The Gripping Hand (18 page)

"Mmm. You could be in a worse place. You get all the news that's fit to broadcast, and all the museums worth visiting—"

"Not all. Tell me about the museum on Mote Prime."

"
That
was different. They took us there in big limousines they made just for us. The other cars were all teeny, and they collapsed flat. Even the limousine could fold smaller. The museum was all enclosed. One big building. Artificial environments inside. In one room it was raining buckets. Moties wanted to lead us in anyway."

Cziller laughed.

"We saw too much to take it all in. There was stuff we should have noticed. There was a wild Porter. Tame Porters are like two-fifty centimeters tall, with two arms, and they carry things. This thing had three arms, and tusks and claws. It was a little smaller."

A tubby robot wheeled up, took a drink order, and produced whiskey screwdrivers. A live waiter followed. A local seabeast was on the menu, and Renner ordered that. The other offerings were Earth life, uninteresting.

He said, "One whole floor was a mockup of a ruined city. There were big five-limbed rats and a camouflaged predator and a lot of other stuff, a whole ecology evolved to live in ruined cities. We didn't see the implications right away. We may not know them all yet. . . . No telling what they've been learning at the Institute, of course. But Horowitz swore that the city rats are related to the Warriors. We haven't ever seen a live Warrior yet, but we had the
Time Machine
sculpture and a silhouette of the Warrior aboard the colony ship they sent to New Cal—"

"War. Continual war."

"Yeah. With their population problem it's hardly surprising. Bruno, do you suppose it's possible to find the man who invented the condom? He deserves a statue somewhere."

Bruno laughed a long, throaty laugh. "I've missed you, Kevin."

Food arrived. Kevin listened while they ate, a habit so old that he'd have had to concentrate not to listen. At the next table some lordling was complaining bitterly about . . . what? Fishing rights up in the upper Python River. His family had had exclusive rights, and they'd been rescinded. Something about the salmon breeding cycle: some lowborn bureaucrat had decided that the Dinsmark family wasn't keeping the upstream route sufficiently open.

His companion was insufficiently sympathetic. Kurt Dinsmark wouldn't have had fishing rights anyway, he was a younger son....

And on the gripping hand,
Renner thought,
they're talking privileges instead of duties. How common is that?
"We pay the nobles one hell of a stiff fee for running civilization," he said.

"I rarely hear it put that way. So?"

"Oh, I like to keep track of whether they're doing their job. In fact, it's part of my job, which is nice, because I was doing it anyway. But what I'm hearing about is privileges."

"Give 'em a break. They're off duty. There was another museum."

Renner nodded slightly. "Yeah. That one's hearsay, and from Moties at that. The Moties killed the midshipmen who stumbled onto it. This one wasn't your ordinary museum. The idea was to help the survivors rebuild civilization."

"Heh." Cziller drained his glass. "If I hadn't got stuck trying to rebuild New Chicago . . ."

Renner made sympathetic noises. "Understand you did a pretty good job, though. Hey, I just had a thought. I'm on duty myself in a couple of hours, but . . . do you get nostalgic for spaceports? And spacecraft?"

"Sure. The new port is in the old crater where the Halfway Dome blew up, and sometimes I go out there just to— What's your thought?"

Renner put down his fork, fished out his comcard. "Get me Horace Bury."

He set the comcard on the table while he finished his meal. It took a while, but presently the card said, "What is it, Renner?"

"I had a thought, Excellency."

"Praise Allah, my training has not been for nothing."

"We're taking Buckman and Mercer up for dinner tonight. Would you consider another guest? It's Bruno Cziller, retired as admiral. He was my captain before he handed me to Blaine. Turned
MacArthur
over to Blaine, too. The Earl's first ship. I've been trying to tell Bruno about Mote Prime, but hey, why not let him listen while you and I and Buckman reminisce? An appreciative audience can be a good thing."

Momentary pause. Bury too was rank conscious. "Good. Put him on, please."

Renner passed the comcard across. Bruno Cziller said, "Excellency?"

"Admiral, we'd be delighted if you could join us for dinner tonight aboard
Sinbad
. The next Viceroy of Trans—Coal Sack will be present. Jacob Buckman is the astronomer who traveled with us to the Mote. We became friends on that trip. You'll hear as much about the Mote system as you can learn outside the Institute."

"Capital. Thank you, Excellency."

"Will you be accompanied?"

"Thank you, no, Excellency. Mrs. Cziller has appointments for the evening."

"Admiral, I'm handing you over to the computer to order your dinner. We'll want a chance to put food stores aboard."

Cziller's eyebrows went up. Renner said, "Bury's got a good chef. Test him out."

Cziller nodded, and did. Presently he passed the comcard back. "Kevin, you never used to be subtle."

"I may have picked up something in a quarter century with Bury. Mercer will be happier if a higher rank is there. And Bury might tell you how he spent his time on Mote Prime. He's never told me."

"Oh?"

"Moties scare him. He'd rather not remember. It's worth a try. Besides, I've got to get to the spaceport early to get the shuttle ready. Why don't—"

"Why don't I come with you to supervise."

"Right. And now I have another thought."

"Expound."

"A month ago we thought we'd found Moties loose in the Empire."

Melon arrived, and Kevin talked while they ate. He had Bruno Cziller chortling. "Now Bury wants to visit the blockade, be sure it's leakproof. So do I, Bruno. Maxroy's Purchase was scary."

