Ride the Star Winds (31 page)

“The glory that was Greece . . .” quoted Grimes. “What’s so wrong with that?”

“Ancient Greece,” she told him, “was glorious, if you happened to be a member of the upper crust and male. If you were a slave, a peasant or a woman it wasn’t so glorious.”

“But there are women in this New Hellas Association. This murdered agent of yours—all right, all right, of ours—was a member and a woman.”

“There are some women,” she said, “who, in their secret hearts, would enjoy being human doormats. There are other women who would enjoy being glamorous
hetaerae
in a society where the other members of their sex were no more than drab
Hausfrauen
.”

“
Hetaerae
and
Hausfrauen
in the same culture!” laughed Grimes.

“You know what I mean. Well, it wouldn’t be so bad if the New Hellenes were just trying to attain their ends by democratic means but, according to our late agent, they’re plotting a coup. A coup on classical lines. And then yet another unsavory dictatorship which, eventually, will have to be put down at great expense. If such things can be nipped in the bud . . . .”

“By whom?”

“Need you ask, ducky?”

“Damn it all,” said Grimes, “I’m a civilian. A shipmaster and shipowner. All that I came to this world for was to rejoin my ship.”

“You’re not a civilian, John. Oh, you may have been for a while, but ever since you accepted that reserve commission you’ve been back in the Service. I’ve written orders for you from Admiral Damien—not with me at the moment but in the captain’s safe aboard the courier. I’ll get them out for you before too long.”

The intercom phone buzzed. Grimes pressed the
Acknowledge
button. Gunning’s face appeared in the screen.

“I hope that I’m not interrupting anything, Commodore, but Colonel Heraclion asked me to remind you that the car is waiting to take you to the palace. If you like I’ll send somebody down to give you a hand with your gear.”

“Thank you, Captain,” said Grimes. “But don’t I have to pass Port Health, Immigration and Customs?”

“The colonel informs me that all formalities have been waived in your case.” The master laughed. “It’s always handy to have friends in high places.”

The screen went blank.

Grimes opened the door of his cabin in preparation for the arrival of the junior officer who would help him with his bags. Maggie continued talking but only on topics which, should she be overheard, would give nobody any ideas.

“Talking of friends,” she said, “I met one of yours a couple of days ago.”

“But the only person whom I got to know on this world, when I was here before, was Brasidus.”

“This one’s an offworlder.”

“From Earth?”

“No. From Bronsonia. An investigative reporter, she calls herself. She works for that scurrilous rag
Star Scandals
. She’s doing a series on sleazy entertainment centers on as many worlds as she can get to visit during the time allowed her. She’s tailing along after some outfit calling itself Galactic Glamour, featuring exotic dancers from all over. They’re doing a short season here before pushing on to Latterhaven.

“Anyhow, I met her when I was slumming, as part of my research. We had a couple or three drinks. She knew that I’m Survey Service. And you know how stupid people are . . .” She assumed a voice that was not hers but which was ominously familiar to Grimes.
“Oh, you’re in the Survey Service . . . A commander. Do you know Commander Smith?”
She laughed. “What she said was,
Do you know Captain Grimes? He used to be in the Survey Service—he got as high as commander, I believe, before they threw him out . . .
”

“I resigned!” growled Grimes.

“So I said to her,
Who doesn’t know Grimes?
And she grinned nastily and said,
So we share that dubious pleasure.
But don’t you want to know who she is?”

“I know only one person who answers to your description of her,” muttered Grimes. “But tell me, is she, too, a guest at the palace?”

“No. She did come calling around once, flashing her press ID, but Ellena took an instant dislike to her. The guards have strict orders never to admit her again.”

“Thank All The Odd Gods of the Galaxy for that! With any luck at all I’ll not be meeting her again.”

“Then your luck’s run out. You surely don’t think, do you, that you’ll be confined to the palace during your entire stay here? Apart from anything else you’ll be helping me with my ethnographical research—and I’ve little doubt that our path will, from time to time, cross that of the fair researcher for
Star Scandals
.”

“I don’t frequent low joints,” said Grimes virtuously.

“Then you’ve changed!” she laughed.

