"I wish it were," said Biron, somberly.
Rizzett's smile faltered. "So do we all. Every one of us. I'm Tedor Rizzett, by the way. I'm a colonel in the regular Linganian forces, but we don't use titles in our own little game. We even say 'sir' to the Autarch. That reminds me!" He looked grave. "We don't have lords and ladies or even Ranchers on Lingane. I hope I won't offend if I forget to throw in the proper title sometimes."
Biron shrugged." As you said, no titles in our little game. But what about the trailer? I'm to make arrangements with you, I take it."
For a flickering moment he looked across the room. Gillbret was seated, quietly listening. Artemisia had her back to him. Her slim, pale fingers wove an abstracted pattern on the photocontacts of the computer. Rizzett's voice brought him back.
The Linganian had cast an all-inclusive glance about the room. "First time I've ever seen a Tyrannian vessel from the inside. Don't care much for it. Now you've got the emergency air lock due stern, haven't you? It seems to me the power thrusters girdle the midsection."
"That's right."
"Good. Then there won't be any trouble. Some of the old model ships had power thrusters due stern, so that trailers had to be set off at an angle. This makes the gravity adjustment difficult and the maneuverability in atmospheres just about nil."
"How long will it take, Rizzett?"
"Not long. How big would you want it?"
"How big could you get it?"
"Super deluxe? Sure. If the Autarch says so, there's no higher priority. We can get one that's practically a space ship in itself. It would even have auxiliary motors."
"It would have living quarters, I suppose."
"For Miss Hinriad? It would be considerably better than you have here-" He stopped abruptly.
At the mention of her name, Artemisia had drifted past coldly and slowly, moving out of the pilot room. Biron's eyes followed her.
Rizzett said, "I shouldn't have said Miss Hinriad, I suppose."
"No, no. It's nothing. Pay no attention. You were saying?"
"Oh, about the rooms. At least two sizable ones, with a communicating shower. It's got the usual closet room and plumbing arrangements of the big liners. She would be comfortable."
"Good. We'll need food and water."
"Sure. Water tank will hold a two months' supply; a little less if you want to arrange for a swimming pool aboard ship. And you would have frozen whole meats. You're eating Tyrannian concentrate now, aren't you?"
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.