Chapter 19
LENNAY CALLED OUT in his own language and three of the native women came in. They made low salaams and murmured something. The only word that Grimes could recognize was “Samz”.
“Go with them, Captain,” said Lennay.
Interesting, thought Grimes. He seems to believe all this Delur and Samz nonsense, yet he still calls me “Captain” . . . The habits of a lifetime as a shipping company agent must be hard to break.
He was escorted by his attendants to an ablutions chamber. This was a small cave in which a natural hot spring cascaded down into a trough, lit by a flaring gas jet. A sub-cavern opened off this. There was another trough with a steady flow of water which vanished down a sinkhole. Its purpose was obvious, but was a god supposed to defecate and urinate? And was he supposed to do so watched by his worshippers? To his great relief the women did not accompany him into the natural water closet but waited outside. When he emerged, however, they took his hands and led him to the shower, went to work on his body with a strongly scented soap and a soft brush. When they had finished one of them handed him the tube of depilatory cream. They all watched with interest as his whiskers melted away under its application. Then there was a mirror, and a comb for his head hair and, after they had dried him with big, fluffy towels, a plain, dark blue sarong.
God or not, he was beginning to feel human.
Ablutions over, the women attired themselves in garments similar to that worn by Lennay, decorated with the Delur and Samz motif. They led Grimes along a gas-lit alleyway—this temple, so-called, was assuming in his mind the proportions of a minor city—to yet another chamber in the rock where Tamara was awaiting him. She, too, was sarong-clad, although hers was gold. An elaborate, pagoda-like golden crown surmounted her lustrous black hair and intricate pendants, interlocking rods and rings, dangled from the lobes of her ears.
She smiled.
She said, “We seem to have been promoted, Grimes. I thought that as Superintending Postmistress I’d reached the very pinnacle of ambition, but . . .”
He grinned.
“I got a kick out of regarding myself as Master under God. But now . . .”
She said, “Deities or not, we have to eat.” She gestured towards a stone table at which were two throne-like chairs.
They seated themselves. The serving women brought in the meal. It was, fantastically, eggs and bacon, with toast and butter and sweet preserve, a pot of hot, strong coffee. The eggs, however, had a subtly fishy flavor, not unpleasant, and whatever animal had contributed the meat from which the bacon had been processed was not a pig, the toast had a nutty taste and the preserve, although slightly acid, was not marmalade, but the coffee was genuine.
She told him, “I have had a long talk with Dinnelor. She is the wife of Lennay, the High Priest and Dog Star Line Agent. They’re real Terraphiles. This meal . . .”
“And these cigarillos—Smoke?”
“Thanks.”
Lennay came in accompanied by his wife, a woman apparently younger than himself, her blue skin unwrinkled, the little pseudo horns on her bald head less prominent. The High Priest (the Dog Star Line Agent?) made a gesture. The serving women cleared the table, came back with fresh coffee and four mugs, two more chairs.
“You are ready for the day’s work, Captain?” asked Lennay politely.
“What is a god supposed to do?” asked Grimes, then regretted the words. An agnostic himself he had always tried to avoid giving offense to sincere believers.
Lennay frowned sorrowfully. “Captain Grimes, please do not jest. I do not believe that you and Madam Tamara are actually Samz and Delur in person. But I do believe that the god and the goddess are using you as their instruments. I know that you are—or were—a member of the military profession . . .”
“How do you know?” demanded Grimes.
“The Dog Star Line captains and officers have told me about what happened on Morrowvia, have shown to me pictures of the people who were involved. I recognized you. Surely there is only one spaceman Grimes with such splendidly outstanding ears . . .”
Those prominent appendages flushed angrily. Tamara Haverstock laughed.
Grimes said, “All right, I was in the Survey Service. I held the rank of Commander when I . . . resigned. But I’m no expert on land warfare.”
“But you are familiar with weaponry, Captain Grimes. For example, laser pistols. My chief clerk acquired six of them when you and the Lady Delur were rescued.”
“Mphm. Have you any means of recharging them?”
“Regrettably, no. My Carlotti transceiver was solar-powered and, in any case, it was destroyed by the Shaara. But there were also four machine pistols and two light machine guns . . .”
“Ammunition?”
“Only the cartridges that were in the magazines.”
“Mphm.” Somehow that all-purpose grunt was not as satisfactory when delivered around a cigarillo rather than around the stem of a pipe. “Do you people have weapons of your own? Oh, you do have. When we were first put on show a man ran out waving what looked like a pistol and the Shaara cut him down . . .”
“One of us,” said Lennay. “He—how do you put it?—jumped the gun. But, to answer your question, we do have weapons. Unfortunately there are, now and again, wars between our nations. I could have made a huge fortune by importing sophisticated killing devices but I always refused to do so. Now I am sorry. Well armed we would not have been a bleeng—a plum, that is—ripe for the picking.”
“What do you have?” demanded Grimes.
“Cutting weapons. Stabbing weapons. Firearms. A variety of lethal and incapacitating gases and the means for their delivery. One of these latter, actually a potent insecticide, was used to effect your rescue.”
“And do you, personally, the Deluraixsamz, have these weapons?”
“We have access to them. Unfortunately they are all relatively short range and the few attempts that have been made to fight the invaders have ended in disaster. Too, the high ranking military are all devotees of Darajja and fear a resurgence of Deluraixsamz and actually regard the Shaara as their natural allies. There was a Shaara ship here just over a year ago and the Queen-Captain ignored me but, to my certain knowledge, entertained and was entertained by Hereditary President Callaray and General Porron. They will learn, of course, that he who sups with the devil needs a long spoon, but by the time the lesson has sunk in it will be too late for Darijja.”
“Aircraft?” asked Grimes.
“None that are used for fighting. We do have airships for the carriage of passengers and urgent cargoes . . .”
“Buoyancy? What gas do you use for lift? Hydrogen, or helium?”
“I do not understand. Those words are not in my vocabulary.”
Two of the very few that aren’t, thought Grimes. He explained, “Both are gases, both are lighter than air. Hydrogen burns, explodes. Helium is an inert gas.”
“Hydrogen,” said Lennay.
“I take it, then,” said Grimes, “that your Establishment is anti-Deluraixsamz, slightly anti-Terran, pro-Shaara inasmuch as they hope to use the Shaara . . .”
“Yes,” admitted Lennay doubtfully.
“Also, you can give me weapons—the handful taken from the guards, a rather greater number from your own arsenals . . .”
“Yes.”
“Then,” said Grimes, “if I’m to be more than a mere figurehead in your revolt I shall want some idea of the tools that I shall have at my disposal. I shall want maps. I shall want artificers—the handgrips and triggers of the Shaara guns will have to be modified for a start—I shall want samples of your explosives. I shall want to meet your guerrilla leaders . . .”
“The Great God Grimes demands offerings,” said Tamara sardonically.
“Dog—or bitch—shouldn’t eat dog,” Grimes told her. Lennay and his wife exchanged shocked glances.