Galactic Courier: The John Grimes Saga III (79 page)

“Think about it,” said Kane. “Sleep on it. Remember that this is a golden opportunity to get in on the ground floor of what could be, what will be a very profitable business. Big profit, small risks. The arms that you carry will remain the property of the El Doradan Corporation so you will not have to buy them. The Corporation will make the necessary modifications to your ship, free of charge. We can also provide gunnery training facilities—although in your case it should not be necessary. You, and your mate and your third mate, already have experience with weaponry . . .”

“Give it a go, Skipper!” urged Williams who, obviously, had overindulged in the excellent port wine.

“Mr. Williams,” said Grimes, “seems to be enthusiastic. But what about my other officers?”

“Any merchant spaceman left by his ship on El Dorado,” said Kane, “is regarded and treated as a criminal, jailed until such time as somebody can be persuaded to take him off planet. Such few unfortunates as have experienced the hospitality of our prison system have not been pampered. We do not believe in needless expense.”

“No?” asked Grimes sardonically, looking around at the rich appointments of the dining room.

“Unless,” went on Kane, “it is for ourselves.” He got to his feet “Shall we join the ladies?”

Chapter 26

THE LADIES WERE PLAYING BRIDGE,
with the exception of the Princess Marlene. She was sitting by herself, idly leafing through a magazine. Kane looked at the dedicated quartet about the card table, turned to the other men and asked, “What about making up another four, Grimes?”

“I’m not a millionaire,” Grimes said. “I can’t afford to play with El Doradans.”

“Your tabby’s doing all right,” said Kane.

And so she should be, thought Grimes. Magda was partnered with the Duchess, which lady was on the point of pulling off a Misere in no trumps. Was it fair, he wondered, that two women with psychic gifts should be allied? But Michelle and the Lady Eulalia could afford to lose money. Magda could not. Neither could he nor Williams. Too, he did not much care for the variety of bridge, with its Misere bids, that was being played. No matter what his cards were he played—not always successfully—to win. (And now, he thought wryly, he was being paid by Rear Admiral Damien to lose . . .)

“All right,” said Kane. “If you’re chicken we’ll adjourn to the music room.” He called to the Duchess, “Is it okay to use your playmaster, Lecky? Could we watch those spools you’ve just got in from New Venusberg?”

The Duchess looked around and up to him, stared at him coldly. “You may use the playmaster, Baron Kane. It will exhibit whichever programs you order.”

“New Venusberg . . .” murmured Williams. “Hot stuff . . .”

Too hot for me,
thought Grimes. He had been an unwilling performer in New Venusberg entertainments and his memories of that period of his life were not among his happiest.

The Princess had closed her magazine and put it down on her lap. She was looking at Grimes. Was that invitation in her expression? Could her attitude toward him have changed so suddenly? And if so, why? The El Doradans, as he well knew, did not believe in giving something for nothing.

He sauntered over to her, bowed stiffly. Her nod in reply was not stiff. She dropped the magazine on to the low table by her chair, extended a plump hand to him. He took it, helped her to her feet.

She said softly, “I thought, John, that we might take a stroll in the conservatory . . .”

He said, “That will be a great pleasure, Your Highness.”

She was very close to him as they walked slowly out of the drawing room, her rounded—too well padded?—right hip brushing against his left one. They passed the music room. Looking in through the open door Grimes could see the wide, deep screen of the playmaster, alive with a vivid depiction of the Colosseum arena where naked gladiators, men and women, were battling to the death. He was fortunate, he thought, that on his one appearance there he and the others on his team had been pitted only against wild beasts.

Marlene guided him through a labyrinth of corridors, gaslit tunnels, stone-floored, walled with panels of some dark wood, gleaming with satin polish. They came to a door which opened before them. Beyond it was a dimly illumined cavern—it seemed at firstgreen gloom that was alive with the rustle of lush vegetation, the tinkling of falling water. The air was warm, moist, redolent with the scent of growing things. Gradually the intensity of the light increased, was reflected from fleshy, scarlet flowers, from the glowing, golden globes that were exotic fruit of some kind.

