Balaarsulimaam was the only one of the party with any real command of standard English; the others just squatted on their haunches around the wardroom, lapping the brandy that was a fast-diminishing monument to Mortdale's mess sergeant, noisily nibbling sweet biscuits, conversing now and again among themselves in voices that reminded Grimes of a convocation of Siamese cats.
Balaarsulimaam himself did not talk much at first; he was interested in the brief and edited account of Grimes's adventures since they had last seen each other. He was told of the Bacon Bay fiasco; the version given him was something of a whitewash job on Susie and Hodge. According to it they had acted under duress as much as Grimes himself had done and were anxious to escape only from the vengeance of the royalist underground rather than from the processes of Bronsonian law.
Balaarsulimaam listened with apparent sympathy, although it was impossible for a Terran to discern any expression on that black-and-white furred face. Then he said that it would be possible for the biotechnicians to operate on Hodge and Susie and that their board and lodging until the next ship dropped in—probably in about thirty days—would present no problems. He promised to do his best to maintain the clone fiction should the visiting tramp master ask too many questions—although it had to be explained to him what a clone was.
It was then that Grimes began to have serious doubts about Joognaan biological expertise—after all, the level of technology on the planet was not high; at this moment of time the proud apex of mechanical evolution was still the steam engine. And yet he had believed, when he had been told it, the story of the injured purser of the star tramp who had not only been healed but remodeled to her own specifications.
Balaarsulimaam named the price.
It was high—but nowhere nearly as high as a body-sculpture job on Earth would have been.
Grimes looked at Susie; she knew to the last Federation Credit how much folding money had been brought aboard at Porlock by General Mortdale. Susie looked back at Grimes. She nodded.
"All right," said Grimes.
"You will be pleased by what we shall do," said Balaarsulimaam.
"I hope so. I bloody well hope so, for that money," growled Hodge.
Susie glared at him.
"Then, tomorrow in the morning, I will call for you. You, Miss Susie, and you, Mr. Hodge, will bring with you representations of what you wish that your new appearances will be. Flat pictures will do, although if you have—what do you call them?"
"Solidographs," supplied Grimes.
"Yes. They will be better."
"Where would I get a solidograph from?" demanded Hodge.
"I'll find something for you," said Susie.
After the Joognaanards had left, Grimes and Susie went for a stroll in the forest. This was definitely an Earth-type—a very Earth-type apart from the dominant species—planet, a fine example of parallel evolution. To Grimes—who was no botanist—the trees were just trees, the bushes just bushes, the flowers just flowers. There were flying insects—great, gaudy butterflies, other things like tiny, arthropodal bats. An animal that scurried rapidly up a tree at their approach could have been a Terran squirrel, had it not been for its long, rabbit-like ears.
They came to a pool in a clearing; the water looked very inviting. Grimes remembered that Balaarsulimaam had told him that Joognaan possessed no dangerous carnivores, no predators that would attack animals larger than themselves—and the indigenous humanoids were the biggest life form. Did that sweeping statement apply to aquatic fauna?
While he was pondering Susie stripped.
She entered the pool with a loud splash, called, "Come on in! The water's fine!"
She struck out for the opposite bank; her pale body gleaming enticingly under the clear water. Grimes threw off his shirt, stepped out of his shorts and underwear, kicked off his sandals and followed her.
Yes, he thought, the water was fine. And this natural exercise, after the artificial calisthenics aboard the ship, was good. He met Susie in mid-pool. They clung to each other, kissed as they went under. They broke apart, surfaced. She made for a bank where sunlight struck down through the surrounding trees, brightly illumining an area of smooth, brightly green grass. She clambered out, fell to her knees and then rolled over on to her back, legs wide spread.
Grimes joined her, dropped beside her, kissed her again. She was ready, he knew, as he was ready. He mounted her, his chest pillowed on her ample breasts. Her legs came up and over to imprison the lower portion of his body. The sun was warm on his back, her skin was hot below his.
She said sleepily, "This was the best. . . ." And almost the last time, thought Grimes. Even if he stayed on Joognaan for a few days after the body-change Susie would no longer be Susie. Even her personality would be changing—slowly or not so slowly. Minds may—may?—be supreme but they are, inevitably, conditioned by the bodies that they inhabit.
She said, "I know what you're thinking, John."
"What?" he asked almost guiltily.
"That this is almost the last time for us. But it needn't be. Why shouldn't you change your physical identity too? You can lift Bronson Star from where she is now, land her again somewhere where she won't be seen by any incoming spaceships. She'll be a treasure house of metals and machinery for these people. And you. . . . You just sit tight with Hodge and myself, just another phoney clone, waiting for the next star tramp to drop in."
Grimes said, "I have to stay me. I have to earn a living the only way that I know how. If I change my identity the Master Astronaut's certificate, issued to John Grimes, is no longer valid. . . ."
She told him, "There'll be plenty of money left—even after we've paid for the body change and our board and lodging here and our passages to wherever. . . ."
Grimes said, "But I have my responsibilities, Susie."
"To the cheese-paring owners of that rustbucket you were baby-sitting? Forget about them. They'll do well enough out of the insurance."
They probably would, thought Grimes. After a suitable lapse of time somebody in far-away London would toll the Lutine bell and Lloyd's, admitting that Bronson Star was Missing, Presumed Lost, would pay out. And Little Sister would be sold to somebody not worthy of her, somebody who, in all probability, would regard her as marketable precious metal rather than a ship.
He said, "I'm sorry. Really sorry. But I have to adhere to my original plan."
She smiled in a rather odd manner.
She whispered, "We'll see about that."
He expected that she would sleep with him again that night and exert all her charm upon him to try to make him change his mind.
But she did not.