Chapter 14
Sanchez led the way around the sprawling Residence to what was almost a minor airport. He had been there before, of course, while his brother had been atmosphere pilot to the late Governor Wibberley. There were hangars—two of them occupied and the third, the very big one, empty. Outside this, at a suitable distance, was a tripedal mooring mast.
Smith said, with, a gesture toward this construction, “Your airship will be delivered this afternoon, Your Excellency. One of the Army’s Lutz-Parsivals. Colonel Bardon has appointed Lieutenant Duggin to be your pilot.”
Before Sanchez could protest Grimes said, “I have made my own appointment, Lieutenant. Captain Sanchez will be flying me.”
“But the Colonel . . .”
“Is not the Governor, I am.”
“But Captain Sanchez is a spaceman . . .”
“And a qualified airshipman. Is that not so, Captain?”
“It is. Your Excellency,” replied Sanchez as Smith said nastily, “So was his brother.”
“That will do, Lieutenant Smith!” snapped Grimes while making a Pipe down! gesture aimed at the other man. “That will do. Captain Sanchez is my pilot. And now, Captain, shall we look at what toys we shall have to play with?”
He walked to one of the occupied hangars, into it. The craft housed therein was a small pinnace of a type carried by the larger warships of the Survey Service, a spaceship in miniature. That, thought Grimes, he could fly himself—although legally he couldn’t, his Master Astronaut’s Certificate having been suspended. (Of course there was his Reserve Commission but that was supposed to be kept a secret.) Sanchez opened a door in the pinnace’s side, into the little airlock. Grimes clambered on board, followed by Sanchez and Smith. He went forward first, to the control cab. With two exceptions the instrumentation on the console seemed to be in order. Certain switches, dials and screens had been removed and replaced by blank cover plates.
“No Mini-Mannschenn?” asked Grimes. “No Carlotti deep space radio?”
“They were removed. Your Excellency,” said Smith, “when Colonel Bardon had this pinnace modified for the Governor’s use.”
“Modified how!” demanded Grimes.
“The space occupied by that equipment was required for the bar and for . . . for . . .”
“Mphm,” grunted Grimes. He asked suddenly, “Does the Residence run to its own Carlotti transceiver?” (That was one of the many things, he thought, that he should have found out long before he arrived on Liberia.)
“No, Your Excellency,” said Smith. “Surely you must have noticed that there are no Carlotti antennae on the roof.”
“They could be in the cellar,” said Grimes, “and work just as well!”
Smith made a show of ignoring this and continued, “The only Carlotti equipment is at the spaceport. It is manned and maintained, of course, by Terran personnel.”
And so the Governor, thought Grimes, can communicate directly with Earth only by courtesy of the Garrison Commander.
He completed his inspection of the pinnace. He was not overly impressed. He could not refrain from using his memories of Little Sister as a yardstick. When he made his way out through the airlock Su Lin was there to help him down to the ground. He waved her aside irritably and then, when he saw her hurt expression, rather hated himself.
He said, “It’s all right, Su. I’m a spaceman. I’m used to getting into and out of these things.”
With the others he made his way into the other hangar in use. The aircraft there was a helicopter, a rather beat-up Drachenflieger, no doubt one of Bardon’s cast-offs. Sanchez looked at the machine disparagingly.
“Governor Wibberley,” he said, “never used this. My brother reckoned that it wasn’t safe.”
“And he, of course,” said Smith, “was an expert on aeronautical safety.”
“You . . .”the pilot growled, his fist raised threateningly.
“Lieutenant Smith,” snapped Grimes, putting a control room crackle into his voice, “you will refrain from making provocative remarks.” Then, his voice a little milder, “Captain Sanchez, I will not tolerate brawling among the members of my . . . family. And now, will you take luncheon with me?”
“Thank you, Your Excellency.”
“And will you, Lieutenant Smith, please inform us when the airship is approaching?”
“Very good, Your Excellency.”
The party walked back to the main entrance to the building, Sanchez beside Grimes, Su Lin the usual half pace to the rear and Smith, sulking hard, well astern.