“The one part of Leckhampton House,” remarked Marlene, “that’s not a slavish imitation of Old England. Although, I believe, the conservatories of some of the ancient establishments maintained by the nobility were hothouses in which all sorts of foreign plants flourished . . .” She waved an arm in the direction of a luminous display of great, polychromatic blossoms. “I’m sure that if Her Grace’s ancestors could have gotten a specimen of Tandoro Spectrum Flowers they would have done so.”

They paused by the fountain, looked into the big basin in which the Locomotive Lilies—an ugly name for a quite beautiful plant—were cruising slowly around and around, each an almost circular pad of green leaves supporting a creamy blossom, with trailing root-tendrils that, as well as providing motility, snared the tiny, almost invisible water insects that were the lilies’ food.

She didn’t drag me in here to give me a lecture on botany,
thought Grimes.

She had turned to face him, still standing very close. The scent that she was wearing competed with the natural perfumes of flowers and foliage. It was not a losing battle.

She said, “At first, when I heard that you were coming back to this world, I was far from happy. Now I am not so sure. We had something once. I wonder if we still have it . . .”

Her upraised face was an invitation for a kiss. He kissed her, on her open mouth. Her lips were warm, moist. He could feel her breasts against him, more full than they had been—how many years ago?—but still firm. His own body was showing signs of interest.

His right hand slid down her back, moving easily over the smooth, silky material of her dress, to the cleft of her buttocks. His fingers closed over a fleshy mound, squeezed gently.

She pulled away from him, quite violently. He thought that she was going to strike him but she did not. Then her face relaxed, the lines of emotion—but what emotion?—smoothing out. Her eyes, thought Grimes, were hard, cold, calculating.

Yet her voice was soft.

She said, “Not here, John. Not now. The Duchess knows everything that happens in this house of hers.”

“She knew what happened before,” said Grimes. “When . . .”

“That was then,” said the Princess. “This is now.”

But she was close to him again, very close. There was another kiss. He restrained, with something of an effort, his hands from wandering.

She said, “You must stay with me again. At the Schloss.”

He said, “As master I have considerably more freedom than I did when I was here before, as a junior officer.”

“I wish that you could come out with me tonight,” she told him, “but the castle is not in a fit state for the reception of a guest.”

With hordes of robot servants on the job for twenty-four hours a day and seven days a week?
he thought.

She sat down on the rim of the fountain basin, let her hand dangle in the warm water. The lilies clustered about her wrist, attracted by her body heat, by her perfume? Grimes submerged his own right hand. The drifting, motile plants avoided it.

She turned to face him again, looked at him with apparent frankness.

She said, “It is not in my nature to ask favors—but there is one that I must ask you. You know that the Graf von Stolzberg is your son. He does not know that you are his father. He believes, as do many people on El Dorado, that he was sired by the Comte Henri de Messigny. I have made no demands on you until now . . .” She paused. “No, I am not demanding. I am asking. This. If you enter Baron Kane’s service will you, as it were, take Ferdinand under your wing?”

I wish that I’d had some say in naming the boy,
thought Grimes.

He said, “But how can I?”

She said, “Then Baron Kane has not told you everything? But you will have to know sooner or later. Perhaps you have wondered what is to stop one of the privateers from deciding not to return to El Dorado with his spoils, from proceeding with all speed to, say, the Duchy of Waldegren or some other worlds or world where loot could be sold at a profit without too many questions being asked. This is what has been arranged. Each of the ships will carry an El Doradan supernumerary officer, seconded from our navy. These officers will make their reports, by Carlotti radio, at regular intervals, to our admiralty. Coded reports, of course.”

“And if one of them fails to report, so what?” asked Grimes.

“I haven’t finished yet. You know of our watchbirds . . .”

“I do. But I just can’t imagine such a contraption flapping around inside a spaceship.”

“I should not need to tell you that our guardians are not necessarily in avian form. But guardians there will be, in the guise of some animal that might be carried aboard a spaceship as a pet. They will be programed to kill in defense of their masters. They will also be programed to self-destruct, catastrophically, should their masters be dead.”

“And you think that young . . . Ferdinand will be appointed to my ship, to
Sister Sue
?”

“Of that I cannot be sure. It might be better if he is not. It could prove embarrassing. But this I do know. Baron Kane has said that his fleet of privateers must have a commodore and that you are the obvious man for the choice. As commodore you will have overall responsibility. You will be able to protect my son—
our
son—from danger.”

