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the hall imperceptibly and stopped. Here were gathered the rest of the tribe symbolized by the seven who
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had met him. But Don was not required then to rack his brain for compliments, but was taken, still in
accordance with etiquette, at once to his own chambers to rest and refresh himself.
The chambers were merely comfortable by Venerian standards; to Don, of course, they were huge. The
wallowing trough in the center of the main room was less than six feet deep only at the ramp and it was
long enough for him to take several strokes which he did very soon with great pleasure. The water was
as pure as the Sea he had just crossed was dirty and it was, as nearly as he could tell, heated for him to
exactly the 98.6° of a human's blood.
He turned over on his back and floated, staring up into the artificial mist that concealed the remote
ceiling. This, he thought, was certainly the life! It was the best bath he had had since well, since that
dilly of a bath in the Caravansary back in New Chicago, how long ago? Don thought with a sudden
twinge of nostalgia that his class in school had graduated long since.
Growing tired even of such luxury he climbed out, then took his clothes and scrubbed out ancient dirt as
best he could, while wishing for detergent, or even for the grey homemade soap the farmers used. He
paddled around in bare feet, looking for somewhere to hang his wash. In the "small" retiring room he
stopped suddenly.
Supper was ready. Someone had set a table for him, complete to fine napery a card table, it was, with
"Grand Rapids" spelled out in its lines. The chairs drawn up to it actually did have "Grand Rapids"
stamped into its under side; Don turned it over and looked.
The table had been set in accordance with human customs. True, the soup was in the coffee cup' and the
soup plate contained coffee, but Don was in no mood to care about such details they were both hot.
So was the sour bread toast and the scrambled eggs shell eggs, if he was a judge.
He spread his wet clothes on the warm, tiled floor, hastily patted them smooth, drew up the chair and fell
to. "As you say, Skipper," he muttered, "we never had it so good."
There was a foam mattress on the floor of another bay of the same room; Don did not need to look to
see that it was Greenie general issue (officers). There was no bedframe and no blankets, but neither was
necessary. Knowing that he would not be disturbed nor expected to put in an appearance until it suited
him, he spread himself out on it after dinner. He was very tired, he now realized, and he certainly had
much to think about.
The reappearance of Sir Isaac caused buried memories to lift their heads, fresh and demanding. He
thought again of his school, wondered where his roommate was. Had he joined up on the other side? He
hoped not... yet knew in his heart that Jack had. You did what you had to do, judging it from where you
were. Jack wasn't his enemy, couldn't be. Good old Jack! He hoped strongly that the wild chances of
war would never bring them face to face.
He wondered if Lazy still remembered him.
He saw again Old Charlie's face, suddenly blasted out of human shape... and again his heart raged with
the thought. Well, he had paid back for Old Charlie, with interest. He grieved again for Isobel.
Finally he wondered about the orders, all the way from HQ, that had sent him to Sir Isaac. Was there
actually a military job here? Or had Sir Isaac simply found out where he was and sent for him? The last
seemed more likely; HQ would regard a request from a prince of the Egg as a military "must", dragons
being as important as they were to operations.
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He scratched the scar on his left arm and fell asleep.
Breakfast was as satisfactory as supper. This time there was no mystery about its appearance; it was
wheeled in by a young dragon Don knew that she was young as her rear pair of eyestalks were still
buds; she could not have been more than a Venus century old. Don whistled his thanks; she answered
politely and left.
Don wondered if Sir Isaac employed human servants; the cooking puzzled him, dragons simply do not
cook. They prefer their fodder fresh, with a little of the bottom mud still clinging to it, for flavor. He could
imagine a dragon boiling an egg the proper length of time, the time having been stated, but his imagination
boggled at anything more complicated. Human cookery is an esoteric and strictly racial art.
His puzzlement did not keep him from enjoying breakfast.
After breakfast, his self-confidence shored up by clean and reasonably neat clothes, he braced himself
for the ordeal of meeting Sir Isaac's numerous family. Used as he was to acting as a "true speech"
interpreter, the prospect of so much ceremoniousness in which he himself would be expected to play a
central and imaginative part made him nervous. He hoped that he would be able to carry it off in a fashion
that would reflect honor on his parents and not embarrass his sponsor.
He had shaved sketchily, having no mirror, and was ready to make his sortie, when he heard his name
called. It surprised him, as he knew that he should not have been disturbed being a guest freshly
arrived even if he chose to stay in his chambers for a week, or a month or forever.
Sir Isaac lumbered in. "My dear boy, will you forgive an old man in a hurry for treating you with the
informality ordinarily used only with one's own children?"
"Why, certainly, Sir Isaac." Don was still puzzled. If Sir Isaac were a dragon in a hurry, he was the first
one in history.
"If you are refreshed, then please come with me." Don did so, reflecting that they must have had him
under observation; Sir Isaac's entrance was too timely. The old dragon led him out of his chambers,
down a passage, and into a room which might have been considered cozy by dragon standards; it was
less than a hundred feet across.
Don decided that it must be Sir Isaac's study, as there were roll upon roll of ribbon books racked on the
walls and the usual sort of rotating bench set at the height of his handling tentacles. Above the racks on
one wall was what Don judged to be a mural, but it looked like meaningless daubs to him; the three
colors in the infra-red which dragons see and we do not produced the usual confusion. On second
thought he decided that it might actually be meaningless; certainly a lot of human art did not seem to mean
anything.
But the point which he noticed most and wondered about was that the room contained not one but two
chairs meant for humans.
Sir Isaac invited him to sit down. Don did so and found that the chair was of the best powered furniture;
it felt out his size and shape and conformed to it. He found out at once for whom the other terrestrial
chair was intended; a man strode in fiftyish, lean and hard in the belly, wiry grey hair around a bald
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pate. He had an abrupt manner and gave the impression that his orders were always obeyed. "Morning, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]