"And?"

"Rod Blaine has vetoed it. I'd like to give Bury a shot at changing his mind."

Bruno Cziller was studying him like a lab specimen, or perhaps like the man across from him at a poker table. "I'm the man who gave the Earl his ship and his Sailing Master. I also wished a prisoner on him. Horace Bury was traveling as a prisoner on Mac-Arthur. Do you know why?"

"Nope."

"After twenty-five years?"

"I might not have liked it. I've got to live with him, Bruno."

"The question is, why should I get involved?"

"I haven't thought of that part yet."

The coffee arrived. "Real cream," Renner said.

Cziller smiled faintly. "I'd be glad to get used to basic protocarb milk if I could go to space again."

Renner studied his coffee for a moment. "Look, shall I tell Bury you already turned me down, so you don't have to go through this twice?"

Bruno said, "Yes." And they moved on to other matters.

"Smooth," Jacob Buckman said.

Horace Bury looked up in momentary puzzlement, then nodded. The transition to weightlessness had been quite smooth, but Bury was used to Renner's skillful management of the shuttle. He felt tiny accelerations, then the chimes announced they were docked with
Sinbad
. The connecting hatchways swung open. A crewman brought a towline from
Sinbad
into the shuttle and made it fast. "All correct, Excellency," he said.

Bury waited a moment to allow Nabil and his assistants to go ahead, then disconnected himself from his couch. It was good to fly free of the travel chair. "Welcome," he said. "Does anyone wish assistance?"

"Thank you, Excellency," Andrew Mercer Calvin said. He un-snapped his seat belt and allowed himself to drift into the center of the passenger bay. He grasped the towline and tugged himself toward the ship.

Bury followed. As he did, the connecting hatchway to the pilot's compartment opened. Cziller and Renner came out. "My congratulations, Kevin," Bury said. "Dr. Buckman remarked on the smoothness of our ride."

"Not my doing," Renner said.

"Guess I haven't lost all my skills," Cziller said smugly.

In fact there was little for humans to do beyond giving directions to the computer. Or— Bury wondered. Had Cziller flown by direct control? Would Renner have let him, given who their passenger was?
Yes. Yes, he would.

They clung to a score of handholds while
Sinbad
spun up. Then Bury led the way into the interior, moving smoothly if not quickly in 60 percent of standard gravity.
Aaah.

"When I was twenty-six years old," he said to nobody in particular, "the natives of Huy Brasil took exception to some of my policies. They attacked me in the desert east of Beemble Town. I beat them into town, doubled through some alleys, and was back in the desert heading for my shuttle. I outran them all. Sometimes I do miss being young."

"Amen," Cziller said.

"I had to outrun an earthquake once," Buckman said. "I got downstairs and out of the observatory before it shook down on me. I think I could still do it. I run every day." He stopped walking. "Roomy. I knew you were rich, Bury."

Sinbad
's lounge was big. Two recessed rails ran down the center, chairs and couches on either side. "Please be seated, and consider this your home," Bury said. "Hazel will take your drink orders."

Bury tended to employ women of great beauty. It wasn't his first priority, but it could help a business transaction to run more smoothly. Mercer was looking at Hazel when he said, "Bury, I like your ship."

"Thank you. It's roomier than it seems. I can attach a pod the size of this lounge and open up that entire oval area in the floor, which is the hull side, of course. The cabins don't become any roomier, but you don't have to spend all your time in them."

Mercer laughed. "I'm surprised you bother with hotels."

"Not always our choice," Renner said. "Customs isn't always as efficient as they were today."

"Ah. Hazel, what do you suggest?"

"We have a good stock of wines, my Lord."

Mercer smiled broadly. "Just what I've missed on Sparta. Dry sherry?"

"Me, too," Cziller said. "Kevin, do you always live like this? I haven't had a decent sherry in five years." He stretched. "Got good legs on this ship?"

"Not bad," Renner said. "She's no battle cruiser, but we can pull a full gee for a long way. The drop tank fits behind the addon cabin, and it almost doubles our delta-vee."

"And of course you won't have a Langston Field generator in Sparta system," Cziller prompted.

"The Navy approves licenses for private ownership of Field generators sometimes," Renner said. "Outside the Capital. One of Bury's engineering ships will meet us."

"As well," Bury said smoothly. "We were running low on Sumatra Lintong coffee."

Bury watched Mercer and thought he detected envy. He asked, "Will you be leaving for New Caledonia soon, my Lord?"

"There's a Hamilton Lines passenger ship in three weeks," Mercer said. "Or I can go with the Navy relief squadron next month. Haven't quite decided."

Bury nodded in satisfaction.

At point six gee, food stayed on the plates, wine stayed in the glasses.

Mercer had had an ulcer in 3037 and a recurrence in 3039. Modern medicine could make those go away, but nothing could cure a high-pressure lifestyle. And Bury was old, and so was Buck-man. For them
Sinbad
's chef had prepared a mild chicken curry.

Cziller had asked for sea grendel, an air-breathing Spartan sea-beast on the endangered species list. Sea grendels were being raised in a small bay on Serpens. They were for sale, but the price was high. Renner got it, too. He didn't have to order. His tastes were known: he would eat anything he couldn't pronounce.