“But he’s a naval officer,” said Grimes. “A spaceman—”

And what was the El Doradan Navy? A rich men’s yacht club, its flagship a luxury cruising liner rated as an auxiliary cruiser . . .

“He has never been in any sort of action,” said the Princess. “But he’s young and foolish. He hopes that there will be fighting.”

“If I have my way,” said Grimes, “
if
I join Drongo Kane’s private gang,
if
I’m put in command of his ragtag fleet, there won’t be. We shall keep well clear of real warships and confine our attentions to unarmed merchantmen.”

“But you will enter Baron Kane’s service,” she pressed.

She was pressing in more ways than verbally. She was sitting very close to him on the basin rim, almost melting against him.

Damn you,
he thought,
do you want it or don’t you?
His arms were about her, hers about him. This time she made no objection to his straying hands. Her mouth was hot on his, open, her darting tongue busy. No matter what her motivations—anxious mother? Drongo Kane’s recruiting sergeant?—she was as ready for him as he was for her. What if the conservatory were bugged? (It almost certainly was; on this world the Monitor saw all, heard all, knew all.)

He had worked her dress down over her shoulders, exposing her breasts. Her nipples were erect under his insistent fingers. She moaned, kissing him ever more hotly. One of her hands was at his crotch.

She . . .

He . . .

They overbalanced, fell with a loud splash into the fountain basin.

The water was neither deep nor cold but the sudden shock killed desire.

He scrambled out, then assisted her out of the pool. She glared at him as she hastily adjusted her clothing. Then she laughed. It was genuine amusement with nothing vicious about it. She was still laughing when two of the Duchess’s robot lady’s maids appeared, solicitously wrapped her in a huge white towel and led her away. Grimes, chuckling ruefully, followed.

“There
is
a swimming pool, John,” said the Duchess when he made his dripping appearance in the drawing room, “but it is not in the conservatory. I hope that none of my lilies are damaged.”

***

The footman’s livery that had been found for him fitted well enough and, in fact, was of far better quality than any of his own uniforms. Nonetheless he thought that it was time that he was getting back to his ship.

“What
did
happen, Skipper?” asked Williams as the air car bore them swiftly back to the spaceport.

“Nothing,” grunted Grimes.

“But something must have happened, Captain,” said Magda.

“All right,” Grimes said. “I didn’t cross the great water. I fell into it.”

Chapter 27

BACK ABOARD THE SHIP,
in his quarters, Grimes buzzed Mayhew and asked him to come up to see him.

The telepath looked sardonically at Grimes’ borrowed livery and asked innocently, “Did you have a nice swim, Captain?”

Grimes glared at him and growled, “You know, of course, what happened in the conservatory. What else do you know?”

“I know, Captain, that
they
want you to play a major part in their venture. Your Survey Service background and training. Your reputation. You’ll be an ideal figurehead, in more ways than one . . .”

“How so?” asked Grimes.

“If things come badly unstuck, Kane thinks, you’ll be left holding the baby. He looks forward to seeing that almost as much as he does to making another fortune or two.”

“The bastard!” swore Grimes.

“Of course,” went on Mayhew, “the Baroness is at least partly to blame for his attitude toward you. She’s inclined to nag. ‘John Grimes would never have done this. John Grimes would never have done that . . .’ She has a soft spot for you and she lets it show.”

“I’m glad that somebody loves me,” said Grimes.

And what about Marlene?
he thought. Then—
No
, he decided.
I’ll not ask. She’s entitled to her privacy.

“The old Duchess quite likes you,” said Mayhew, “although she’s quite prepared to use you. The Hereditary Chief Lobenga despises you—but he despises all honkies, as he thinks of white men. He is amused that the honkies, Baron Kane, you and the others, will be going to all this trouble to put money into his bank account. The Lady Eulalia? She has no racial prejudices. Her blood line is so mixed that she can hardly afford them. She doesn’t care where the money comes from, or how it is made, as long as it comes in. Baron Takada? A money man pure and simple—or not so simple. The Princess von Stolzberg? She is genuinely concerned about her son and wishes that he had not volunteered to become one of the El Doradan liaison officers with the privateer fleet. And there is something more . . .”