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Chapter 4




Grimes took one of the regular airships to Sydney and then a ramjet to New York. The World Assembly was housed in the old UN Building which, miraculously, had survived all the troubles that had plagued the city since the United Nations had taken up residence there. Staring down at Manhattan as the jet descended to the airport Grimes wondered what it had looked like during the days of its glory. He had seen photographs, of course, but would have liked to have been able to recognize, in actuality, such fabled towers as the Empire State and World Trade Buildings; the ornamental lakes that occupied their sites were all very well but, from the air, were no more than irregular puddles of blue water. But there was Brooklyn Bridge, rebuilt only recently to the old design. And that must be the Chrysler Building. . . . It was too bad that this was to be a brief business visit only.

An official World Assembly car was waiting for him and whisked him swiftly to the Assembly’s headquarters. He was expected there; a young officer in a smart, sky-blue uniform escorted him along moving ways and up escalators, delivered him to the office of the Protector of the Colonies.

Bendeen—a slim man, not overly tall, gray-haired and with a heavily lined face—came from behind his littered desk to greet Grimes. The WA lieutenant withdrew and the door automatically closed behind him.

“So you’re the famous—or notorious—Grimes,” said Bendeen. “All right. You can admit it. This office is bugproof—or so the experts loaned to me by Rear Admiral Damien assure me. We can talk. Officially, as you may have learned, I was pressured into finding you a job. In actuality you were strongly recommended to me by the Rear Admiral. Drink?” What Grimes had taken for just another filing cabinet detached itself from the wall, rolled up to them on silent casters. A tray was extruded from it; on it were two glasses of what looked like pink gin. “As you see, Governor, I share your taste in tipples. Your very good health.”

“And yours, Protector,” Grimes replied.

(His father’s robutler. Grimes thought, was much better at mixing drinks than this thing of Bendeen’s.)

“You’re booked out. Grimes, on Sobraon. The VIP suite, of course. She lifts from Port Woomera tomorrow so that means another ramjet flight for you. Can’t say that I envy you. I hate those things. If God had meant us to fly He’d have given us an ample supply of non-flammable, lighter-than-air gas. Which, of course, He did. But where was I? Oh, yes. Your commission as Governor. It’s on the desk somewhere. Ah, here it is. A splendid example of the engraver’s art with eagles and dragons and hammers and sickles and lions and unicorns and hammers and sickles and rising suns and . . . oh, yes, emus and kangaroos all over it. And the Grand Seal of the Assembly. No not a seal, but a seal. Red wax, you know. And your name, in Gothic script. It’ll look fine when you have it framed on the wall of your gubernatorial office. . . .”

“Isn’t there any sort of swearing in ceremony?” asked Grimes, at last getting a word in edgewise.

“You’ll have to wait until Libertad—that’s the capital of Liberia—for that. I’m told that the president likes to put on shows to impress the oppressed masses. And they are oppressed, you know. Not only is there the hard, manual work for precious little pay but there’re all the lucrative rackets indulged in by Bardon’s boys. I don’t know what Bardon’s got on von Tempsky but, as far as VT is concerned, the colonel can do no wrong. I’ve tried to have him replaced but the Field Marshal piles on more Gs with the Lord Protector than I do. So I’m relying on you to catch Bardon with his hand in the till—or in the pocket of one of the indentured laborers. From what Damien has told me about you you’re used to playing by ear. And you’re a sort of catalyst. Things sort of happen all around you and, more often than not, you turn them to your advantage.

“There’s a case waiting for you at the airport with plenty of light reading for your voyage—spools and spools of it. The VIP suite, of course, has a playmaster. You’ll get a good idea of the world you’re going to—history from the first settlement to the present. And now, finish your drink. The car’s waiting to take us out to Kennedy. Don’t forget the commission—there’s a case for it somewhere. Ah, here . . .”

They emerged from the Protector’s office into the corridor. Bendeen’s manner changed, became stiff, hostile even. He said, as they passed through the door, “. . . this appointment was none of my choosing. But you are now the Governor—until such time as you are relieved.”

Which will not be soon enough, implied the Protector’s expression.

Grimes took the hint. This corridor must be well covered by audio-visual bugs. He kept his distance from the Protector, set his face into sullen lines. The two men maintained their charade until they shook hands, with a marked lack of enthusiasm, at the airport and Grimes boarded the ramjet for Woomera.










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Framed