate its bafflement and to track it from planet to planet.’

Amara responded huffily: ‘Then why did you not arrest us all immediately? Why wait until now?’

‘For what reason? What harm were you doing? We are an open society, dear lady. Anyone may come and go as he pleases. No visas are required!’

‘But you have taken us into custody now,’ Second Officer Borg pointed out.

The grid-wearing Trupp spoke. ‘We are concerned that you should not return to Ziode with misinformation about Caean,’ he said in a gentle but firm voice. ‘We are perturbed by the reports of increasing fear and hostility towards us in your country. We wish to correct any wrong impression you have gained; and since you are on a sociological mission this is an excellent opportunity to remedy misunderstandings that apparently are rampant in Ziode.’

‘Does that mean you will allow us to return home?’ Amara said in surprise.

Caldersk clapped his hands, causing the flying lappets on his upper garment to make volatile, feathery leaps. ‘We have arrived!’ he announced with enthusiasm.

Riding through Inxa’s concourses in an open carriage, the Ziodeans had been given the opportunity to see the sights of the city, the serried terraces, the hanging gardens and the throngs of people, many of them in fantastic garb, and to enjoy the invigorating, exotic atmosphere. Now they halted alongside an oval-shaped bowl or depression about the size of a stadium, set apart from the main avenues. Here a banquet had been prepared. A huge table was burdened with food. Footmen, stepping neatly in black, carapace-like suits, were busy completing the arrangements.

And there were guests: perhaps a hundred in all. The brilliance of their costume was bewildering. It was like entering some novel zoological garden where evolution had run riot. The Ziodeans descended from the carriage and moved hesitantly into the stadium, feeling the strangeness of it all. Amara wondered how her dress seemed to their hosts – and then firmly shut her mind to the thought. She was a Ziodean, she told herself sternly. She did not have to worry about what foreigners thought.

Shortly they found themselves seated at the long table, after being introduced to a score of guests, all flowered, flamed, bedizened and bedecked so as to resemble a tropical menagerie. Abrazhne Caldersk sat on the left of Amara, plying her with food and drink, while Estru and Second Officer Borg were ranged stiffly to her right, being entertained somewhat more formally by Svete Trupp. Amara, herself refusing to unbend, consumed as little as was politely possible. Like her companions, she felt herself to be Caean’s enemy and had expected to be dealt with as an enemy. It was unnerving to be fêted instead.

‘Will you have some syllabub?’ offered Caldersk, providing her with a dollop of aromatic jelly. She tasted it, and unfamiliar flavours melted in her mouth. Then she turned to him challengingly.

‘I wish you always maintained such a friendly attitude towards Ziodeans,’ she said in a suspicious tone.

Caldersk chuckled. ‘That is exactly what I want to set straight between us – these ridiculous notions you have about us. You think we are “clothes robots”, having no individuality. You think we want to invade Ziode and enslave you all.’ He laughed. ‘It has its comic aspect, I must admit.’

‘Do you actually claim that you have no aggressive claim on Ziode?’ Amara snapped sharply.

‘Absolutely none!’ Caldersk’s laughter nearly punctured her eardrums. ‘Caean has neither the intention nor the desire to embark upon a career of conquest. It would be contrary to our way of life.’