Gris makes his way back to his quarters in the dark stone depths of Spiteos, but notices something's amiss - there's no sign of the guards meant to keep Heller in check, and he can hear voices coming from his room. Panicking at the thought that his charge may have escaped, he flings the door open and lunges inside, immediately dodging to avoid any return fire, even though he hasn't drawn his sidearm or anything so if there were any hostiles waiting for him he'd be thoroughly screwed. But I'm sure they would have appreciated his dynamic entrance.
There's no danger, of course, it's just Jettero Heller sitting down with the local platoon commander, eating sweetbuns and chatting about what's in the day's paper, while a brand new "Homeviewer" on the wall plays a tune by a "diddleband."
In Hubbard's defense, the verb "diddle" can refer to a percussionist playing two consecutive notes with the same hand. Sort of like how "ejaculate" can refer to someone suddenly exclaiming something. So we all need to grow up and stop snickering, alright?
Gris realizes what I've already complained about, that the agents of the Apparatus are pretty damn incompetent. The guards he requested to covertly keep an eye on Heller aren't there, their commander is chumming it up with the prisoner, and someone who's supposed to be in isolation is being given the latest news.
As the commander scampers out, Heller explains that he's reached an accord with the Apparatus soldiers, and in exchange for letting them know where he is at all times they bring him goodies, such as this newspaper bearing headlines about a famous combat engineer being chosen for a top-secret mission. Gris mentally curses all reporters, lamenting that "we didn't control all the press--not yet!"
So the Apparatus' elite just barely manage to avoid botching a kidnapping, succeed in a way that tips off the victims' buddies on who could have taken him, can't properly control him once he's supposedly in custody, and they can't keep word of his secret mission from leaking to the press. These are crap secret agents. They're trying to take over their government and they haven't even infiltrated the press yet?
Anyway. Heller notices that Gris has been promoted, offers his heartfelt congratulations, and says that as per tradition Gris now owes him dinner in the next nightclub they visit. And you may think that this is a throw-away line, a jolly little joke showing the camaraderie in the Fleet in contrast to the paranoia and mutual contempt between Apparatus personnel, that surely Hubbard wouldn't spend a whole Part of his space epic covering Gris and Heller's evening out. And you'd be wrong.
Oh, did I mention that Heller's a jeweler? 'cause he knows precious stones too. He takes a look at Gris' new gold chain, assures him that the emeralds are real (if mostly off-color) and that the bottom one in particular is an unusually valuable specimen from the South Vose mines, denoted by a flaw that improves its color and refraction. I'm really glad the book's hero knows this stuff. Just think how awful it'd be if he was a star athlete and dashing commando and expert geologist but not an amateur jeweler.
While Heller breaks out the "sparklewater," which isn't a drug because Voltar doesn't know what those are, Gris worriedly notes that Heller must have been slipped a load of cash by his buddies, and wonders what else they may have packed. So in other words, the paranoid, seasoned intelligence operative didn't fully search the bags he brought to his prisoner. He just "glanced" through them.
Heller answers his unspoken question for him, showing off the blaststick his mates smuggled in for him (800 kilovolts, allegedly enough to blast through Spiteos' walls), a wad of a thousand credits (enough to bribe his way out of Spiteos), and a "whizzer" capable of sending up a flare that can be seen five thousand miles away.
Aside from my uninformed guess that such an absurdly powerful flare would blind anyone near it, I'm tempted to try to work out how high such a light would have to travel to be seen over the curvature of an average-sized planet. But this book isn't worth the trouble.
The chapter ends with Gris telling Heller about his appointments with Dr. Crobe and the Countess Krak, while Heller ignores him to chuckle over the Sports page of the paper. Even the book's hero isn't interested in the story.
Back to Part Two, Chapter Eight
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