Ride the Star Winds Read Free Page A

office after the Governor General fired him. . . .”
    “Don’t go putting ideas into his head,” admonished Matilda. “The last time that he was here the pair of you talked about privateering and piracy—and look what happened! The next thing we hear will be that he’s fired the President of Liberia!”
    “Perhaps I shall,” murmured Grimes. “Perhaps I shall. . . .”
    His father looked at him intently over the rim of his condensation-beaded glass. He said softly, “Tell me, John, did you really leave the Survey Service?”
    “I did.”
    “Did they call you back?”
    “Did they?” pressed his mother, suddenly alert.
    It was useless, he knew, to try to lie to her.
    He said, “No comment.”
    “And isn’t it true,” his father went on, “that after your piratical antics a bill was pushed through the Assembly making privateering illegal anywhere in the Federation of Worlds?”
    “You read, watch and listen to the media, George.”
    “I do. And there have been some nasty rumors recently about Liberia. But you can’t tell us anything, can you?”
    “I can’t. And I think that you’d both be wise to keep your suspicions to yourself.”
    “We shall,” promised his father. “But I shall be tempted, mind you, to give them an airing in a novel.”
    “Please don’t. The El Dorado Corporation might add two and two to make five and then be after my blood.”
    “All right.” The older man finished his beer and, ignoring his wife’s frown, demanded a refill from the robutler. “And now, young John, I am going to put an idea into your head—one that even Matilda will approve of. You’re really a spaceman, aren’t you? That’s all you want to be, ever will want to be. And you don’t want to wait ten years to get your Certificate back—especially when you’ve a ship of your own of which you should be the captain. You’ll be governor, of a world called Liberia. When in Liberia do as the original Liberians did. . . .”
    He talked, drawing upon his historical knowledge.
    Grimes listened intently, as did his mother.
    When his father was finished Grimes grinned happily. “It could work,” he said. “By all the Odd Gods, I’ll make it work!”
    “But you will have to finish the job that you’re being sent out to do,” said his mother, frowning worriedly. “You’ll have to finish that job first.”
    “Of course,” Grimes assured her. “Of course.”

Chapter 4

    Grimes took one of the regular airships to Sydney and then a ramjet to New York. The World Assembly was housed in the old UN Building which, miraculously, had survived all the troubles that had plagued the city since the United Nations had taken up residence there. Staring down at Manhattan as the jet descended to the airport Grimes wondered what it had looked like during the days of its glory. He had seen photographs, of course, but would have liked to have been able to recognize, in actuality, such fabled towers as the Empire State and World Trade Buildings; the ornamental lakes that occupied their sites were all very well but, from the air, were no more than irregular puddles of blue water. But there was the Brooklyn Bridge, rebuilt only recently to the old design. And that must be the Chrysler Building. . . . It was too bad that this was to be a brief business visit only.
    An official World Assembly car was waiting for him and whisked him swiftly to the Assembly’s headquarters. He was expected there; a young officer in a smart, sky-blue uniform escorted him along moving ways and up escalators, delivered him to the office of the Protector of the Colonies.
    Bendeen—a slim man, not overly tall, gray-haired and with a heavily lined face—came from behind his littered desk to greet Grimes. The WA lieutenant withdrew and the door automatically closed behind him.
    “So you’re the famous—or notorious—Grimes,” said Bendeen. “All right. You can admit it. This office is bugproof—or so the experts loaned to me by Rear Admiral