The Inheritors

by A Bertram Chandler

  There were people in the streets, men, women and children. They were curious, but not obtrusively so. They were remarkably quiet, except for a group of youngsters playing some sort of ball game. These did not even pause in their sport as the queen and her guests passed them.

  It was delightfully cool inside Maya's house. The small windows were unglazed, but those facing the sun were screened with matting, cutting out the glare while admitting the breeze. The room into which she took Grimes and Maggie was large, sparsely furnished. There was a big, solid table, a half dozen square, sturdy chairs. On one wall was a map of the planet, drawn to Mercatorial projection. The seas were tinted blue, the land masses either green or brown except in the polar regions, where they were white.

  Maya walked slowly to this map. Her fingers stabbed at it. "This," she said, "is the River Thames. It flows into the Atlantic Ocean. Here, on this wide bend, is Cambridge . . . ."

  "Mphm." And this Cambridge, thought Grimes, is about in the middle of a continent, an island continent that straggles untidily over much of the equatorial belt, called—of all names!—England . . . And where the hell is Melbourne? He studied the map closely. There was a North Australia, another island continent, roughly rectangular, in the northern hemisphere. And there was a River Yarra. His right forefinger traced its winding course from the sea, from the Indian Ocean, to the contour lines that marked the foothills of the Dandenongs. Yes, here was Melbourne. And to the north of it, still on the river, was Ballarat.

  He asked, "How do your people cross the seas, Maya? You said that all the machines, including the flying machines, had broken down years ago."

  "There are machines and machines, Commander Grimes. We have the wind, and we have balloons, and we have sailing boats. The balloons can go only with the wind, of course, but the sailing boats—what is the expression?—can beat to windward . . . ." Then she said abruptly, "I am a poor hostess. You must be thirsty . . . ."

  Not as thirsty as you must be, thought Grimes, after gorging yourself on that horrid mixture.

  "I could use a drink, Maya," said Maggie.

  The Morrowvian woman went to the shelved cupboard where pottery, brightly and pleasingly glazed, was stacked. She took out six shallow bowls, set them on the table. Then she took down a stoppered pitcher that was hanging on the wall. This was not glazed, and its porous sides were bedewed with moisture. She poured from this into three of the bowls. The remaining vessels she filled with food from a deep dish that she extracted from the depths of a primitive refrigerator, a large unglazed earthenware box standing in a small bath of water. She used her hands to transfer cubes of white flesh from the dish to the bowls. There was no sign of any knives, forks or spoons.

  She lifted her bowl of water to her mouth. She grinned and said "Here's mud in your eye!" She lapped the liquid, a little noisily. Grimes and Maggie drank more conventionally. The water was pleasantly cool, had a faint vegetable tang to it. Probably it was safe enough—but, in any case, all of Seeker's people had been given wide spectrum antibiotic shots before landing.

  Maya, using one hand only, quite delicately helped herself to food from her bowl. Without hesitation Maggie followed suit. Her fine eyebrows arched in surprised appreciation. Grimes took a cautious sample. This, he decided after the first nibble, was good. It reminded him of a dish that he had enjoyed during his last leave on Earth, part of which he had spent in Mexico. This had been fish—raw, but seasoned, and marinaded in the juice of freshly squeezed limes. He would have liked some more, but it would be a long time, he feared, before he would be able properly to relax and enjoy whatever social amenities this planet afforded.

  Maggie, having followed Maya's example in licking her hands clean, had unslung one of her cameras, was pointing it at the map. She explained, "We have to have a copy of this, so that we can find our way to Melbourne."

  "It will not be necessary. I can send a Messenger with you. But I warn you, it is a long journey, unless you go in your ship."

  "We shall not go in the ship, Maya," Grimes told her. "But we shall not be walking, either. We shall use a pinnace, a relatively small flying boat."

  "I have never flown," said Maya wistfully. "Not even in a balloon. Do you think that I . . . ?"

  "Why not?" said Grimes. Why not? he thought. She'll be able to introduce me to her sister queen in Melbourne.

  "When do we leave?" she asked him.

  "In the morning, as soon after sunrise as possible." That would be a good time; Melbourne was only a degree or so west of Cambridge. The flight would be made in daylight, and arrival would be well before sunset.

  She said, "You will excuse me. I must make arrangements for my deputy to run affairs during my absence."

  "I must do likewise," said Grimes.

  They looked at each other gravely, both monarchs of a small kingdom, both with the cares of state heavy on their shoulders. It was unkind of Maggie to spoil the effect by snickering.

  "I shall send an escort with you," said Maya.

  "It is not necessary. All we have to do is to follow the river."

  "But wolves have been reported along the river bank . . . ."

  And if the "wolves" of Morrowvia bore the same relationship to Terran wolves as did the Morrowvian "salmon" to Terran salmon, Grimes didn't want to meet them. He said so to Maya.

  So he and Maggie, escorted by four spearmen and two bow-women, walked back to the ship. The members of the escort were too awestricken by the visitors from Outside to talk unless spoken to, and after ten minutes or so of very heavy going no attempt was made at conversation.

  11

  Grimes did not get much sleep that night.

