Ride the Star Winds (13 page)

The thin girl assailed the keyboard of her instrument. The people behind the table stood up. With a shuffling of feet and a subdued scraping of shifted chairs those in the body of the hall stood up. Everybody—excepting Grimes—started losing.

The faith of our fathers lives on in our hearts,

The flame of their courage burns on,

Their banners still fly. let us lift them on high.

In the light of Liberia’s sun . . .

There was more, much more. Grimes hummed along with the rather trite music while he listened to the words. This was a political meeting to which Sanchez had brought him, he decided, a gathering of the Original Anarchists. At last the song was over. Everybody sat down but the big, bearded man on the platform.

“Comrades,” said this person. “Comrades, and honorary comrades . . .” (The New Cantonese? wondered Grimes. The refugees from New Dallas and other devastated worlds? So even the OAP was capable of discrimination . . .)

“Comrades. Honorary comrades. Again there is hope. Again Earth has sent us a Governor, one who may take our part, as Governor Wibberley did, against the tyranny of O’Higgins and Bardon. But I must warn you, all of you, not to place too much faith in him. After all, the man is no more than a common pirate. . . .” (Piracy, thought Grimes, wasn’t exactly a common trade.) “We will support him if and when he confronts O’Higgins and Bardon. We will stand against him when he attempts to re-impose the rule of Imperial Earth.

“But what manner of man is this new Governor, this pirate Commodore Grimes? With whom shall we have to deal when the time comes? What say you, Chiang Sung?”

One of the New Cantonese got to his feet.

“I am only an under-chef at the Residence, Comrade. I have little contact with him. I have seen him, of course. He has inspected the kitchens. He was very affable. He appreciates good food. It will be a pleasure to work for such a gentleman. But Su Lin, his maidservant, can tell you more than I.”

“And where
is
Su Lin?” demanded the fat woman. “Where is the Pekingese Princess? The airs and graces that she puts on when she’s no more than a governor’s trollop . . . Come to that—where is the Lord High Mandarin Wong Lee? With all due respect to Comrade Chiang Sung, we should exercise far greater discrimination.”

“And where,” demanded one of the smaller men on the platform, “is
Captain
Raoul Sanchez?” He went on, sneering heavily, “Oh, he came crying to us after that wench of his died and after his brother was murdered—or so he says. But I suppose that now he’s found himself a new girl and, as we know, he’s inherited his brother’s soft job he’ll scrub us.”

Grimes heard Sanchez growl softly and gave him a sharp nudge with his elbow.

He sat through a long and boring speech by the Comrade Chairman. The more he heard the less he was puzzled by the fact that the Liberian authorities tolerated the OAP. Probably many of the men and women at this meeting were government agents. Possibly these same agents, as dues-paying members, made quite heavy contributions to the OAP working expenses. He listened to horror stories from various refugees, men and women in domestic service whose masters and mistresses, according to them, were unduly harsh. Most of such tales left him unmoved. Those servants would not have lasted long in like capacities aboard any spaceship, naval or mercantile. Those who make a practice of insolence, dumb or otherwise, should not be surprised when their employers take counter measures.

The meeting came to a close just as Sanchez was beginning to fidget and snatch ever more frequent glances at his wrist companion. The pianist again battered the long-suffering keyboard. Everybody stood up.

Arise, ye prisoners of starvation.

Arise, ye wretched of the world,

For Justice thunders condemnation

And the flag of Hope’s unfurled!

Then comrades come rally

And the last fight let us face.

Fraternity and Liberty

Unite the human race!

“Time we got going, Joachim,” said Sanchez.

They made their way toward the door, accepting handfuls of leaflets as they did so. They were almost out and clear when they were accosted by a large, heavily moustached man.

“New here, comrades?”

“Yes, comrade,” said Sanchez. “We’re up from our plantation. Somebody told us that there was an OAP meeting so we thought we’d look in.”

“Interested, comrades?”

“Yes. We have drifted away from the old ideals.”

“I’d like to send you some more literature, comrades. Put you on our mailing list.”

“We’d be pleased with that,” Sanchez said. He pulled out his notecase, took out a card and gave it to the man. “And now, if you’ll excuse us. We have a date. With two of the girls from the Whorehouse.”

