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Chapter 23




THE WOMEN SORTED themselves out, crawled aft into the main cabin. They reported that the camperfly did not seem to be making water. Shirl returned with cushions so that Grimes could make himself comfortable, Darleen brought him a bottle of brandy. He should, he knew, stay awake—but he had been through too much. If he forced himself to remain fully conscious for what remained of the night he would be in no fit state to cope with any emergencies that might arise. And he wanted Shirl and Darleen, who had already proven themselves, to be fighting fit when needed.

That left one obvious choice for a lookout.

“Fenella!” he called. “Come here, will you?”

“What for? What’s wrong now? Are you going to make another of your marvelous landings?”

“Just come here!” shouted Grimes.

She came. It was too dark for Grimes to see her face but he knew that she was glaring at him. “Yes?” she demanded.

“I want you to stand the watch. Here. I’ll be staying here myself. Wake me at once if anything happens.”

“What about them? I’m paying for your services. They aren’t.”

“They’re trained fighters. You aren’t. I want them to get some sleep.”

She capitulated suddenly.

“Oh, all right. I suppose you’re right. Snore your bloody heads off, all three of you.”

She plumped down beside Grimes, tried at first to avoid physical contact with him but the curvature of the surface on which they had disposed themselves made this impossible. She lit one of the late Dr. Callis’ cigars. Grimes inhaled her smoke hungrily. Nicotine might keep him awake for a little longer but was a price that he was prepared to pay.

“Did you bring any more of those things with you?” he asked.

“Yes. Want one?”

Grimes said that he did. He lit up.

She asked in a voice far removed from her usual bossiness, “Grimes, what’s going to happen to us?”

He said, “I wish I knew. Or, perhaps, I’d rather not know . . .” The camperfly struck and bounced off a rock, throwing them closer together. “But we’re still alive. And officially we’re dead; that could be to our advantage. When we turn up, in person, singing and dancing, at Port Aphrodite that’s going to throw a monkey-wrench into all sorts of machinery . . .”

“You said when, not if . . . And as for the singing and dancing, I’m going to sing. To high heaven. That’s what I’m paid for—but I don’t mind admitting that I often enjoy my work . . .” She drew on her cigar, exhaled slowly. “But I do wish that I’d be able to do something about these girls from New Alice . . .” She lowered her voice in case Shirl and Darleen should still be awake in the cabin, and listening. “But they’re obviously underpeople. Some crazy Australian genetic engineer had kangaroo ova to play around with and produced his own idea of what humans should be. But they have no rights. As far as interstellar law’s concerned they’re nonhuman. Oh, I suppose I could try to get GSPCA interested, but . . .”

Grimes was dozing off. His cigar fell from his hand, was extinguished, with a sharp hiss, by the small amount of water that had entered the control cab. His head found a most agreeable nesting place between Fenella’s head and shoulder. She made no attempt to dislodge it.

“ . . . a slave trade’s a slave trade whether or not the victims are strictly human . . .”

Dimly Grimes realized that somebody was snoring. It was himself.

“. . . the river seems to be getting wider . . .”

“Mphm . . .”

“. . . the . . .”

And that was the last that Grimes heard.

***

He was awakened by bright sunlight striking through the transparency of the control cab bubble. By his side Fenella Pruin was fast asleep, snoring gently. A duet of snores came from the cabin. He should have stayed on watch himself, he thought. Nobody in the party, however, would be any the worse for a good sleep.

From the bubble he could see ahead and astern and to port, but not to starboard. He could see the river bank, densely wooded and with high hills in the background. The scenery was not moving relatively to the camperfly—so, obviously, the camperfly was not moving relatively to the scenery. The bank was at least five hundred meters distant.

He extricated himself from the sleeping Fenella Pruin’s embrace, clambered aft into the cabin. Shirl and Darleen were sprawled inelegantly on a pile of cushions and discarded clothing. They seemed to be all legs, all long, naked legs. Reluctantly Grimes looked away from them to what had been the starboard side of the cabin, to what was now the overhead. There was a door there. He could reach it, he thought, by clambering on the table which, bolted to the deck, was now on its side.

The table had only one leg. It was strong enough for normal loads but had not been designed to withstand shearing stresses. It broke. Grimes was thrown heavily on to the sleeping girls.

They snapped at once into full and vicious consciousness. Darleen’s hands closed about his throat while Shirl’s foot thudded heavily into his belly.

Then— “It’s you,” said Darleen, releasing him while Shirl checked her foot before it delivered a second blow.

Grimes rubbed the bruised skin of his neck.

“Yes. It’s me. Can the pair of you lift me up to the door? There . . .”

They were quick on the uptake. Their strong arms went around him, hoisted him up. He was able to reach the catch of the door, slide it aft. They lifted him still further. He caught the rim of the opening, pulled himself up and through. He was standing just abaft the starboard wing. It must have acted as a sail; with wind was blowing across the river and had driven the camperfly on to a sandy beach. Beyond this there were trees and bushes, with feathery foliage, blue rather than green. There were hills in the not distant background. Darleen—she must have been lifted by Shirl—joined him.

She said, a little wistfully, “We could live here . . . There must be animals, and fruits, and nuts . . . And roots . . .”

“Mphm,” grunted Grimes. Many years ago he had been obliged to live the simple life in Edenic circumstances and this was not among his most pleasant memories. “Mphm.”

“Help me up!” came a voice from below.

Darleen fell supine to the surface on which she had been standing, lowered an arm through the aperture. Shirl’s head appeared through the opening, then her shoulders, then her breasts, then all of her. She stood by Grimes, looking, as Darleen had looked, to what must have been to her a Promised Land.

“This is beaut,” she said in a flat voice.

“Too right!” agreed Darleen, who was back on her feet.

“We could start a tribe,” said Shirl.

Count me out as a patriarch, thought Grimes.

“Just the three of us,” went on Shiri, “to start with . . .**

And did that mean the three women, Grimes wondered, or the two New Alicians only partnered by him, with Fenella Pruin somehow lost in the wash? The way that Shirl and Darleen were looking at him the answer to the question was obvious.

“This is just like the Murray Valley at home,” said Darleen.

“Too right,” agreed Shirl.

“But we can’t stay here,” said Grimes.

“Why not?” asked the two girls simultaneously.

“We have to get back to Port Aphrodite,” he said.

“Why?” they countered.

Fenella Pruin’s voice came from inside the camperfly. “Where is everybody? Grimes, where are you?”

“Here!” he called.

With some reluctance the two New Alicians helped her up to the side of the camperfly. Steadying herself with one hand on the up-pointing wing she looked around.

“All very pretty,” she said at last, “but where are we?”

“Home,” said Darleen.

“Home,” said Shirl. “We will settle here—Darleen, John Grimes and myself. We will start a tribe . . .”

“You can stay if you like,” said Darleen generously.

Fenella laughed. “I’m a big city girl,” she said. “And, in any case, you’ll have to ask the owners’ permission before you set up house.”

“The owners?” asked Grimes.

“Yes.” She pointed. “The owners . . .”

They were coming down from between the trees and bushes, making their way to the beach. They were . . . human? Or humanoid.

Their arms were too short, their haunches too heavy. The women were almost breastless. Their skins were a dark, rich brown. Some of them carried long spears, some cruciform boomerangs, some heavy clubs.

They stared at the stranded camperfly, at Grimes and the three women.

“Good morning!” Grimes shouted.

“Gidday!” came an answering shout.

“Where are we?” he called.

“Kangaroo Valley!” came the reply.







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Framed