  He did not want to leave his ship until he was reasonably sure that the situation was under control. Drongo Kane was the main problem. Just what were his intentions? Southerly Buster had been kept under close observation from Seeker, and all the activity around her airlock had been filmed. Highly sensitive long-range microphones had been trained upon her—but Kane had set up some small noise-making machine that produced a continuous whup, whup, whup . . . . Hayakawa, disregarding the Rhine Institute code of ethics, had tried to pry, but Myra Bracegirdle, Kane's PCO, was maintaining an unbreakable block over the minds of all the Buster's personnel. He had then tried to pick up the thoughts of the people in the town of Oxford, with little more success.

  Grimes studied the film that had been made. He watched, on the screen, Kane talking amicably with Sabrina, the Queen of Oxford. He seemed to be laying on the charm with a trowel, and the Morrowvian woman was lapping it up. She smiled smugly when Drongo hung a scintillating string of synthetic diamonds about her neck, and her chubby hand went up to stroke the huge ruby that formed the pendant of the necklace, that glowed with crimson fire between her ample, golden-skinned breasts. She looked, thought Grimes, like a sleek cat that had got its nose into the cream. If it had not been for that annoying whup, whup, whup he would have heard her purring. It was shortly after her acceptance of this gift that Kane took her into the ship. Dreebly and two others—a little, fat man who, to judge by his braid, was the second mate and a cadaverous blonde in catering officer's uniform—remained by the table, handing out cheap jewelry, hand mirrors, pocket knives (a bad guess, thought Grimes amusedly, in this nudist culture), pairs of scissors and (always a sure way of buying goodwill) a quite good selection of children's toys. But it was the books that were in the greatest demand. The lens of one of the cameras that had been used zoomed in to a close-up of the display. Their covers were brightly-colored, eye-catching. They were, every one of them, handouts from the Tourist Bureaus of the more glamorous worlds of the galaxy.

  Did Kane intend opening a travel agency on this world? It was possible, Grimes conceded. After all, the man was a shipowner. And his ship, according to the report from Elsinore, had been modified to suit her for the carriage of passengers.

  "I don't like the looks of this, Captain," said the first lieutenant.

  "What don't you like about it, Mr. Saul?"
asked Grimes.

  "I still remember what he did on Ganda."

  "He can hardly do the same here. These people aren't being evacuated from their world before it's destroyed. They're quite happy here. In any case, the Gandans were skilled workmen, technicians. These people, so far as I can see, are little better than savages. Nice savages, I admit, but . . . "

  "Forgive me for saying so, Captain, but you're very simple, aren't you?"

  Grimes's prominent ears reddened. He demanded sharply, "What do you mean, Mr. Saul?"

  "You've seen even more of these people than I have, sir. Have you seen an ugly man or woman?"

  "No," admitted Grimes.

  "And there are worlds where beautiful women are in great demand . . . ."

  "And there are the quite stringent laws prohibiting the traffic in human merchandise," said Grimes.

  "Kane is bound to find some loophole," insisted Saul. "Just as he did on Ganda." Then his racial bitterness found utterance. "After all, he's a white man."

  Grimes sighed. He wished, as he had wished before, that Saul would forget the color of his skin. He said tiredly, "All right, all right—Whitey's to blame for everything. But, from my reading of history, I seem to remember that it was the fat black kings on the west coast of Africa who sold their own people to the white slave traders . . . ."

  "Just as that fat yellow queen whom Kane entertained will sell her people to the white slave trader."

  "I wouldn't call her fat . . . " objected Grimes, trying to bring the conversation to a lighter level.

  "Just pleasantly plump, dearie," said Maggie Lazenby. "But, as you say, Drongo won't be able to pull off a coup like the Gandan effort twice running. And even if he makes a deal with some non-Federated world, he's still a Federation citizen and subject to Federation law."

  "Yes, Commander Lazenby," agreed Saul dubiously. "But I don't trust him."

  "Who does?" said Grimes. "During my absence you'll just have to watch him, Mr. Saul, like a cat watching a mouse." He added, "Like a black cat watching a white mouse."

  "A white rat, you mean," grumbled Saul.

  12

  Before sunrise the pinnace was ready.

  Grimes was taking with him Pitcher, the navigator, Ensign Billard who, as well as being assistant communications officer (electronic), was a qualified atmosphere pilot, and Commander Maggie Lazenby. All of them carried sidearms. The pinnace, too, was armed, being fitted with a laser cannon and two 20 mm machine guns.

  Just as the sun was coming up, Grimes, Pitcher, Billard and Maggie stood outside the ship, watching as the small craft, its inertial drive muttering irritably, was eased out of its bay high on the ship's side, maneuvered down to the ground. It landed rather clumsily. Saul stepped out of the pilot's cabin and saluted with rather less than his usual snap. (He had been up, working, all night.) He said, "She's all yours, Captain."

  "Thank you, Number One." Grimes looked at his watch, the one that had been adjusted to keep Morrowvian time. "Mphm. Time Maya was here."

  "And here she is," said Maggie. "Enter the Queen of Cambridge, singing and dancing . . . ."

