The Inheritors - A. Bertram Chandler [31]
"These concessions . . ." began Grimes.
"They are none of your business, Commander."
Grimes looked appealingly at Maggie. She was supposed to know what made people tick. She was supposed to know which button to push to get which results. She looked back at him blandly.
Damn the woman! thought Grimes. Damn all women. He floundered on, "But perhaps I should be able to advise you . . . ."
"We do not need your advice, Commander."
"Mphm." Grimes fished his battered pipe from his pocket, filled it, lit it.
"Please!" said Lilian sharply, "do not smoke that filthy thing in here!"
"So your great ancestor warned you about smoking . . . ."
"He did so. He warned us about all the vices and unpleasant habits of the men who, eventually, would make contact with us."
"Oh, well," muttered Grimes at last. Then, "I suppose that there is no objection to our visiting Ballarat, to look at your library, your records . . . ."
"That is a matter for the Queen of Ballarat."
And there isn't any radio, thought Grimes, and there aren't any telephones, and I'm damned if I'll ask Her Majesty here to send a messenger. He said, "Thank you for your hospitality, Lilian. And now, if you will excuse us, we'll get back to our pinnace and set up camp for the night."
She said, "You are excused. And you have my permission to sleep on the outskirts of the town."
"Shall we set up a tent for you, Maya? Grimes asked.
"Thank you, no. Lilian and I have so much to talk about."
"Can I see Tabitha?" pleaded Delamere.
"No, Francis. You may not."
Schnauzer's second officer got reluctantly to his feet. He mumbled, "Are you ready, Commander? I'm getting back to my ship."
He led the way out of the palace and back to the landing site, although his services as a guide were hardly necessary. Schnauzer, dwarfing the trees that grew around the grassy field, stuck up like a sore thumb.
* * *
Back at the pinnace Grimes, Pitcher and Billard unloaded their camping gear, with Maggie watching and, at times, criticizing. The little air compresser swiftly inflated the four small sleeping tents, the larger one that would combine the functions of mess-room and galley. Then Billard went to the nearby stream for two buckets of water. A sterilizing tablet was dropped into each one, more as a matter of routine than anything else. If the broad spectrum antibiotic shots administered aboard Seeker had not been effective it would have been obvious by now. The battery-powered cooker was set up, and in a short time a pot of savory stew, prepared from dehydrated ingredients, was simmering and water was boiling for coffee.
The four of them sat around the collapsible table waiting until the meal was ready.
Grimes said, "What do you make of it, Maggie?"
"Make of what?" she countered.
"The whole setup."
She replied thoughtfully. "There's something odd about this world. In the case of Sparta there were all sorts of historical analogies to draw upon—here, there aren't. And how shall I put it? Like this, perhaps. The Morrowvians rather resent the violation of their privacy, but realize that there's nothing much that they can do about it. They certainly aren't mechanically minded, and distrust of the machine has been bred into them—but they