“But you’re contributing to their degradation, comrades.”

“Come off it, comrade. They like their work. Or they will with us—eh, Joachim? Come on, man. We mustn’t keep the ladies waiting.”

As they waited for a trishaw Grimes said, “Raoul, surely you could see that the man was some sort of undercover agent.”

“Of course I did.”

“But you gave him a card . . .” ,

“I didn’t say that it was mine, did I?” He hailed an approaching trishaw. “Come on, Joachim. We mustn’t keep Wong Lee waiting.”

Chapter 21

Sitting in the back
of Wong Lee’s truck they talked.

“What did you think of the OAP meeting, sir?” asked Sanchez.

“Not much,” said Grimes frankly. “Just an occasion to blow off harmless steam under the watchful eye of the authorities.”

“You’re right, sir. And the other places?”

“I’ve seen worse on other worlds.”

“Including the encouragement to drug addiction?”

“Even that.”

“But not in the same way, sir. On other planets there are pushers—but surely they are not employed by the government. The policy here, on Liberia, is that the refugees shall become so dependent on dreamsticks and other drugs that they lack the drive to achieve full citizenship.”

“Are there any emancipists?” asked Grimes.

“Emancipists?”

“It’s a term from Australian history, Raoul. During the days when New South Wales was a penal colony the emancipists were convicts who had been granted their freedom. More than a few of them became wealthy and influential men.”

“We do have the equivalent here, sir, but there aren’t many of them. There’s Calvin McReady, who’s one of our minor grain kings and all set to become a major one. There’s Sin Fat, who owns the New Shanghai. But they regard themselves as Liberians, not as refugees, or ex-refugees. They are as money- and power-hungry as any of the native-born Establishment.”

“So it was, all too often, in New South Wales,” said Grimes. “But tell me, Raoul, why are you in the GAP? Is it only for personal reasons?”

Sanchez fell silent for a while, quietly smoking one of his long cigars.

Then, “There are more than personal reasons, sir. When I was a child I was taught the history of Liberia. After I left school—before, even—I could not help but see the disparity between the ideals of our founding fathers and what we have—despite all the lip service—now. . . .”

“Mphm. You went into an odd trade, didn’t you, for one of your political beliefs. A spaceman has to accept discipline, take orders. Once he becomes captain he has to give orders.”

“But I wanted to become a spaceman,” Sanchez said. “I want to become a
real
spaceman, not a ferry master. Oh, I could never stand Survey Service discipline and spit and polish, such as you were once used to—but merchant ships are run on fairly democratic lines.”

“Mphm,” grunted Grimes dubiously.

“Of course, sir, what would be ideal would be a
little
ship, with no crew, of which I was owner-master. Something on the lines of that
Little Sister
of yours. . . .”

“Either accumulate at least a million credits or hire yourself out as yachtmaster to a billionairess who’ll give you such a ship as a parting gift.” Grimes laughed. “I did it the second way. I certainly couldn’t have done it the first.”

“But you must
know
people, sir.”

“I do, Raoul. I do, Hinting, are you? Well, if all goes well I just might—only might, mind you—be able to get you a berth as a very junior officer in a deep space ship. After that it’d be up to you—getting in your deep space time, passing examinations and all the rest of it. There are no instant captains in deep space. But forget that we’re spacemen. I’m a planetary governor who’s been traveling incognito among his people. You’re my guide. Tell me about the dives we were in tonight.”

“First, sir, the Garden of Delights. It’s owned by Colonel Bardon and Estrelita O’Higgins. The manager is one Chiang Sooey. Chiang is not yet a citizen but hopes to become one. The turnover rate of entertainers is high—Chiang likes them to take their pay in dreamsticks and the like rather than in money. . . .”

“And the dreamsticks. . . . Where do they come from?”

“One of the main sources of supply used to be the ships owned by Able Enterprises but recently a dreamweed plantation was started by Eduardo Lopez. . . .”

“The Minister for Immigration?”

“The same. There was an influx of refugees from Bangla—there was some sort of Holy War there. Dreamweed comes from Bangla. The people there use it but they’re immune to its worst effects. They were recruited to work on the Lopez plantation. The occasional leaves they smoke or chew will not reduce their capacity for hard work.”

