Gris asks for names, the ship number, that sort of stuff, and learns that the Fleet men don't know where they are. He offers them some (fake) money in exchange for everything they know about Jettero Heller but has to up his ante before they all take turns giving him "vital" information.
And of all the sickening drivel I have ever listened to in my whole life, that period in Spiteos talking with that crew topped it.
Heller was a tall, very handsome officer. Heller knew exactly what he was doing. Heller was brave and afraid of nothing. Heller had an excellent singing voice. Heller did thoughtful things, illustrated by bandaging up the medical rating when an airlock slammed on him. Heller was amusing in that he told jokes when things looked grim--examples included.
Absolutely, utterly sickening!
You said it, Gris. More stuff about how wonderful and amazing Jettero Heller is being shoved down the reader's throat. And since this is of course a satire, I have to wonder if this is what Hubbard imagined the FBI or CIA's questioning of Scientologists was like - his loyal sycophants gushing about how visionary and handsome he was, without revealing any sensitive or useful information.
Also note that none of the crew make any complaints along the lines of "More questions? We've already told you all we know!" There's no indication these blokes have been interrogated, either routinely or when Gris was actively searching for stuff about Heller. It never occurred to this seasoned intelligence operative to look up Heller's crew then. But the Apparatus is still making a half-assed effort to keep the crew alive, because... they might be useful hostages?
Despite how utterly useless the first batch of information has been, Gris shells out some more death warrants for another round of gushing about Heller, but he thinks they're still holding something back. So he starts to pay them with the poisoned girl, but then the mute sex slave, who had been kept out of sight in a nearby empty cell, dumbly wanders into view. Transfixed at the sight of a bedraggled young female in a loincloth and sporting a shapely scar across her throat, Craftleader Soams, the group's nominal captain, promises to exchange some vital intelligence on Heller if Gris gives them the bag of goods and the girl.
How's he going to manage that without opening the door? Why, by squeezing her through the food slot at the bottom of the door, of course! The one that none of the crewmen can fit through even after weeks of eating space rats. Just don't think about it too much.
Gris agrees, stuffs the girl into a cage filled with twenty naked men, and steps in close to the bars to receive an important message: "When Heller gets word of what has happened to us, he will kill you with his bare hands! Run like mad and maybe it will save your life!" Gris considers entering the cell to get his goods back, but is of course outnumbered twenty to one, and decides against leisurely picking the crewmen off by shooting them through the bars because he can't "see all the walls in there and they looked dangerous."
So Gris storms off, content with the knowledge that everyone in the cell will be dead either of food poisoning or counterfeiting, even as he grouses that his original dream analysis about an Oedipus Complex was the correct one.
In other words, these past three or more chapters have been a complete waste of time. Pointless. Futile. Wasted paper. No plot development, no character development, just paperwork and hallucinations and second-hand murder. I think. I honestly can't remember if the crew somehow survives to resurface later in the book, and who knows, maybe they'll make a remarkable reappearance in book ten that will leave the reader gasping "who the hell are these guys, again?"
And if you thought this chapter was pointless, just you wait until we get to the next two!
Back to Chapter Two
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