The Noman Way

CHAPTER ONE

JEFF CRONER suddenly threw his book across the room and jumped up, no longer able to bear the solitude and silence of his spartan hotel room. Besides, it was an execrable book. It was In the Caverns of Mercury, by Janice Hiller, and it always irritated Jeff to read Janice’s books. He only did it in an eternally unavailing effort to solve the paradox of Janice, who was brilliant and wrote tripe.

Although he was dressed only in trunks and sandals, he didn’t put anything else on before going out into the street. You didn’t wear too many clothes in Nome City. It led to too much trouble. And Jeff Croner had trouble enough in Nome City already without asking for more.

Six weeks he had spent on the planet Nome — six weeks of a subtle sort of hell. No man is an island, Jeff thought wryly. If he had ever doubted the truth of that, he no longer had any doubts. Six weeks without friends, without women, without conversation except with one old fat man who didn’t care what anybody thought, six weeks of derision from practically every Noman he met, six weeks of what amounted to solitary confinement, had demonstrated very clearly to him that he wasn’t nearly as tough as he had thought and certainly not self-sufficient.

Outside in the sun, Jeff did not look about him admiringly, although when he had arrived in Nome City he had found it all it was claimed to be — the Athens of the galaxy, in appearance at least. There was no longer any appeal for him in solid but graceful architecture and solid but graceful Nomans. He walked in solitude and umbrage. He walked because there was no other way of getting about in Nome — there was no public transport except the subway, and that was for long journeys only.

The streets were crowded, as they always were on a fine day in Nome City, but not overcrowded, because there was no vehicular traffic and the paved avenues were wide enough for scores of people to walk abreast. He paid no attention to anyone and merely wished that the compliment would be returned … a vain hope.

The Nomans, to do them justice, which at the moment Jeff was not particularly disposed to do, were a remarkably handsome people, tall, fair-skinned and fair-haired. There were a few redheads and brown hair was not unknown, but nobody had black hair or skin darker than golden brown. Nome, isolated until the first ships from Earth landed a century ago, had only one human type, very like that of Scandinavia or Germany on Earth.

Noman men were as openly proud of their figures as pretty girls on Earth. Artificial aid to an impressive physique was not in the Noman code, however. No Noman increased his height by tall heels or corseted himself to make a flabby stomach flat or wore padded shoulders. Since usually only trunks or shorts were worn — unless injury made further concealment desirable and permissible — the only way to have a figure to be proud of was to keep muscles hard and strong. And the Sports helped to do that.

The women, also tall, fair-skinned and fair-haired, were athletes no less than the male Nomans. Like women of other races, they liked to be slim. But if a Noman girl was built, as many of them were, on too large a scale to be slender, at least she could ensure that she didn’t carry a superfluous ounce of flesh. And the average Noman girl was quite a dish, although a trifle muscular for Terran tastes — -tall, blonde, slim-waisted, long-legged, with deep, strong breasts and broad hips. The mature women, too, revealed their generous proportions generously. Two-piece garments were commonest, although the swimsuit-like cabon or shorts and a suntop were not considered too conservative. In an athletes’ world, athletic costume was standard.

For a time, as Jeff walked the broad, clean streets, no one did pay any attention to him. He too was tall and lean, and athough his hair was dark, that alone would not have shown that he wasn’t a Noman. By this time he had acquired a light golden-brown tan indistinguishable from that of a native.

Nome City’s climate was warm rather than hot, not apparently hot enough to demand beach-type clothes. The temperature was perhaps twenty degress less than the blazing summer heat on Earth which drove crowds to the beaches, made sweating executives curse more than usual, and tempted pretty stenographers into wearing necklines two inches too low.

But Nome, which had no seasons, also lacked elemental fury. Climatically Nome was a world in equilibrium, a world which avoided extremes. The sea and land areas were evenly spread, and by Terran standards Nome had no great mountain ranges.

If it wasn’t hot in Nome City it wasn’t cold either. You didn’t fry by day or freeze by night. Terran visitors soon found that they didn’t have to play safe with Nome City’s climate. They didn’t go out in bathing trunks and find their teeth chattering an hour later.

And Terrans who had a rooted objection to going around in bathing trunks didn’t have to go to Nome at all.

Most Terrans were soon glad to conform in other ways too. When in Nome, do as the Nomans do. This was fair enough, Jeff admitted to himself — the people of any world had a right to expect visitors to conform to their own way of doing things, and Jeff’s discomfort was due entirely to the fact that he was in Nome and flatly refused to do as the. Nomans did. So, being fair, he had to admit he had no right to hate the Nomans for the way they treated him.

