Whitlam. Some years previously the Governor of New South Wales, Sir Philip Game, sacked Premier Jack Lang. . . .”
“You see.”
He went on. “And many years before that the garrison in New South Wales deposed the Governor, Captain—as he was then—William Bligh.”
“And wasn’t Bligh,” she asked, “the man who was always having mutinies? You’ve had a few yourself, haven’t you?”
“Which doesn’t mean that I like having them, Su.”
She laughed. “I suppose not. But there must be ways of doing things constitutionally. And to do them without calling Earth first for approval—always supposing that Bardon let you get a message through.”
“Messages did get through, after Wibberley’s death,” said Grimes. “That’s why I’m here.”
“As trouble shooter?” she asked. “Or as shit stirrer? In any case, Bardon’s made sure that no more messages get through without his knowledge.”
“Just who—or what—are you, Su Lin?” he asked.
“You have seen my dossier, Your Excellency.”
“For what it’s worth.”
“There is a Su Lin,” she told him. “But she is not on Liberia any longer. She was carefully selected out of all the New Cantonese as being almost my double. I required only minor body sculpture to make me her replica.”
“Then what is your real name?”
“It doesn’t matter. I rather like Su Lin, anyhow.”
“Where are you from? You aren’t from FIA, are you? Or are you? If you are I should have been told.”
“I am not.”
“The Sinkiang People’s Republic?”
“No. The New Cantonese here are no worse off than they would be on New Sinkiang.”
“Then where?”
There was a knock on the door. Grimes saw Su Lin’s face go briefly tense as her vaginal muscles switched off the device that she carried.
Sanchez entered.
“I have taken delivery of the Lutz-Parsival, Your Excellency,” he reported formally. “She seems to be airworthy in all respects, although I shall have to make a more detailed inspection later.” (To look for hidden bombs, thought Grimes.) “I have left her at the mast, in the sunlight, to recharge the power cells.”
“I think that I’d like to have a sniff round aboard her myself,” said Grimes, “if you will be so good as to accompany me.”
“Of course, Your Excellency,” said Sanchez.
Chapter 16
“We shall have to give her a name,” said Grimes to Sanchez as he and the pilot made their way along the catwalk running from stem to stern inside the airship. “LP17 is too . . . impersonal. Ships are more than just . . . things.”
“What do you have in mind, Your Excellency?”
Grimes thought hard. There had been quite a few ships for which he had felt a real affection, most recently Little Sister and Sister Sue. He grinned.
“ Fat Susie,” he said. “She is rather plump, isn’t she? I’ll tell Mr. Jaconelli to organize painters for you to put the new name on the envelope. And at the same time they can change the insignia on the tail fins. I want a kangaroo instead of that tomcat of Bardon’s.”
“People might think,” said Sanchez, “that you’re naming the ship after Su Lin.”
“She’s not fat,” Grimes told him. “But there was a fat Susie, not so very long ago.”
(He wondered where she was now, how she was faring.)
He inspected the comfortable lounge with its wide out-and-down-looking windows on either side, the not-too-Spartan sleeping accommodation, the little galley with a standard autochef. This, if he was going to make much use of Fat Susie, would have to be modified to his requirements. He spent some time in the control cab, familiarizing himself with the instrumentation. It would not take him long, he thought, to learn how to fly this thing.
“She’ll do,” he said at last.
He was first down the ladder with Sanchez not far behind him. As he dropped to the ground he heard the air pump start up to pressurize the helium in one of the cells to compensate for the loss of weight.
Sanchez,
“You see.”
He went on. “And many years before that the garrison in New South Wales deposed the Governor, Captain—as he was then—William Bligh.”
“And wasn’t Bligh,” she asked, “the man who was always having mutinies? You’ve had a few yourself, haven’t you?”
“Which doesn’t mean that I like having them, Su.”
She laughed. “I suppose not. But there must be ways of doing things constitutionally. And to do them without calling Earth first for approval—always supposing that Bardon let you get a message through.”
“Messages did get through, after Wibberley’s death,” said Grimes. “That’s why I’m here.”
“As trouble shooter?” she asked. “Or as shit stirrer? In any case, Bardon’s made sure that no more messages get through without his knowledge.”
“Just who—or what—are you, Su Lin?” he asked.
“You have seen my dossier, Your Excellency.”
“For what it’s worth.”
“There is a Su Lin,” she told him. “But she is not on Liberia any longer. She was carefully selected out of all the New Cantonese as being almost my double. I required only minor body sculpture to make me her replica.”
“Then what is your real name?”
“It doesn’t matter. I rather like Su Lin, anyhow.”
“Where are you from? You aren’t from FIA, are you? Or are you? If you are I should have been told.”
“I am not.”
“The Sinkiang People’s Republic?”
“No. The New Cantonese here are no worse off than they would be on New Sinkiang.”
“Then where?”
There was a knock on the door. Grimes saw Su Lin’s face go briefly tense as her vaginal muscles switched off the device that she carried.
Sanchez entered.
“I have taken delivery of the Lutz-Parsival, Your Excellency,” he reported formally. “She seems to be airworthy in all respects, although I shall have to make a more detailed inspection later.” (To look for hidden bombs, thought Grimes.) “I have left her at the mast, in the sunlight, to recharge the power cells.”
“I think that I’d like to have a sniff round aboard her myself,” said Grimes, “if you will be so good as to accompany me.”
“Of course, Your Excellency,” said Sanchez.
Chapter 16
“We shall have to give her a name,” said Grimes to Sanchez as he and the pilot made their way along the catwalk running from stem to stern inside the airship. “LP17 is too . . . impersonal. Ships are more than just . . . things.”
“What do you have in mind, Your Excellency?”
Grimes thought hard. There had been quite a few ships for which he had felt a real affection, most recently Little Sister and Sister Sue. He grinned.
“ Fat Susie,” he said. “She is rather plump, isn’t she? I’ll tell Mr. Jaconelli to organize painters for you to put the new name on the envelope. And at the same time they can change the insignia on the tail fins. I want a kangaroo instead of that tomcat of Bardon’s.”
“People might think,” said Sanchez, “that you’re naming the ship after Su Lin.”
“She’s not fat,” Grimes told him. “But there was a fat Susie, not so very long ago.”
(He wondered where she was now, how she was faring.)
He inspected the comfortable lounge with its wide out-and-down-looking windows on either side, the not-too-Spartan sleeping accommodation, the little galley with a standard autochef. This, if he was going to make much use of Fat Susie, would have to be modified to his requirements. He spent some time in the control cab, familiarizing himself with the instrumentation. It would not take him long, he thought, to learn how to fly this thing.
“She’ll do,” he said at last.
He was first down the ladder with Sanchez not far behind him. As he dropped to the ground he heard the air pump start up to pressurize the helium in one of the cells to compensate for the loss of weight.
Sanchez,
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