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Chapter 33




HE EMERGED FROM THE BATHROOM refreshed and rather less torpid. He saw that his bed had been made and that on the coverlet fresh clothing—slacks, jacket and underwear—had been laid out. Presumably his case was already in the car.

He dressed and was not surprised to find that the waistband of his trousers was tight. He filled and lit his pipe; he would have a quiet smoke while waiting for the second pot of tea.

The majordomo entered the sitting room carrying a big tray. He (it) was followed by Marlene. Clothed—this morntag in pale blue—she looked no more than pleasantly plump. She sat down in one of the chairs by the coffee table, motioned to Grimes to take the other. The robutler put down the tray and left.

She said, “I thought, perhaps, that we might partake of only a light breakfast . . .”

On the tray were both teapots and coffeepots, with milk and cream and sugar. There was a large pitcher of some chilled fruit juice. There were croissants, with butter and a syrupy conserve with whole strawberries.

“Nothing for me, thanks, Marlene,” said Grimes. “Or, perhaps, some fruit juice.” She poured, handed him the glass. “And I think I’ve changed my mind. I told the servant tea, but that coffee smells delicious . . . Yes, two sugars.” She filled his cup. “And I wonder if I might have just a nibble of croissant . . .”

She laughed. “What I liked about you when I first knew you was your hearty appetite. I’ve heard that your Survey Service nickname was Gutsy Grimes . . . And what of it? Good food is meant to be enjoyed.”

She managed four croissants to Grimes’ three and was more generous with butter and conserve than he was. Satisfied, she lit a cigarillo. Grimes resumed his pipe.

“And now, my dear,” she said practically, “we have to get you back to your ship.”

She was friendly enough, thought Grimes, but little more than that. The events of the previous night might never have happened.

She got to her feet unassisted, walked toward the door. Grimes followed. She led him through corridors and down spiral staircases to the courtyard. The gleaming Daimler was awaiting them and, standing by it at stiff attention, were the majordomo and four liveried footmen. Grimes wondered wildly if he was supposed to tip them. (What sort of gratuity would a robot expect?) But they bowed stiffly as their mistress and her guest approached and the robutler assisted her through the open door of the car. Grimes sat down beside her. The doors closed. The car lifted and, escorted by the watchbirds, flew silently northward.

Its passengers, too, were silent. Grimes, at first, attempted to make conversation but the Princess made it plain that she did not wish to talk. There was not, after all, much to say. On a mental plane, he realized, they had little in common—yet he admitted to himself that he did feel some affection for her. The silence was not an uncomfortable one.

Lake Bluewater showed up ahead, and the white buildings of the spaceport on its farther shore. And there was Sister Sue, gleaming silver in the strong light of the late morning sun. And that was where he belonged, thought Grimes, not in the castle owned by a member of this planet’s aristocracy.

She spoke at last.

“I’ve brought you back, John, to where you really want to be.”

He said, “I wanted to be with you.” Then, bending the truth only slightly if at all, “I want to be with you again.”

She laughed—regretfully?

“Do you? I’m no Michelle, and I know it. If you were to settle on El Dorado—and if Commodore Kane’s enterprise is successful you might well be financially qualified—you would range farther afield than Schloss Stolzberg. I should not be able to hold you. There’s too much of the tomcat in you. You’re capable of feeling cupboard love—but, until you meet the right woman (if ever you do) little more . . .

“But it was good having you . . .”

Grimes tried to believe that she really meant what she said.

She was facing him now, holding her face up to his. He put his arms about her, kissed her. Her lips tasted of strawberries.

They broke apart as the car began its descent. Probably Williams and several of the others would be watching. He did not wish to be the subject of ribald comment.

The vehicle grounded gently on the apron, ran silently to the foot of the ramp. (Yes, Williams was there, and the Green Hornet.) The door on Grimes’ side opened. He inclined his head to the hand that she extended to him, kissed it lightly. He dismounted, then reached through the other open door to retrieve his bag. He heard her order, “Home,” as the doors shut. The car rose swiftly, dwindled fast to a mere speck in the southern sky.

“Sorry to have called you back, Skipper,” said the mate cheerfully while Ms. Connellan scowled at Grimes. “But the Commodore is very insistent. He wants us at Port Kane as soon as possible, if not before.”

“Are the engines ready?”