But he didn’t have to like them for it.

Soon the first cry sounded behind him. And a few minutes later he had the usual crowds of children, large and small, trailing behind him chanting: No wreath! No wreath! No wreath! No wreath!

It was no use turning on them and snarling that they had no wreaths either. Nomans were not allowed to take part in the Sports until they were fifteen, although before that they were permitted and encouraged to participate in simpler and less dangerous athletic competitions. The only thing Jeff could do was ignore the chanting herd behind him, hoping they’d get tired. Unfortunately they never did.

It hurt more when a small party of Terran tourists,. easily identifiable by their dark hair, comparative flabbiness and lack of Noman swagger, conspicuously ignored him.

There were always several hundred Terran tourists in Nome City, and a few score from other worlds. New arrivals already knew that the quicker they got themselves a wreath the better, and proceeded to do so with no delay — far after all, they had come to Nome for the Sports. You didn’t travel to Nome and not participate in the Sports any more than you would go to the Riviera and ignore the beach, or travel to the Bayreuth Festival and not listen to Wagner.

New arrivals soon learned that if you fraternized with anybody who had no wreath, Noman or foreigner, the Nomans made things awkward for you. They couldn’t help it — contempt for anybody without a wreath was ingrained in them from birth. Social prestige depended entirely on how many different medals a man or woman had on his or her Sports wreath. Naturally, a man who had no wreath at all had no prestige whatever — unless there was such a thing as negative prestige. Allowances were made for visitors, especially visitors who were trying hard to win a wreath, and a Terran with a wreath containing only three or four medals — despicable for a Noman — found all Nomans as friendly and helpful as he could wish.

But a man like Jeff Croner, who had been in Nome City for six weeks and had not even tried to win a single medal, was incomprehensible to the Nomans, like a man on Earth who refused to keep himself clean and insisted on spitting on every carpet he saw.

As usual, there was soon more to contend with than kids chanting: No wreath! No wreath! Crowds of teenagers began to gather round Jeff, jostling him, pushing him and calling him insulting names which Jeff, well trained in the Noman language, understood only too well.

Coward!

Impotent Terran insect!

Wreathless wonder!

Spineless slug!

Coward! Coward!

Next to children who had no wreaths at all, Jeff got most attention from teenagers who had just won their first medals. A mature Noman with a hundred medals could afford merely to shrug his contempt for a man with none. Young Nomans, desperately anxious to prove themselves, conscious of their own slender wreaths, were cruel in their baiting of anybody who was old enough to gain a wreath and didn’t have one.

At last Jeff was forced to turn angrily and face his tormentors. Any two of you, he said in his fluent but heavily accented Noman. I’ll take on any two of you together.

Again as usual, this produced instant silence. Nomans were by no means reluctant to fight. Jeff’s challenge didn’t frighten them in the slightest. It merely puzzled them, for a man ready to fight two at once, even a strong, mature man like Jeff taking on two youths of fifteen or sixteen, could hardly be a physical coward. And if he wasn’t a coward, why didn’t he have a wreath?

Just arrived, Earthman? one of the boys asked in a more conciliatory tone.

No, I’ve been here six weeks.

Then you’re Jeffcrona, the Earth spy?

Such was Jeff’s fame. As UOF representative in Nome City, he had long since become accustomed to being called the Earth spy.

I’m Jeff Croner.

The teenagers, rather at a loss for a moment, covered their indecision by unceremoniously driving the children back, leaving a large circle clear. Then they conferred among themselves. Obviously, though none of the present group had encountered Jeff before, they had heard all about him. They knew, too, that this was at least the tenth time that Jeff, goaded beyond endurance, had issued the same challenge. And that on no occasion had he got the worst of the subsequent fight.

Two of the tallest and strongest youths stepped forward. One was blond, the other a redhead. Both were at least sixteen, for their wreaths contained half a dozen medals, and no fifteen-year-old was allowed to try more than three or four different Sports.

All right, Earthman, the redhead said. We’re ready when you are.

Take off your wreaths, then.

There was no taunting or laughing now. Even the children, driven twenty yards back, were silent and respectful. Nomans took all physical contests very seriously, and observed their own rules strictly. There was no question of unfair fighting or of interference by any of the other young Nomans.

On the other hand, if Jeff found himself in trouble, nobody would step in and save him.

The two youths handed their wreaths to two girls in the party. The wreaths, long necklaces of silver medals, were handled with care, almost veneration. Even the most modest Sports wreath was still a wreath. It represented a man’s position in society, and was never taken away from him even in punishment for the worst of crimes.

