Chapter 21 
Chapter 21
CLAVERING CAME IN FROM ORBIT. As soon as his boat had landed he sought out Grimes. He said, “I’m afraid I made a mess of your Rim Malemute.”
“You did just that, Captain Clavering. I take it you’ve seen my letter on the subject?”
“I have, Commodore. Don’t you think it was rather unnecessary?”
“No. I represent the Rim Worlds Navy, and when one of their ships is damaged I have to make sure that the person responsible, or his insurance company, foots the bill for repairs.”
Clavering grinned without mirth. “I suppose you read the copy of Inferno Valley Port Regulations I had put aboard your Malemute? One of the rules is that anybody who lands on this planet does so at his own risk. But we’re both of us spacemen, Commodore. Suppose you enjoy your holiday here, and let the lawyers argue about who pays whom for what.” His grin was friendly now. “I’m sure that you and Commander Williams will join me in a drink to show that there’s no hard feelings.”
“Smoke the pipe of peace,” said Grimes.
Clavering looked at him, hard, but Grimes kept his face expressionless, thinking, I shouldn’t mind betting that he could produce a pipe of dreamy weed if it were called for.
A devil brought cold drinks. The commodore sipped his, then said, “I’m not sure that I should be having this. And I’m sure that Williams should lay off the grog after his effort last night. We both of us slept in. Of course, if we’d been called on time . . .”
Clavering flushed—guiltily? He said, “I seem to be doing nothing else but apologize. It was my fault. I should have seen to it personally that your level devil understood the instructions. I should have checked up on you before I left the hotel. But I overslept myself, and had to rush down to the ship almost as soon as I was out of bed. With these big brutes the only safe time to lift off or land is during the dawn or sunset lull.”
“And even then it’s not all that bloody safe,” remarked Williams.
“Nothing is safe, Commander, ever. You should know that by this time.”
“If anything can go wrong, it will,” contributed Grimes.
“You said it, Commodore. It’s really surprising that things don’t go wrong more often.”
“Mphm. And now, Captain Clavering, much as we’re enjoying your hospitality I have to remind you that we’re here on business.”
“Business?” Was there a flicker of fear in Clavering’s eyes?
“Yes. This survey for the projected base. Had you forgotten? I was wondering if we could hire transport from you.”
Clavering did his best to look apologetic. “Normally I’d be only too pleased to let you have something suitable, Commodore. But this request of yours comes at an awkward time. Apart from Sally Ann’s boats I have only two heavy-duty atmosphere craft. They were both used extensively for tours during Sobraon’s stay on Eblis, and with maintenance staff working flat out they’ll be ready for use again just when Macedon comes in.”
“What about Sally Ann’s boats?”
“Once again, out of the question. I’ve just finished getting them up to the required standard for my charter trip. You know as well as I do—better than I do, probably—what sticklers for regulations the Department of Navigation surveyors are at Port Last, and that’s where I shall be going. I don’t want to be held up the same as Ditmar has been.”
“I suppose not. How about ground cars?”
“We don’t have any—not for passenger transport. We have the trucks bringing chemicals from our plant on the Bitter Sea.”
“And bottles of mineral water.”
“Yes. Have you tried our Bitter Soda yet? You should. A universal panacea for all the ills afflicting man.”
“Including insomnia?”
“Possibly. I don’t drink the muck myself.”
“You just make it.”
“Yes.”
“I often wonder what the vintners make,” quoted Grimes, “one half so precious as the stuff they sell. Or should it be ‘buy,’ not ‘make’? No matter.”
“What are you driving at, Commodore?” demanded Clavering.
“I’m not sure myself, Captain. Just thinking out loud. Sort of doodling without pen or paper. And as I can’t be getting on with my survey I shall be doing a lot of thinking, just to pass the time. Call me Cassius.”
“Cassius?” asked Williams, breaking the silence.
“Yes. He had a lean and hungry look. He thought too much. He was dangerous.”
“You’ll be able to go on the tours when Macedon comes in,” said Clavering. “The Painted Badlands. The Valley of the Winds and the Organ Pipes. The Fire Forest . . .”
“From what I’ve already learned,” said Grimes, “none of them at all suitable sites for a naval base.”
“There just aren’t any suitable sites. Period.”
“Looks as though I was wasting my time coming here, doesn’t it?”
“Sally Ann will be empty on the run from here to Port Last,” said Clavering a little too eagerly. “I’ll be pleased to give passage to you and Commander Williams and the rest of Rim Malemute’s officers.”
“Thank you, Captain. But we can’t accept. Traditions of the Service, and all that. Don’t give up the ship. She’s our responsibility. I’m afraid we’re stuck here until she’s repaired.”
“I suppose I might tow her back to Port Last for you,” suggested Clavering doubtfully.
Grimes went through the motions of considering this. Then, “Too risky. Deep space towing’s a very specialized job, as Williams, here, will tell you. And the most awkward part would be getting the Malemute off the ground. You’ve all damn room to play within your spaceport at the best of times, and when your Sally Ann lifts off you’ll have Macedon cluttering up the apron, with mooring wires every which way. No. Not worth the risk.”
“At least,” said Clavering, “I shall be having the pleasure of your company for quite some time.” He was obviously trying to convey the impression that the prospect was a pleasurable one. He essayed a smile. “So, gentlemen, make yourselves at home. This is Liberty Hall. You can spit on the mat and call the cat a bastard.”
The literal-minded Williams looked around him, at the pneumatic furniture, the inflated walls. He grinned, “If you did have a cat you would be calling him a bastard, or worse, I can just imagine one racing around in here, digging his claws into everything.”
Clavering smiled, genuinely this time. He said, “This plastic is tougher than it looks. It has to be, as the devils just refuse to cut their toenails. But it is a nightmare I have sometimes, the skins of the bubbles pricked and the whole damn place just collapsing on itself like a punctured balloon. But it can’t ever happen.”
“Famous last words,” said Grimes cheerfully. “It can’t happen here.”
“It can’t,” Clavering told him forcefully.