It was a leisurely and pleasant meal, with drinks before, served by the attentive Su Lin. The honeyed sand crawlers were especially good, reminding Grimes of the honeyed prawns that he had enjoyed in Chinese restaurants on Earth. With the meal there was rice wine, served warm in tiny cups. When it was over Grimes lit his pipe—waiting until the girl was out of the room—and Sanchez a slim, black cigar.
The pilot said, “I must apologize for having lost my temper with your ADC, Excellency.”
“He asked for it,” said Grimes. “I’ve been considering asking Colonel Bardon for a replacement, but . . .”
“Better the devil you know, sir.”
“Precisely. You must have seen him, now and again, when you visited your brother here.”
“Yes. I never did like him. He didn’t like me. And my brother hated him. It was mutual.”
“He’s Bardon’s man. of course.”
“Of course,” agreed Sanchez.
Su Lin returned with coffee.
“Is it switched on, Su?” asked the pilot.
“Yes, Raoul,” she replied.
Grimes stared at them.
“Is what switched on?” he demanded.
“A device that I carry,” she replied. “A—how shall I call it? A conversation modifier. It takes our voices and—scrambles? shuffles? To any listener you are telling Raoul about some of your deep space adventures and he is asking questions about them.”
“And what are you saying?”
“I am urging Your Excellency to take at least one of these chinrin cakes with your coffee. Chinrin cakes, of course, were a great delicacy on New Canton. The refugees brought chinrin seeds with them when they came here and now we have our own little plantations of the shrubs.”
“This modifier,” asked Grimes curiously. “Does it have to be programmed?”
“Only in the most general of terms. It could almost be said to be intelligent. Perhaps it functions psionically. It could be a form of pseudolife but that I cannot say. I am not a scientist.”
“Could I see it?” asked Grimes curiously. To his surprise she blushed embarrassedly. “When Su Lin said that she carried the modifier,” explained Sanchez, “she didn’t mean that she carried it on her . . .”
“An implant?” asked Grimes.
“Yes, sir. But not a surgical implant. If you know what I mean.”
“Oh. So am I to understand that as long as she’s around, and along as she has it switched on, the bugs with which the Residence must be crawling will be sending absolutely fictitious reports to Bardon’s monitors. I suppose that the bugs are Bardon’s?”
“Of course, sir,” said Sanchez.
“Mphm.” He turned to Su Lin. “So you’re rather more than my faithful handmaiden, it seems—just as Wong Lee is rather more than my faithful majordomo. But this . . . this thing of yours . . . where did you get it?”
It was Sanchez who answered.
“Shortly after the late Governor Wibberley’s so-called accident there was a salesman here from Electra—not that he called himself a salesman. Trade Representative was his title. He was wined and dined by Estrelita but didn’t make any sales. He was allowed to wander around without supervision—after all, what harm could a woolly-witted scientist-engineer do? He enjoyed a liaison with one of our girls, an OAP member.” He grinned. “She put the hard sell onto him and made a convert. Probably only a temporary one but still a convert. She told him about our problems and of the way in which the Governor, who had been taking too much interest in the state of affairs here, had been eliminated. . . .”
“Tanya Mendoza is a friend of mine,” said Su Lin. “She came to visit me here. It was quite natural that she should bring her Electran friend with her and quite natural that I should show him around the Residence. He had a detector with him—although as far as Smith and Jaconelli were concerned he had nothing on him but the usual camera and recorder carried by tourists. He confirmed our suspicions that—as you have said—the Residence is crawling with bugs. He promised Tanya that he would do something about it, something that would not be obvious to the . . . the . . . buggers, is there such a word?”
“There is,” said Grimes, “although its real meaning is not the one that you have given it.”
Looking at her face he saw that she was making some sort of physical effort. He was about to ask what was wrong when Sanchez said, “Very interesting, Your Excellency. Very interesting. . . .”
Then, from behind him, Smith said, “Your Excellency, the airship is approaching now.”
So the device had been switched off, Grimes realized. So all conversation from now on was being faithfully and truthfully recorded.
He turned to face his ADC.
“We’ll be right out,” he said.