He laughed with her. “Oh, well, I shan’t really mind meeting Fenella again for a talk over old times. But it’s a pity that Shirl and Darleen aren’t here as well . . .”

“And who are they?” asked Maggie, with a touch of jealousy.

“Just girls,” said Grimes.

And then the Third Officer appeared to help carry the baggage down to the airlock.

Chapter 5

At the foot
of the ramp
two of Heraclion’s men loaded Grimes’s baggage into the rear of the hovercar—a vehicle that was doing its best to look like an ancient Greek chariot—while the commodore said his farewells to Captain Gunning and the star tramp’s officers. The colonel took his seat alongside the driver who, like his superior, was dressed in brass and leather although with much less of the glittering metal on display. Maggie and Grimes sat immediately behind the two Spartans.

The ducted fans whined loudly and raised eddies of dust. The vehicle lifted itself in its skirts, slid away from the spaceship, picking up speed as it did so. Soon it was clear of the spaceport environs, proceeding at a good rate toward the city. There was other vehicular traffic—chariotlike hovercraft, both military and civil, carts piled with produce and drawn by what looked like donkeys and mules, imports from distant Earth. There were, as there had been on the occasion of Grimes’s previous visit, squads of young men, who appeared to be soldiers, on motorcycles but there were others on horseback.

Grimes remarked on what was, to him, archaic means of transport.

Heraclion, speaking back over his shoulder, said, “There are those among our new citizens, Commodore, who want to put the clock back to the time of the Spartan Empire on Earth . . . .” (
The Spartan Empire?
wondered Grimes. He most certainly could not recall any mention of such during his studies of Terran history.) “Even so, I have to admit that a troop of cavalry mounted on horseback is a far better spectacle than one mounted on motorcycles.”

The hovercar, its siren screaming to demand right of way, was now fast approaching the outskirts of the city. It sped along the narrow road between the rows of low, white houses and less privileged traffic hastily made way for it. A turn was made into what was little more than a winding lane. This, Grimes realized, must be the entertainment district. In the old days, during his first visit to Sparta, such a venue was undreamed of. Gaudy neon signs, dim on the sunny side of the street but bright in the shadow, advertised the delights available to those with money behind the heavy wooden doors, the shuttered windows. The lettering, although aping the Cyrillic alphabet, spelled out its messages in Standard English.

DIMITRIO’S LAMB BARBECUE—TOPLESS LADY CHEFS

(Grimes could appreciate the female cooks’ need for aprons; barbecues are apt to sputter and spatter.)

HELEN’S HETAERAE

(And did one drop in there for intellectual conversation?)

ARISTOTLE’S ARENA

This was a much larger building than the rest. Under the flickering main sign were others:

GALACTIC GLAMOUR

EXOTIC WARRIOR MAIDS

OFFPLANET AMAZONS

LIMITED SEASON ONLY

Maggie had to put her mouth to his ear to be heard above the shrieking siren. “That’s the outfit I was telling you about. The one that your old girlfriend is doing the series on.” She laughed. “The trouble with Aristotle is that he’s not a very good historian. His entertainment is more Roman than Grecian. I think that he’d even put on Lions versus Christians if he thought he could get away with it.”

“Have you been there?”

“Yes. That’s where I met Fenella Pruin. After I admitted that I knew you she laughed nastily and said, ‘This is just the sort of show that
he’d
enjoy. A pity he’s not here.’ I didn’t tell her, of course, that you were on your way to Sparta.”

“Thank you. With only a little bit of luck she’ll never know I’m here.”

“She’ll know all right. The local media have already bruited abroad that the famous Commodore John Grimes is to be the guest of the Archon.”

“Then I’ll just have to rely on you to keep her out of my hair.”

They were out of the Street of the Haetaeri as the red-light district was called, making the ascent of the low hill on top of which stood the Archon’s palace. Troops were drawn up before the long, pillared portico, weapons and accouterments gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. Short spears were raised in salute as the hovercar whined to a stop and subsided to the ground.

Grimes looked at the soldiers appreciatively. They were young women, all of them, uniformed in short white tunics and heavy, brass-studded sandals with knee-high lacings. The leather cross-straps and belts defined their breasts and hips sharply. Shoulder length hair, in almost every case glossily blonde, flowed from under their plumed helmets.

