Biron nodded and Rizzett grimaced.
"It tastes like chopped sawdust, doesn't it? What else?"
"A supply of clothes for the lady," said Biron.
Rizzett wrinkled his forehead. "Yes, of course. Well, that will be her job."
"No, sir, it won't. We'll supply you with all the necessary measurements and you can supply us with whatever we ask for in whatever the current styles happen to be."
Rizzett laughed shortly and shook his head. "Rancher, she won't like that. She wouldn't be satisfied with any clothes she didn't pi"k. Not even if they were the identical items she would have picked if she had been given the chance. This isn't a guess, now. I've had experience with the creatures."
Biron said, "I'm sure you're right, Rizzett. But that's the way it will have to be."
"All right, but I've warned you. It will be your argument. What else?"
"Little things. Little things. A supply of detergents. Oh yes, cosmetics, perfume-the things women need. We'll make the arrangements in time. Let's get the trailer started."
And now Gillbret was leaving without speaking. Biron's eyes followed him, too, and he felt his jaw muscles tighten. Hinriads! They were Hinriads! There was nothing he could do about it. They were Hinriads! Gillbret was one and she was another.
He said, "And, of course, there'll be clothes for Mr. Hinriad and myself. That won't be very important."
"Right. Mind if I use your radio? I'd better stay on this ship till the adjustments are made."
Biron waited while the initial orders went out. Then Rizzett turned on the seat and said, "I can't get used to seeing you here, moving, talking, alive. You're so like him. The Rancher used to speak about you every once in a while. You went to school on Earth, didn't you?"
"I did. I would have graduated a little over a week ago, if things hadn't been interrupted."
Rizzett looked uncomfortable. "Look, about your being sent to Rhodia the way you were. You mustn't hold it against us. We didn't like it. I mean, this is strictly between us, but some of the boys didn't like it at all. The Autarch didn't consult us, of course. Naturally, he wouldn't. Frankly, it was a risk on his part. Some of us-I'm not mentioning names-even wondered if we shouldn't stop the liner you were on and pull you off. Naturally that would have been the worst thing we could possibly have done. Still, we might have done it, except that in the last analysis, we knew that the Autarch must have known what he was doing."
"It's nice to be able to inspire that kind of confidence."
"We know him. There's no denying it. He's got it here." A finger slowly tapped his forehead. "Nobody knows exactly what makes him take a certain course sometimes. But it always seems the right one. At least he's outsmarted the Tyranni so far and others don't."
"Like my father, for instance."
"I wasn't thinking of him, exactly, but in a sense, you're right. Even the Rancher was caught. But then he was a different kind of man. His way of thinking was straight. He would never allow for crookedness. He would always underestimate the worthlessness of the next man. But then again, that was what we liked best, somehow. He was the same to everyone, you know.
"I'm a commoner for all I'm a colonel. My father was a metalworker, you see. It didn't make any difference to him. And it wasn't that I was a colonel, either. If he met the engineer's 'prentice walking down the corridor, he'd step aside and say a pleasant word or two, and for the rest of the day, the 'prentice would feel like a master engineman. It was the way he had.
"Not that he was soft. If you needed disciplining, you got it, but no more than your share. What you got, you deserved, and you knew it. When he was through, he was through. He didn't keep throwing it at you at odd moments for a week or so. That was the Rancher.
"Now the Autarch, he's different. He's just brains. You can't get next to him, no matter who you are. For instance. He doesn't really have a sense of humor. I can't speak to him the way I'm speaking to you right now. Right now, I'm just talking. I'm relaxed. It's almost free association. With him, you say exactly what's on your mind with no spare words. And you use formal phraseology, or he'll tell you you're slovenly. But then, the Autarch's the Autarch, and that's that."
Biron said, "I'll have to agree with you as far as the Autarch's brains are concerned. Did you know that he had deduced my presence aboard this ship before he ever got on?"
"He did? We didn't know that. Now, there, that's what I mean. He was going to go aboard the Tyrannian cruiser alone. To us, it seemed suicide. We didn't like it. But we assumed he knew what he was doing, and he did. He could have told us you were probably aboard ship. He must have known it would be great news that the Rancher's son had escaped. But it's typical. He wouldn't."
Artemisia sat on one of the lower bunks in the cabin. She had to bend into an uncomfortable position to avoid having the frame of the second bunk pry into her first thoracic vertebra, but that was a small item to her at the moment.
Almost automatically, she kept passing the palms of her hands down the side of her dress. She felt frayed and dirty, and very tired.
She was tired of dabbing at her hands and face with damp napkins. She was tired of wearing the same clothes for a week. She was tired of hair which seemed dank and stringy by now.
And then she was almost on her feet again, ready to turn about sharply; she wasn't going to see him; she wouldn't look at him.
But it was only Gillbret. She sank down again. "Hello, Uncle Oil."
Gillbret sat down opposite her. For a moment his thin face seemed anxious and then it started wrinkling into a smile. "I think a week of this ship is very unamusing too. I was hoping you could cheer me up."
But she said, "Now, Uncle Oil, don't start using psychology on me. If you think you're going to cajole me into feeling a responsibility for you, you're wrong. I'm much more likely to hit you."
"If it will make you feel better-"
"I warn you again. If you hold out your arm for me to hit, I'll do it, and if you say 'Does that make you feel better?' I'll do it again."
"In any case, it's obvious you've quarreled with Biron. What about?"
"I don't see why there's any necessity for discussion. Just leave me alone." Then, after a pause, "He thinks Father did what the Autarch said he did. I hate him for that."
"Your father?"
"No! That stupid, childish, sanctimonious fool!"
"Presumably Biron. Good. You hate him. You couldn't put a knife edge between the kind of hate that has you sitting here like this and something that would seem to my own bachelor mind to be a rather ridiculous excess of love."
"Uncle oil," she said, "could he really have done it?"
"Biron? Done what?"
"No! Father. Could Father have done it? Could he have informed against the Rancher?"
Gillbret looked thoughtful and very sober. "I don't know." He looked at her out of the corner of his eyes. "You know, he did give Biron up to the Tyranni."
"Because he knew it was a trap," she said vehemently. "And it was. That horrible Autarch meant it as such. He said so. The Tyranni knew who Biron was and sent him to Father on purpose. Father did the only thing he could do. That should be obvious to anybody."
"Even if we accept that"-and again that sideways look -"he did try to argue you into a rather unamusing kind of marriage. If Hinrik could bring himself to do that-"
She interrupted. "He had no way out there, either."
"My dear, if you're going to excuse every act of subservience to the Tyranni as something he had to do, why, then, how do you know he didn't have to hint something about the Rancher to the Tyranni?"
"Because I'm sure he wouldn't. You don't know Father the way I do. He hates the Tyranni. He does. I know it. He wouldn't go out of his way to help them. I admit that he's afraid of them and doesn't dare oppose them openly, but if he could avoid it somehow, he would never help them.",