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 Hassan?" Kenny demanded.
Elmer said slowly, thoughtfully, "We'll call him simply El Hassan. Monarchies are of the past, and El Hassan 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 Hassan 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 amusement, 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.