He looked down to his reflection in the highly polished surface of the desk, saw behind his face the crossed flags, the banners of Terra and of the Interstellar Federation. He saw too, with something of a shock, that he was still wearing the absurd top hat. But he was the Governor, wasn’t he? This was his Residence, wasn’t it? If he couldn’t make his own rules of etiquette, who could? Nonetheless he removed the head covering, skimmed it across the desk top to Wong Lee.
He got up then and, followed by the others, made a tour of his living quarters. There was a luxurious bedroom. He saw that his baggage had already been deposited there; it must have been offloaded and transported while he was inspecting the Guard of Honor at the spaceport. Somebody had begun to unpack and had laid out his civilian full evening dress on the bed. That somebody was a girl—tall, with glossy black hair swinging in a pageboy bob about her face, wearing a royal blue tunic and a long, white skirt that was slit to hip level, revealing a delectable length of smooth, ivory-skinned leg. She straightened up from what she was doing, turned to Grimes and bowed. Like the other servants she was of Mongoloid stock—a descendant, Grimes supposed, of those New Cantonese refugees. But there was some mixed blood—that wide mouth, the almost—but no more than almost—harsh angularity of the facial bone structure.
“This is Su Lin, Your Excellency,” said Wong Lee. “She is to be your . . . handmaiden. I decided that you, as a space gentleman, accustomed to the ministrations of stewardesses aboard your ships, would prefer a personal attendant of the female sex.”
“I like to make my own decisions,” said Grimes.
“Then, Your Excellency, I will see to it that Peng Yuan, who was valet to your late, revered predecessor, performs the same duties for your honored self.”
“I’ve already told you, Mr. Wong,” said Grimes stiffly, “that I like to make my own decisions. I am sure that Miss Su will be quite satisfactory.”
“It is not customary, Your Excellency, to use an honorific when addressing or referring to under servants.”
Jaconelli and Smith exchanged glances, each permitting himself as much of a sneer as he dared.
Grimes restrained himself from saying that he was the Governor and that he made the rules. It would not do at all to cut the old man down to size in the presence of a subordinate and of the ADC and the secretary. As he knew from experience a wise captain does not unnecessarily antagonize his chief steward.
He looked at his wrist companion, the chronological function of which had been set to local time.
He said, “I think, now, that I’d like to get cleaned up and all the rest of it. What time should I leave the Residence for the Palace, Lieutenant?”
“1900 hours, sir.”
“Thank you. And Mr. Jaconelli. . . .”
“Sir?”
“I take it that all of the late Governor Wibberley’s papers will be accessible to me? In the office, perhaps. . . .”
“No, sir.”
“No? Why not?”
“After the accident all documents were taken by Colonel Bardon. He said he was shipping them back to Earth.”
“But there must have been copies.”
“Yes, Your Excellency. But. . . .”
“But what?”
“He took them too.”
“Why didn’t you . . .?”
“Sir, I am only the Governor’s secretary. Until your arrival the Colonel was the senior Terran officer on this planet.”
“Mphm.” Grimes glared at Smith, who had been listening to the exchange with interest and enjoyment. “You may go, Lieutenant. Be waiting for me in the car at 1900 hours.”
“Very good, Your Excellency.”
“And Mr. Jaconelli. . . . Please arrange with the Bureau of Meteorology for the release of Captain Raoul Sanchez, the shuttle pilot who brought me down from Sobraon, to serve as my atmosphere pilot.”
“It was my understanding, Your Excellency, that Colonel Bardon was to second one of his officers to your service.”
“Then tell the
He got up then and, followed by the others, made a tour of his living quarters. There was a luxurious bedroom. He saw that his baggage had already been deposited there; it must have been offloaded and transported while he was inspecting the Guard of Honor at the spaceport. Somebody had begun to unpack and had laid out his civilian full evening dress on the bed. That somebody was a girl—tall, with glossy black hair swinging in a pageboy bob about her face, wearing a royal blue tunic and a long, white skirt that was slit to hip level, revealing a delectable length of smooth, ivory-skinned leg. She straightened up from what she was doing, turned to Grimes and bowed. Like the other servants she was of Mongoloid stock—a descendant, Grimes supposed, of those New Cantonese refugees. But there was some mixed blood—that wide mouth, the almost—but no more than almost—harsh angularity of the facial bone structure.
“This is Su Lin, Your Excellency,” said Wong Lee. “She is to be your . . . handmaiden. I decided that you, as a space gentleman, accustomed to the ministrations of stewardesses aboard your ships, would prefer a personal attendant of the female sex.”
“I like to make my own decisions,” said Grimes.
“Then, Your Excellency, I will see to it that Peng Yuan, who was valet to your late, revered predecessor, performs the same duties for your honored self.”
“I’ve already told you, Mr. Wong,” said Grimes stiffly, “that I like to make my own decisions. I am sure that Miss Su will be quite satisfactory.”
“It is not customary, Your Excellency, to use an honorific when addressing or referring to under servants.”
Jaconelli and Smith exchanged glances, each permitting himself as much of a sneer as he dared.
Grimes restrained himself from saying that he was the Governor and that he made the rules. It would not do at all to cut the old man down to size in the presence of a subordinate and of the ADC and the secretary. As he knew from experience a wise captain does not unnecessarily antagonize his chief steward.
He looked at his wrist companion, the chronological function of which had been set to local time.
He said, “I think, now, that I’d like to get cleaned up and all the rest of it. What time should I leave the Residence for the Palace, Lieutenant?”
“1900 hours, sir.”
“Thank you. And Mr. Jaconelli. . . .”
“Sir?”
“I take it that all of the late Governor Wibberley’s papers will be accessible to me? In the office, perhaps. . . .”
“No, sir.”
“No? Why not?”
“After the accident all documents were taken by Colonel Bardon. He said he was shipping them back to Earth.”
“But there must have been copies.”
“Yes, Your Excellency. But. . . .”
“But what?”
“He took them too.”
“Why didn’t you . . .?”
“Sir, I am only the Governor’s secretary. Until your arrival the Colonel was the senior Terran officer on this planet.”
“Mphm.” Grimes glared at Smith, who had been listening to the exchange with interest and enjoyment. “You may go, Lieutenant. Be waiting for me in the car at 1900 hours.”
“Very good, Your Excellency.”
“And Mr. Jaconelli. . . . Please arrange with the Bureau of Meteorology for the release of Captain Raoul Sanchez, the shuttle pilot who brought me down from Sobraon, to serve as my atmosphere pilot.”
“It was my understanding, Your Excellency, that Colonel Bardon was to second one of his officers to your service.”
“Then tell the
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