To Prime the Pump - A. Bertram Chandler [37]
There was more wine, poured by Karl.
There was a rich soup served in golden bowls.
"Bisque of rock ogre," said Marlene. "I hope you like it."
Grimes, remembering the monster that had almost killed him, was sure that he would not but, after telling himself that a lobster, or even a prawn, would be a horrendous monstrosity to a man reduced to the size of a mouse, decided to try it. It was good, the flavor not unlike that of crayfish, but different. A hint of squid, perhaps? Or, just possibly, turtle? And then there was a roast of wild boar, and to accompany it a more than merely adequate Montrachet. To conclude the meal there was fresh fruit and a platter of ripe cheeses, with a red wine from Portugal, from grapes grown on the banks of the Douro.
Marlene said, "I like a man who likes real food."
Grimes said, "I like a woman who likes real food."
The robot Karl filled their coffee cups, offered a box of Panatellas to the Princess, who selected one carefully, and then to Grimes, who took the first one to hand. And then—it was a delightfully outré touch —a jet of intense white flame appeared at the end of Karl's right index finger. He carefully lit the Princess's cigar, and then the spaceman's.
"The brandy, Karl," said Marlene, through a cloud of fragrant smoke.
"The Napoleon, Your Highness? "
"You know as well as I do that it has no more connection with the Emperor of the French than . . . than Lieutenant Grimes has. But . . . Oh, very well, then. The Napoleon."
To Grimes it was just brandy, but he had no cause for complaint.
"And what would you like to do now?" asked the Princess.
Grimes did know but could not muster up the courage to state his desire.
"Oh, yes," said the girl after an uncomfortable pause. "I told you, I think, that I am a member of the Committee of Management. Would you be interested in finding out what that entails? "
"Yes . . ." answered Grimes dubiously.
Chapter 18
Before its fantastically costly dismantling and transportation Schloss Stolzberg had been well equipped with what, in the Middle Ages, were regarded as finest modern conveniences. Now not even a hole in the ground somewhere in Germany marked the site of these dungeons and torture chambers; where the Castle had once brooded stood a towering block of apartments. But still there were subterranean galleries and spaces: wine cellars, storerooms, and the Monitor Vault.
"It is our obligation as members of the Committee of Management," explained the Princess, "to watch. And we, even during our tenure of office, know that we can be watched . . ."
"You mean that there's no privacy?" asked Grimes, shocked.
"I Suppose that you could put it that way."
"But . . . But I thought that this was a society, of . . . aristocratic anarchists."
"That's a good way of putting it, John. And a true way." She lay back in the chair set before the huge screen, relaxed, but with her fine features thoughtful. "But, can't you see?, neither the aristocrat nor the anarchist suffers from false shame. I can conceive of situations in which a petty bourgeois such as yourself would be agonizingly embarrassed if he knew that he was being watched. During copulation, for example or defecation. But we . . ." In spite of her almost supine position she managed a delicate shrug. "But we . . . We know that it doesn't matter."
"But why this body of elected, I suppose that you are elected, Big Brothers? And Big Sisters."
"El Dorado," she told him, "could be a Paradise. But there are snakes in every Eden. When such a snake is found, he is placed aboard a small, one-man spacecraft, with whatever personal possessions he can pack into two suitcases, and a Universal Letter of Credit that will allow him sufficient funds to make a fresh start elsewhere. He is then sent into exile."
"Have there been many such cases?"
"Since the foundation of the colony, several. About a dozen."
"I'm surprised that none of these deportees has talked. Their stories, sold to newspapers and magazines throughout the Galaxy, would bring in enough to maintain them