  Maya was not singing and dancing, but she looked well rested, alert, and as though she were looking forward to the outing. She was escorted by a half a dozen bow-women and a like number of spearmen, two of whom were carrying a large basket between them. Curiously, Grimes looked into the basket. There were bowls of the raw fish that he had enjoyed the previous day, other bowls of what looked like dried meat. He looked away hastily. All that he had been able to manage for breakfast was a large cup of black coffee.

  Maya looked with interest at the pinnace. "How does this thing fly?" she asked. "I don't see any wings or gasbag . . . ."

  "Inertial drive," Grimes told her briefly. "No, I'm sorry, but I can't explain it at this hour of the morning." He turned to Saul. "All right, Number One. I'm getting the show on the road. I leave Seeker in your capable hands. Don't do anything you couldn't do riding a bicycle."

  "What is a bicycle?" asked Maya.

  "Remind me to bring you one some time . . . ." He visualized the tall, lush, naked woman astride such a machine and felt more than a little happier.

  Pitcher and Billard clambered into the pinnace. They stood in the open doorway and took the hamper of Maya's provisions as the two Morrowvian spearmen handed it up to them. Then, Maggie, disdaining the offer of a helping hand from Grimes, mounted the short ladder into the doorway. Grimes, however, was courteously able to assist Maya to board. He glared coldly at Saul when he noticed the sardonic look on the first lieutenant's face. Then he boarded himself.

  Pitcher, with a chart made from Maggie's photographs, and young Mr. Billard occupied the forward compartment. Grimes sat with Maggie and Maya in the after cabin. As soon as the women were comfortable—although Maya was sitting on the edge of her seat like a young girl at her very first party—Grimes ordered, "Take her up."

  "Take her up, sir," acknowledged Billard smartly. He was little more than a boy and inclined to take himself seriously, but he was able and conscientious. The noise of the restarted inertial drive was little more, at first, than a distant whisper. The pinnace lifted so gently that there was no sense of motion; even Grimes was surprised to see the sleek hull of Seeker sliding past and downward beyond the viewports. She ascended vertically, and then her passengers were able to look out and down at the two ships—Southerly Buster's people were sleeping in; there were no signs of life around her—at the winding river, at the little towns spaced along its banks.

  Maya ran from one side to the other of the small cabin. There was rather much of her in these confined quarters. "Oh, look!" she said, pointing. "There's Cambridge! Doesn't it look small from up here! And that town on the next bend is Kingston, and there's Richmond . . . . And there's the weekly cargo wherry, there, with the sail . . . ."

  Grimes could not appreciate the distant view as it was obscured by Maya's breasts, but he did not complain.

  "Sir," called Pitcher, "do you want us to steer a compass course, or shall we navigate from landmark to landmark? That way we shall not put on much distance."

  "From landmark to landmark," said Grimes. "We may as well enjoy the scenery."

  "You look as though you're doing that right now," commented Maggie.

  "Would you mind getting back to your seat, Maya?" asked Grimes. "We shall be accelerating soon, and you may lose your balance . . . ."

  "Make sure you don't lose yours . . ." Maggie murmured.

  The irregular beat of the inertial drive was louder now, and its vibration noticeable. The pinnace turned in a wide arc, and then the landing site was astern of them, and the two, tall ships were dwindling to the size of toys. Ahead of them, and a little to starboard, was a snowcapped mountain, Ben Nevis. Below them was a wide prairie over which surged a great herd of duncolored beasts. "Bison," said Maya, adding that these animals constituted the main meat supply of her people. She offered strips of dried flesh from her basket to Grimes and Maggie, much as a Terran woman would offer chocolates. Grimes took one and chewed it dubiously. It wasn't bad, but it would not worry him much if he never tasted any more of it.

  He took a pair of binoculars from their rack and stared down at the so-called bison. From almost directly above them he could not get much of an idea of their general appearance—but he knew that the Terran animals of that name had never run to six legs, whereas these brutes did.

  The gleaming peak of Ben Nevis hung in their starboard viewports for long seconds, then dropped slowly astern. The pinnace, now, was following the course of another river, the Mersey, and Maya was pointing out the towns along its meandering length. "Yes, that must be Lancaster . . . . I visited there two years ago, and I remember that thickly wooded hill just by it . . . . Most of the people living along the Mersey banks are Cordwainers . . . ."

  "Cordwainers?" asked Grimes, thinking that she must be referring to some odd trade.

  "It is their name, just as Smith is the name of most of us along the Thame
s . . . ."

  "And what names, how many names, do you have on this world?" asked Maggie.

  "There's Smith, of course. And Wells. And Morrow. And Cordwainer. That's all."

  "Probably only four male survivors when Lode Cougar got here," said Grimes. "And polygamous marriages . . . ."

  "Chester," announced Maya, pointing to another town. "Brighton, and the shipbuilding yards . . . . That schooner looks almost finished . . . Manchester, I think . . . . Oh, this is the way to travel! It took me weeks, many weeks, when I did it by foot and by wherry!"

  "And why do you travel?" asked Maggie.

  "Why do you travel?" the other woman countered. "To . . . to see new things, new people."

  "And what new things have you seen?"