Chapter 17
The next day Grimes had been looking forward to taking a test flight in Fat Susie but, while he was having his breakfast, Jaconelli brought him a list of the day’s appointments. He was to be host at a luncheon, he learned, for Madam President and her ministers. After this he was to accompany her to the official opening of the new Handicrafts Center just outside Libertad. After that he was free—for what little remained of the day.
He spent the forenoon familiarizing himself ^with the Residence, guided by Wong Lee and with Su Lin and Lieutenant Smith in attendance. It was one of those buildings that seemed to have just happened, additional rooms and facilities being tacked on to an originally quite small house as required. The servants’ quarters were underground, as was the kitchen. Grimes lingered here, using a pair of long chopsticks handed to him by the chef to sample tidbits from various cooking utensils. He did some more nibbling during his tour of the storerooms.
There were the vaults in which the records were stored—or had been stored. Filing cabinets were empty and the only information available from the read-out screens was purely domestic—food, light, heating and wages bills for the past decade and the like. Grimes found details of the last official luncheon given by his predecessor. Wibberley had been English and had fed his guests on pea soup, Dover sole (were there sole in Liberia’s seas?), steak and kidney pie, trifle and a cheese board featuring Stilton, Wensleydale and cheddar. He wondered how the New Cantonese kitchen staff had coped with this feast. To judge by the two breakfasts that he had already enjoyed they had probably made a very good job of it—just as they would almost certainly do with the menu that he had ordered.
He returned to his quarters to change from shirt and slacks into an informally formal lightweight suit. Su Lin. the dutiful handmaiden, assisted him unnecessarily to dress. She walked with him out to the portico where, with Jaconelli and the ADC, he waited to receive the guests.
Bardon, wearing a dark blue civilian suit that was almost a uniform, rode in with Estrelita O’Higgins in the presidential limousine. The President was in superbly cut blue denim with scarlet touches. The ministers and their companions were similarly clad. Before luncheon there were drinks in one of the big reception rooms.
The Colonel cornered Grimes while the Governor was graciously circulating among the guests.
He said abruptly, “I hear that my Lieutenant Duggin isn’t good enough for you. Your Excellency.”
“Frankly, Colonel, he isn’t,” said Grimes. “In any case I’d already made my own appointment of an atmosphere pilot.”
“I was hoping. Your Excellency,” said Bardon, “that you, with a military rather than an academic background, would be more cooperative with the Garrison than the late Governor Wibberley was.”
“A military background. Colonel? Piracy, you mean?”
“I was referring to your Survey Service career, Your Excellency.”
“In the Survey Service, Colonel, we expected a reasonably high standard of ship-handling competence.”
“Ship-handling, sir? An airship is not a spaceship.”
“One did not need to be an airshipman to know that Duggin was not very competent.”
“You are entitled to your opinion. Your Excellency.” Grimes wandered on, chatting with the other guests. Most of them, inevitably, asked him what he thought of Liberia and then, before he could make reply, told him what he should think.
And then the sonorous booming of a gong announced that luncheon was about to be served.
Grimes enjoyed the meal in spite of the company; he did not like fat cats and most of the guests could be categorized as such. The Residence chef and his assistants had done very well. Local Crustacea, served simply with a melted butter dressing, could almost have been the yabbies that Grimes remembered from his younger days in Australia. The Colonial Goose—leg of hogget, well spiced—could not have been better. The tropical fruit salad, its components marinated” in wine, was a suitable conclusion to the meal. There should have been kangaroo tail soup for the first course but the necessary ingredients had not been available on this planet.
It was Estrelita O’Higgins. sitting at Grimes’s right, who brought the luncheon party to a close.
“Your Excellency, they will be waiting for us at the Handicrafts Center. Oh, there is no real hurry.” She smiled. “Everybody of any importance is here. Nonetheless, we have our obligations. Our duties.”
She asked for more coffee.
Finally the party made its collective way to the waiting cars. Grimes rode in his own official vehicle, accompanied by his ADC and with two soldiers sitting forward, with the chauffeur. Estrelita O’Higgins led the motorcade.
The new Handicrafts Center was a big, single-storied hall, one of those buildings that manage to show signs of dilapidation even before their completion. It looked like an unprosperous factory. Outside its main entrance, which was bedecked with wilted flowers, was a small crowd. There was a band which, at the approach of the official cars, struck up with a selection of Australian folk songs which, at first, Grimes found it hard to recognize; every one of them sounded like a military march. There were the schoolchildren with their little flags. Most of them. Grimes noted, were New Cantonese. There were older people—teachers?—and they, too, were mainly representative of the refugee population.
The cars stopped.
Estrelita O’Higgins, squired by Colonel Bardon, got out of hers. There was some not very enthusiastic flag waving and a ragged cheer. Grimes, accompanied by his ADC, disembarked. Was it his imagination or was the cheering a little louder?
The President, accompanied by Grimes, Bardon and the Minister of Industry, mounted a temporary, bunting-covered dais. She spoke into a microphone and her amplified voice came from the speakers mounted on the streetlamp standards. She told her listeners how Liberia—that generous host!—had supplied facilities for the fitting education of the children of those to whom refuge had been given.
God bless the Squire and his relations, thought Grimes, and keep us in our proper stations.
Manual Silvero, the Minister of Industry, said his piece. He extolled the virtues of labor. A fat, short, greasy man he looked, thought Grimes, as though he had never done an honest day’s work in his life.
He concluded, “And now it is my honor to request His Excellency, Commodore John Grimes, to open this well-appointed, palatial, even, training establishment.”
The President led the way down from the dais. Bardon indicated that Grimes should follow her. The others came after them. They walked to the entrance, which had a scarlet, silken ribbon strung across it. A young man—a native Liberian—approached them, bearing a plump, purple cushion. On it was a pair of golden scissors. Bowing, he presented the implement to the Governor.
Grimes took the scissors, worked them experimentally. They seemed to be in order. He walked the few steps to where the ribbon barred his way to the drab looking interior of the Handicrafts Center.
And was it accidental or did somebody possess both a sense of humor and an acquaintance with Australian folk music?
Click go the shears . . .
Click went the shears and the ribbon parted.
The children cheered (because they had to) and there was a patter of polite handclapping.