“Yes. I told Mr. Crumley to be ready for the shift. Oh, and the Commodore told me to ask you to call him as soon as you got back. You’ll have to use the phone in the office.” He scowled. “They can call us aboard the ship but we can’t call them from the ship . . .”

“All right,” said Grimes. “Would you mind taking my bag aboard for me, Ms. Connellan?” The Second Mate scowled at him but wordlessly took his luggage. “And come with me, Mr. Williams.”

Together they walked into the port office. In the doorless booth Grimes said, “Get me Commodore Baron Kane.” The holographic image of a golden lady’s maid appeared and told him, “The Commodore will speak with you shortly.” She faded. Kane appeared.

“Ah, Grimes, back at last after your wallow in the von Stolzberg flesh pots. Anybody would think that you were not eager for gainful employment.”

“I had a duty to my hostess,” said Grimes stiffly.

“I’m sure you did. Now, listen. Port Kane is twelve hours ahead of Port Bluewater. The hop should take you four hours, at the outside; I imagine that your innies are capable of delivering enough lateral thrust. If you lift off at, say, 1400 your time you should be at Port Kane at 0600 my time, just before sunrise. There’ll be the usual beacons to mark your berth. Keep in touch with Aerospace Control to confirm your ETA and all the rest of it. The Port Captain will bring you a gnomonic chart and a plan of Port Kane.”

“And also the bill for my port charges here?” asked Grimes.

“They’ll be just a matter of bookkeeping, Grimes, to be deducted from whatever profit you make as a privateer. After your arrival—not immediately after, of course; like you I enjoy my sleep—I shall call aboard you with the charter party for your signature. Also I shall be introducing you to the other captains. Is everything clear, Grimes?”

“Yes, Kane.”

Drongo Kane scowled, then grinned sourly. “All right, all right. I should have called you Captain Grimes. Soon it will be Commodore Grimes. Does that make you happy?”

“I’m rolling on the deck, Commodore, convulsed with paroxysms of pure ecstasy.”

“That will do, you sarcastic bastard. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

Kane’s image faded.

***

Later, in Sister Sue’s control room, Grimes and Williams studied the gnomonic chart. It would be a simple enough operation to shift ship—although something of a nuisance. Luckily the ship possessed a rarely used gyro compass, which had now been started, with a repeater on the bridge. Williams had painted a mark on the inside of one of the big viewports to coincide with the lubber’s line. That would be, for the purposes of this short voyage, “forward.” The Green Hornet, grumbling that this was a spaceship, not an airship, had not been capable of working out the great circle distance and courses so Grimes had done it himself.

Grimes looked at his watch.

“All right, Mr. Williams, make it lift off stations. I shall want Control fully manned until we’re underway, then just one officer besides myself until we’re ready to set down.”

He took his usual seat, controls at his fingertips, displays before his eyes. He waited until the others—Williams, Connellan, Venner and Stewart—were at their stations before putting the inertial drive on standby. Mr. Venner obtained permission from Aerospace Control to lift ship.

Sister Sue shuddered then rose slowly from the apron. Grimes set course by turning her about her vertical axis, watching the repeater card until the lubber’s line was on the correct reading. Then there was the application of lateral thrust and, at an altitude of only two kilometers, the ship was underway on the first leg of the great circle course.

The officers watched interestedly. Save as passengers, during spells of planetary leave, atmospheric flights were outside their experience. Grimes, of course, during his Survey Service career had often handled pinnaces proceeding from point to point inside a world’s air envelope. He had done so often enough, too, in Little Sister.

Sister Sue swept majestically—and noisily; would there be any complaints from the pampered people in the mansions and chateaux and castles over which she was clattering?—in an east northeasterly direction, the fast westering sun throwing her long shadow over fields and forests. Grimes increased vertical thrust to give her safe clearance over the Golden Alps, a range of snow-capped crags bare of vegetation for most of their towering height, whose sheer yellow rock faces reflected the sunlight as though they were indeed formed from the precious metal.

Beyond the mountains the ship dropped again, into shadow, into deepening dusk, into darkness. There were no cities on the land below her, no towns, no villages even. There were only sparsely scattered points of light, marking the dwelling places of the very rich. It was like, Grimes thought, the night sky of the Rim Worlds, out toward the edge of the galaxy, an almost empty blackness.

He flew on toward the dawn, toward Port Kane.






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Framed