“And the other people, the customers, who get hooked have to work like bastards to feed their habit.”

“Yes. And burn themselves out. And now, the Texas Whorehouse. Owned by a syndicate of Bardon’s officers. Managed by Lyman Cartwell, of New Dallas origin. Like Chiang Sooey, not yet a citizen but hopeful of becoming one. It’s not at all likely, he’s become a dreamstick addict himself.”

“I take it that the clipjoints—how much do I owe you, by the way?—that we didn’t patronize are all very much the same insofar as ownership is concerned.”

“With the exception of the New Shanghai, of course. And I’ll let you have a detailed accounting as soon as possible, sir.”

“Do that, Raoul.”

“To date, sir, you’ve just seen the glamorous—
glamorous,
ha, ha!—side of the exploitation of the refugees. You’ve yet to see the conditions on the farms and plantations—the living quarters, the company stores . . .”

“It’s time,” said Grimes, “that you and I took
Fat Susie
out for an airing. A leisurely tour of my domain. . . .”

“I’d like that, sir.”

Obviously the van was slowing.

It stopped and the rear door slid open.

Grimes and Sanchez jumped down to the ground, found themselves standing by the tradesmen’s entrance of the Residence. Su Lin was waiting for them there. After a brief word of greeting she led them inside the building and through a maze of passageways to the Governor’s quarters. She produced the inevitable tea. After this had been sipped she brought out a bottle of solvent and, applying it with gentle hands, removed Grimes’s false facial hair. Sanchez attended himself to the stripping of his own disguise.

The pilot said good night and departed for his accommodation. The girl stayed with Grimes and insisted on preparing him for bed.

She did not offer to share his couch with him.

Chapter 22

After a not too early
breakfast Grimes sent for Sanchez.

Su Lin was present while the two men studied charts spread on the desk in the Governor’s office. Whatever the bugs picked up and reported would not be what was actually being said.

“I suggest, sir,” said the pilot, “that we start by flying to the McReady estate. There are mooring facilities there.”

“A surprise visit, Raoul?”

“More or less. We’ll give him a call about an hour before we’re due. That’ll give him time to muster a few hands and to get his own blimp away from the mast and into the hangar.”

“It sounds rather high-handed.”

“You’re the Governor, sir.”

“But not an absolute monarch. Mphm.”

“If we cast off at noon,” said Sanchez, “we should arrive at about 0900 hours, McReady’s time, tomorrow morning. The actual flying time will be seventeen hours, weather permitting. At this time of the year there shouldn’t be much wind, either with us or against us. Would you mind standing a watch or two, sir? There’s an automatic pilot, of course, but I’m old-fashioned. I feel that the control room should be manned at all times.”

“So do I,” said Grimes.

“I can stand a watch too,” put in Su Lin. “I may not hold any licenses or certificates but I can handle lighter-than-air craft.”

“Did you fly with Governor Wibberley?” Grimes asked.

“No. I learned . . . elsewhere.”

“But what gave you the idea that you were coming with us?”

“The Lord High Governor must have his personal maidservant in attendance, mustn’t he? Who’s going to make your tea and cook your meals?”

“I can handle an autochef,” Grimes told her huffily. “When I was by myself in
Little Sister
I fed quite well. I don’t need a huge kitchen, such as here, with hordes of chefs and scullions.”

“Three watches will be better than watch and watch, sir,” said Sanchez.

“I suppose so. But you’re the expert, Raoul. Shall we need any crew apart from the three of us?”

“What for?”

“As long as you’re happy,” said Grimes, “I am. I don’t want any of Smith’s nongs in my hair. Come to that—I don’t want Smith himself, even though he is alleged to be my ADC.”

“He hates flying,” said Su Lin. “Whenever possible he found some excuse to avoid accompanying Governor Wibberley on his flights.”

“He knew what was going to happen,” said Sanchez bitterly.

“Could it happen to me?” asked Grimes interestedly. “To us?”

“Fat Susie
is clean,” the pilot told him. “So far. And I’ve set up an intrusion recorder that will let me know if anybody has been sniffing around her during my absence.”

“One of y
our
electronic toys, Su Lin?” asked Grimes.