Chapter 15 
Chapter 15
“I THOUGHT YOU KNEW,” said Grimes innocently.
“How the hell could I know?” countered Clavering. “I’m not a telepath.”
“Didn’t you get the letter, Captain?”
“What letter?”
“From the Admiralty.”
“No. Was there supposed to be one?”
“Yes. I was shown a copy. But the mail services are getting worse than ever these days. The original will probably be in the mail brought by Ditmar, when she finally lifts off Ultimo.”
“And just what is this famous letter about?”
“The base.”
“What base?”
“Sorry, I was forgetting that you don’t know. I’ll put you in the picture. The Space Lords of the Confederacy, with a surplus of the taxpayers’ money to play with, have decided that it might be a good idea to establish a naval base on Eblis.”
“What in the Universe for? It would have no strategic value whatsoever.”
“Just what I tried to tell them, Captain Clavering. But ours not to reason why, and all the rest of it.”
“I suppose not.” Then, “I’m glad to see you again after all these years, Commodore Grimes, but you might have let me know that you were coming. An ETA would have been useful. As it was, you just appeared out of nowhere and, between ourselves, young Lingard who’s supposed to be in charge of Aero-Space Control isn’t the brightest. He should have told you to stay in orbit until sunset or dawn, when there’s always an hour or so of flat calm. He should have asked you if you wanted a pilot in. I do the piloting, as a matter of fact. I go up in one of Sally Ann’s boats and board outside the atmosphere.”
“Keeping your hand in . . .”
“Yes.” Then Clavering returned to his original complaint. “I know that the Navy always does as it damn well pleases, but an ETA would have been useful.”
“You’d have got one,” lied Grimes, with a warning glance at Williams, “if the Carlotti gear hadn’t gone on the blink. I’m afraid that the poor little Malemute’s showing her age. If it’s not one thing broken down, it’s something else.” Then, as a SOP to Rim Malemute’s skipper, “Of course, she’s very hardworking.”
“But this base, Commodore,” said Clavering. “The idea’s crazy. Eblis is absolutely unsuitable. There’s a shortage of suitable landing sites, and the climate is quite impossible, and . . .”
“You made out all right, Captain.” Grimes smiled. “And look at the trade that you’d be doing, as owner of the only recreational facilities on the planet.”
“And look at the headaches I’d be getting! The natives spoiled by the big money, or its equivalent, splashed around by a spendthrift government. Brawls in my bars . . .”
“Come, come. I’ll not say that our officers and ratings are fit and proper personnel for a Sunday school treat—but they are quite well behaved.”
“They may be, Commodore, but are the tourists? I can just imagine it. Mr. Silas Q. Moneybags is staying here with his latest blonde secretary. A handsome young lieutenant, all prettied up in his go-ashore uniform, does a line with the blonde. Mr. Moneybags, after a drink or three too many, takes a swing at the lieutenant. Oh, no, Commodore. That sort of carry on is not for me if I can possibly avoid it.”
“Mphm. I see your point, Captain. But I was sent here to make a survey, and a survey I have to make. To begin with, I suppose you have Eblis pretty well charted?”
“Of course. I was a navigator before I became a hotel manager. Suppose you and Commander Williams come with me to my map room.”
“Thank you,” said Grimes.