When they were alone in his quarters Grimes kissed her. She returned his embrace, then pushed him away.
"Not now," she said. "There'll be plenty of time for this sort of thing in the palace."
"Will there?" he asked. "Haven't you already said that you and the Archon are old friends? I . . . assumed . . . ."
"Then you assumed wrong. Ellena keeps Brasidus on a tight leash."
"Ellena?"
"His wife. The Archoness, as many call her, although there's no such rank or title. She's from Earth. An Australian, of Greek ancestry. Very much the power behind the throne. But finish your packing and I'll fill you in." She took from its shelf the solidograph that she had given him—how long ago?—and held the transparent cube, with its lifelike, three dimensional image of her face and figure, studying it before passing it to him. "You're something of a sentimental bastard, aren't you? That's one of the reasons why I'm rather fond of you."
"Thank you."
"And now for putting you in the picture. To begin with, my research project is only a cover. I was seconded to the Intelligence Branch, and by them put under the orders of Rear Admiral Damien."
"But he's not in the Intelligence Branch."
"Isn't he? There are intelligence officers whom everybody knows about and there are intelligence officers who, as it were, hide their light under a bushel. Like you, for example."
"Me?"
"Yes, you. The admiral told me that you had been pressganged back into the Survey Service with the rank of captain on the Reserve List. All very Top Secret, Destroy By Fire Before Reading and all the rest of it. What you did to break up Drongo Kane's privateering racket was no more—and no less—than Intelligence work. So was what you did on Liberia. Whether you knew it or not you were a member of the Department of Dirty Tricks."
Grimes sighed. "All right, all right. But just what dirty tricks am I supposed to be doing here?"
"Just shoving a spanner into the works."
"But Brasidus—from what I remember of him—is a nice enough bloke. I'm sure that he's a good Archon, whatever an Archon does when he's up and dressed. There's never been any talk of tyranny, so far as I know. People are still emigrating to New Sparta from Earth and other planets."
She said, "That's part of the trouble."
"How so?"
"One of our people was among those migrants. Under cover, of course. According to her papers she was a schoolteacher. She sent a few reports back to Earth—and then they stopped coming. Since my arrival here I've been able to make discreet inquiries. She was drowned in a boating accident."
"If it was an accident . . ." said Grimes. "Is that what you're driving at?"
"Of course. She was out on a river trip with other members of the New Hellas Association. Colonel Heraclion—although he wasn't a member of the boating party—is one of the Association's high-ups. Oh, I know what you're thinking. New Hellas, when what he wants is Old New Sparta. But the New Hellenes are a bunch of reactionaries. Some—like the good colonel—want a return to a womanless world, the way it used to be. Others—and they're mainly immigrants—want a return to the way ancient Greece used to be on Earth."
"The glory that was Greece . . ." quoted Grimes. "What's so wrong with that?"
"Ancient Greece," she told him, "was glorious, if you happened to be a member of the upper crust and male. If you were a slave, a peasant or a woman it wasn't so glorious."
"But there are women in this New Hellas Association. This murdered agent of yours—all right, all right, of ours—was a member and a woman."
"There are some women," she said, "who, in their secret hearts, would enjoy being human doormats. There are other women who would enjoy being glamorous hetaerae in a society where the other members of their sex were no more than drab Hausfrauen."
"Hetaerae and Hausfrauen in the same culture!" laughed Grimes.
"You know what I mean. Well, it wouldn't be so bad if the New Hellenes were just trying to attain their ends by democratic means but, according to our late agent, they're plotting a coup. A coup on classical lines. And then yet another unsavory dictatorship which, eventually, will have to be put down at great expense. If such things can be nipped in the bud . . . ."
"By whom?"
"Need you ask, ducky?"
"Damn it all," said Grimes, "I'm a civilian. A shipmaster and shipowner. All that I came to this world for was to rejoin my ship."
"You're not a civilian, John. Oh, you may have been for a while, but ever since you accepted that reserve commission you've been back in the Service. I've written orders for you from Admiral Damien—not with me at the moment but in the captain's safe aboard the courier. I'll get them out for you before too long."
The intercom phone buzzed. Grimes pressed the Acknowledge button. Gunning's face appeared in the screen.
"I hope that I'm not interrupting anything, Commodore, but Colonel Heraclion asked me to remind you that the car is waiting to take you to the palace. If you like I'll send somebody down to give you a hand with your gear."
"Thank you, Captain," said Grimes. "But don't I have to pass Port Health, Immigration and Customs?"
"The colonel informs me that all formalities have been waived in your case." The master laughed. "It's always handy to have friends in high places."
The screen went blank.
Grimes opened the door of his cabin in preparation for the arrival of the junior officer who would help him with his bags. Maggie continued talking but only on topics which, should she be overheard, would give nobody any ideas.
"Talking of friends," she said, "I met one of yours a couple of days ago."
"But the only person whom I got to know on this world, when I was here before, was Brasidus."
"This one's an offworlder."
"From Earth?"
"No. From Bronsonia. An investigative reporter, she calls herself. She works for that scurrilous rag Star Scandals. She's doing a series on sleazy entertainment centers on as many worlds as she can get to visit during the time allowed her. She's tailing along after some outfit calling itself Galactic Glamour, featuring exotic dancers from all over. They're doing a short season here before pushing on to Latterhaven.
"Anyhow, I met her when I was slumming, as part of my research. We had a couple or three drinks. She knew that I'm Survey Service. And you know how stupid people are . . ." She assumed a voice that was not hers but which was ominously familiar to Grimes. "Oh, you're in the Survey Service . . . A commander. Do you know Commander Smith?" She laughed. "What she said was, Do you know Captain Grimes? He used to be in the Survey Service—he got as high as commander, I believe, before they threw him out . . ."
"I resigned!" growled Grimes.
"So I said to her, Who doesn't know Grimes? And she grinned nastily and said, So we share that dubious pleasure. But don't you want to know who she is?"
"I know only one person who answers to your description of her," muttered Grimes. "But tell me, is she, too, a guest at the palace?"
"No. She did come calling around once, flashing her press ID, but Ellena took an instant dislike to her. The guards have strict orders never to admit her again."
"Thank All The Odd Gods Of The Galaxy for that! With any luck at all I'll not be meeting her again."
"Then your luck's run out. You surely don't think, do you, that you'll be confined to the palace during your entire stay here? Apart from anything else you'll be helping me with my ethnographical research—and I've little doubt that our path will, from time to time, cross that of the fair researcher for Star Scandals."
"I don't frequent low joints," said Grimes virtuously.
"Then you've changed!" she laughed.
He laughed with her. "Oh, well, I shan't really mind meeting Fenella again for a talk over old times. But it's a pity that Shirl and Darleen aren't here as well . . ."
"And who are they?" asked Maggie, with a touch of jealousy.
"Just girls," said Grimes.
And then the Third Officer appeared to help carry the baggage down to the airlock.