“The Lady Ellena’s Amazon Guard,” commented Heraclion sourly.

“I’d sooner have them than a bunch of hairy-arsed Federation Marines,” said Grimes.

Maggie’s elbow dug sharply into his ribs.

They disembarked then—Maggie, Grimes and the colonel.

The Amazon officer marched before them, her spear held high. Other girls fell in on either side of them, escorting them. They passed through the great doorway into the hall, dim after the blazing sunlight outside, to where the Archon and his lady, flanked by berobed dignitaries of both sexes, awaited them.

Grimes found it hard to recognize Brasidus. The young, clean-shaven sergeant whom he had known was now a portly, middle-aged man, his hair and full beard touched with gray. Perhaps it was the white robe with its broad purple trim that gave an illusion of stoutness but the commodore did not think so. Brasidus would never have been able to buckle on the simple uniform that he had worn in the old days.

And the large woman who stood beside the Archon was indubitably stout. She, too, wore a purple-trimmed robe. Her rather spuriously golden hair was piled high and elaborately upon her head but even without this added height she would have been at least fifteen centimeters taller than her husband. She looked down her long nose at the guests with very cold blue eyes and her full mouth was set in a disapproving line.

The Amazon guard grounded their spears with an echoing crash.

Brasidus stepped forward, both hands extended.

Grimes had started to bow but realized that this salutation would not be correct. He straightened up and extended his own right hand. The Archon grasped it warmly in both of his.

“John Grimes! It is indeed good to see you again, after all these years! My house is yours while you are on Sparta!”

“Thank you . . . Lord,” said Grimes.

“And have you forgotten my name? To my friends I am, and always will be, just Brasidus. But allow me to present my lady wife. Ellena, my dear, this is John Grimes, of whom you have often heard . . . .”

“The famous pirate commodore,” said the woman in neutral tones.

“And John, this is the Lady Ellena.”

She extended a large, plump hand with scarlet fingernails. Grimes somehow got the impression that he was to do no more than touch it. He did that.

There were other introductions, to each of the assembled councilmen and councilwomen. There was an adjournment to a large room where refreshments were served by girls who circulated among the guests pouring the wine—a Terran retsina, Grimes decided, although he thought that it had not traveled well—from long necked
amphorae
. There were feta cheese and black olives (imported?) to nibble.

Finally the party broke up and Grimes was escorted to his quarters by one of the servant wenches. They could have been a hotel suite on just about any planet.

He was sitting down for a quiet smoke when Maggie joined him.

“Dinner’s at 1900 hours,” she told him. “No need to get out your penguin suit or a dress uniform. It’ll be just a small occasion with Brasidus, you and me reminiscing over old times.”

“What about the Lady Ellena?”

“She’s off to a meeting. She’s Patron of the Women’s Branch of the New Hellas Association.”

“But . . .” He hesitated. “Is it all right to talk?”

“It is. I was supplied with the very latest thing in bug detectors. When it’s not detecting bugs it functions quite well as a wristwatch.”

“What about Ellena and the New Hellas mob?”

“I don’t think she’s mixed up in any of their subversive activities. She’s a silly bitch, but not that silly. She knows which side her bread is buttered. But she loves being fawned upon and flattered.”

“I take it she’s of relatively humble origins.”

“Correct. She was an assistant in a ladies’ hairdressing salon in Melbourne, Australia. She was proud of her Greek ancestry. When New Sparta was thrown open to immigration from Earth she scraped together her savings and borrowed quite a few credits—which she repaid, by the way; I give her credit for that—with the idea of setting up in the same line of business here, getting in on the ground floor. Of course, in the beginning ladies’ hairdressers were something of a novelty and quite a few men wandered into them by mistake to get their flowing locks trimmed and their beards curled. Brasidus made that mistake. He didn’t know much about women then and she knew who he was—he wasn’t yet Archon but he was on the way up—and poured on the motherly charm. She was able to hitch her wagon to his rising star.”

“So Cinderella married the handsome prince,” said Grimes sardonically. “And they all lived happily ever after.”