Then the fight started without preamble.

As the two boys came at him, Jeff spun slightly to one side so that the redhead was nearer to him than the blond. The Nomans could have jockeyed for position, refusing to attack until they could do so simultaneously, but that wasn’t the Noman way. The redhead threw himself at Jeff, the blond a yard behind him.

Jeff struck the redhead a glancing blow on the shoulder which sent him reeling back a pace or two, and in the moment before he could recover Jeff rained blows on the blond. He didn’t get through the young Noman’s guard, but the heavy, jolting hammer-blows on his arms would numb them and take the sting out of any punches he might throw later.

Then, at the cost of taking a hook from the fair-haired boy, Jeff spun and hit the advancing redhead so hard over the heart that he reeled back into the arms of the girls holding his wreaths.

Turning to the blond again, Jeff parried a furious assault and used his greater reach to snap light, stinging blows to his face. He kept his opponent between him and the other young Noman, so that when the latter returned to the fray he would have them both where he wanted them.

The crowd of teenagers and children, getting bigger every minute, watched almost silently. Trained from early youth to watch for the finer points of any encounter rather than to allow themselves to be swept into uncritical excitement, they murmured among themselves but didn’t shout advice or encouragement to the contestants.

The redhead, who now had a great respect for Jeff’s right, decided that discretion was necessary. He tried to circle the other two and come at Jeff from the side or from behind. But Jeff could handle one sixteen-year-old Noman very much as he liked, and was able to wheel round easily, always keeping the two youths in the same quarter.

When the redhead reached the conclusion that he had no alternative but to throw himself into the attack straight at Jeff, he telegraphed his intention and Jeff burst through with an uppercut to the blond’s chin. This time it was the blond who reeled out of the fight, and the redhead got in only one wild, off-target swing before Jeff was ready to devote his whole attention to him.

At no time had Jeff had two opponents for more than a split second. He had always been able to dispose of one of the youngsters temporarily while he dealt with the other.

And the pattern didn’t change, for the two young Nomans were hurt now, and Jeff was hardly marked.

He put the redhead down for what would have been the count if there had been any count. Then he drove the fair-haired boy round his fallen friend until the redhead, shaking his head to clear it, prised himself off the pavement.

As the redhead came slowly to his feet, Jeff closed with the blond, beat a swift tattoo on his ribs and then, stepping back to give himself room, crashed a right to the side of his head.

The fair-haired boy fell heavily against the redhead, sending him down again.

Jeff stood over them. Enough? he said.

The two Nomans were ready to go on. But the verdict of their friends, which they had to accept, was that the fight was over, and that Jeff had won.

Jeff helped his two opponents to their feet. They looked at him uncertainly, not quite sure what to do in such a situation. Normally Nomans made great show of friendliness after a fight, saying that the better man had won and thanking each other for a good contest.

But Jeff, at the end as at the beginning, still had no wreath. He had no wreath, and he wasn’t a coward or a cripple. There was no precedent in the young Nomans’ minds.

Finally they all turned, murmuring among themselves, and went away, leaving Jeff entirely alone. They were still puzzled and slighty uneasy about the incident — apart from the fight, about which nobody had any complaints.

Jeff went his way with no glow of pride. On such occasions a fight was forced on him — if he hadn’t issued his challenge when he did, the crowd of youngsters would have grown to riot proportions. Victory accomplished very little, however, and it was a hollow victory. For he knew he could tackle two Noman youths together every day for a month and win every time.

Nome’s gravity was slightly less than that of Earth, a circumstance which gave Terran muscles an advantage over Noman muscles. Superbly fit, the average Noman was stronger than the average Terran, who was not superbly fit at all A really strong Terran, however, was more powerful than the strongest Noman. True, Nomans reacted more quickly than Earthmen and were superior technically at almost every athletic pursuit. But in a fight technique and swift reaction were no match for a really big punch.

A good Noman boxer wouldn’t beat a good Terran boxer any oftener than a lightweight would beat a heavyweight.

Jeff had gone only a few hundred yards more when children began to collect behind him again, chanting: No wreath! No wreath! No wreath!

Jeff strode on, scowling. These were different kids. And the teenagers who would shortly join in would be different teenagers. But the result would be the same.

There was an enormous number of children in Nome City. Jeff couldn’t go out only during school hours, for there were no schools. Noman children were taught to read and write by their parents (usually the mother) and that was all. They didn’t need education to be successful in the Sports.

So whenever Jeff went out, he collected a mob of sneering, jeering kids trailing him wherever he went.

How, he asked himself despairingly, did the Universal