Part 11 (1/2)

”Right,” Homer said. ”Whose turn is it to pull cook duty?”

Isobel said menacingly, ”I don't know whose turn it is, but I know I'm going to do the cooking. After that slumgullion Kenny whipped up yesterday, I'm a perpetual volunteer for the job of chef--strictly in self-defense.”

”That was a cruel cut,” Kenny protested, ”however, I hereby relinquish all my rights to cooking for this expedition.”

”And me!”

”And me!”

”O.K.,” Homer said, ”so Isobel is Minister of the Royal Kitchen.” He looked at Elmer Allen. ”Which reminds me. You're our junior theoretician. Are we a monarchy?”

Elmer Allen scowled sourly and sat down, his back to the wadi wall. ”I wouldn't think so.”

Isobel went off to make coffee in the portable galley in the rear of the second hovercraft. The others brought forth tobacco and squatted or sat near the dour Jamaican. Years in the desert had taught them the nomad's ability to relax completely given opportunity.

”So if it's not a monarchy, what'll we call El Ha.s.san?” Kenny demanded.

Elmer said slowly, thoughtfully, ”We'll call him simply _El Ha.s.san_.

Monarchies are of the past, and El Ha.s.san is the voice of the future, something new. We won't admit he's just a latter-day tyrant, an opportunist seizing power because it's there crying to be seized.

Actually, El Ha.s.san is in the tradition of Genghis Khan, Tamerlane, or, more recently, Napoleon. But he's a modern version, and we're not going to hang the old labels on him.”

Isobel had brought the coffee. ”I think you're right,” she said.

”Sold,” Homer agreed. ”So we aren't a monarchy. We're a tyranny.” His face had begun by expressing amus.e.m.e.nt, but that fell off. He added, ”As a young sociologist, I never expected to wind up a literal tyrant.”

Elmer Allen said, ”Wait a minute. See if I can remember this. Comes from Byron.” He closed his eyes and recited:

”The tyrant of the Chersonese Was freedom's best and bravest friend.

That tyrant was Miltiades, Oh that the present hour would lend Another despot of the kind.

Such bonds as his were sure to bind.”

Isobel, pouring coffee, laughed and said, ”Why Elmer, who'd ever dream you read verse, not to speak of memorizing it, you old sourpuss.”

Elmer Allen's complexion was too dark to register a flush.

Homer Crawford said, ”Yeah, Miltiades. Seized power, whipped the Athenians into shape to the point where they were able to take the Persians at Marathon, which should have been impossible.” He looked around at the others, winding up with Elmer. ”What happened to Miltiades after Marathon and after the emergency was over?”

Elmer looked down into his coffee. ”I don't remember,” he lied.

There was a clicking from the first hover-lorry, and Cliff Jackson put down his coffee, groaned his resentment at fate, and made his way to the vehicle and the radio there.

Bey motioned with his head. ”That's handy, our still being able to tune in on the broadcasts the African Development Project makes to its teams.”

Kenny said, ”Not that what they've been saying is much in the way of flattery.”

Bey said, ”They seem to think we're somewhere in the vicinity of Bidon Cinq.”

”That's what worries me,” Homer growled. He raked his right hand back through his short hair. ”If they think we're in Southern Algeria, what are these planes doing around here? We're hundreds of miles from Bidon Cinq.”