Free Ride the Star Winds by A. Bertram Chandler Page A

presumption still holds—but that’s not important. . . .”
    Only to the crew, thought Grimes, and their relatives.
    “And we had still more refugees coming in and so I said to Lopez, ‘Put these people to work in the fields—and I’ll flog all our agricultural machinery at better-than-new prices!’ And I did just that.”
    “Clever,” said Grimes. “Ill winds, and all that. But it wouldn’t have been so good for Liberia if you didn’t have the indentured labor system, if your field workers were being paid decent wages.”
    “What is a decent wage, Your Excellency? Enough to buy the necessities of life—food, shelter, clothing—with a little left over for the occasional luxury. That’s a decent wage. On this world nobody goes cold or hungry. What more do you want?”
    “The freedom to change your job when you feel like it, for a start.”
    “But all our citizens enjoy that freedom.”
    “Yes. All your citizens, Minister.”
    “Citizenship has to be earned, Your Excellency.”
    The President not only had her hand firmly on his elbow; she pinched him quite painfully. He took the hint and allowed her to conduct him to a meeting with the Minister for Culture and the lady with him, the Chief Librarian of Liberia.
    They knew his background, of course, and, talking down from their intellectual eminence, made it plain that they held spacemen in low esteem.

Chapter 12

    The reception was over.
    The President and Colonel Bardon, very much like husband and wife getting rid of the guests after a party and looking forward to holding a post mortem on the night’s doings as soon as they were in bed, escorted Grimes out to the waiting car, which was at the head of the queue of vehicles. Most of these were trishaws.
    The ADC was there, with the two soldiers. All three of them made a creditable attempt at standing to attention. Grimes wondered briefly how the two enlisted men had spent their evening; obviously they had found congenial company somewhere. He knew how the ADC had passed the time; that officer had been mainly in the company of two not unattractive girls who seemed to have monopolized the services of one of the wine waiters. Surely ADCs, Grimes had thought disapprovingly, should always be at the beck and call of their lords and masters. But this was Liberia where all animals—unless they had the misfortune to be refugees—were equal. (But surely a Governor was more equal than the others.)
    “Good night, Your Excellency.”
    “Good night, Madam President.” Grimes clasped her extended hand. “Thank you for the party.”
    “It was a pleasure having you.”
    “Good night, Your Excellency.”
    “Good night, Colonel.”
    Grimes removed his tall hat before climbing into the passenger compartment of the car. The driver turned his head to regard him sardonically.
    “Feeling no pain, Gov?” he asked. (He, too, must have spent a convivial evening.)
    When in Rome . . . thought Grimes resignedly. He said, “I’ll survive.”
    “More than your predecessor did . . .” muttered the chauffeur.
    The ADC and the soldiers embarked. The doors slid shut. The car drove away.

    Grimes drowsed most of the way back to the Residence.
    Wong Lee was waiting there to receive him and so, in his suite, was Su Lin. As though by magic the girl produced a pot of fragrant tea and brought it to him on a lacquer tray as he went into his office and sat down at the desk. He sipped from the cup that she poured for him; the steaming liquid cleared his head. The old man and the girl watched impassively as he opened the first of the folders that Jaconelli had laid out for him.
    This contained the information on the Terran staff of the Residence.
    Jaconelli, Grimes read, had been born in Chicago. His solitary qualification was Bachelor of Commerce, the minimal requirement for any secretarial post. Surely a Governor, thought Grimes, should be entitled to at least a Master to handle his correspondence and affairs.
    Harrison Smith, the ADC,