First Command (31 page)

“Seeker
to
Southerly Buster.
What the hell are
you
playing at?”

Grimes decided that he had better intervene; Mr. Saul was not in a diplomatic mood. He said quietly, “Commander Grimes to
Southerly Buster.
What is the nature of your complaint, please?”

Dreebly spluttered, then, “What is the nature of my complaint, you ask? Some butterfly-brained ape aboard your ship is firing off guns. There’re shells whistling past our control room.”

“Routine weekly practice shoot, Mr. Dreebly,” said Grimes. “Don’t worry; we never hit anything unless we want to.”

“But you’re firing toward Oxford!”

“Are we? But our range setting is well short of the town.”

“I know what you’re firing at, Commander Grimes. You’ve a boat up, spotting for you!”

“What am I firing at, Mr. Dreebly?”

“Pah! You make me sick!” Dreebly broke off the conversation. Grimes returned his attention to the screen. The gas was slowly thinning, and through its translucent veil he could see the untidily sprawling figures of the Morrowvians—and of Kane’s two officers.

Maya demanded, “You haven’t killed them? You haven’t killed them?”

“Of course not!” Grimes told her. “They’ll wake in a few hours’ time, without even a headache. I’ve just put them to sleep, that’s all. . . .”

Meanwhile Timmins had succeeded in tuning in to the conversation between Dreebly and Kane. Kane was saying, “Get them aboard, and then get off-planet! Yes, I
know
they can’t walk—but you’ve ground cars, haven’t you? And there are respirators in the stores. Pull your finger out, Dreebly, and get cracking! What do you think I pay you for?”

Saul was back on the air. “Sir, you heard all that. What do I do now?”

I
could answer that question a lot more easily,
thought Grimes,
if I knew that Kane was breaking Federation law. But he seems to have the idea that he is not . . . .

“What do I do now?” repeated Saul.

“Mphm. Carry on with your practice shoot, Mr. Saul. Use H.E. Chew up the ground between
Southerly Buster
and the . . . er . . . intending emigrants.”

“Emigrants!
The slaves,
you mean, Captain.”

“They aren’t slaves yet. Just make a mess of the terrain so that it’s impassable to Kane’s ground cars.”

“But he’s got boats, sir. He can use them.”

“He has two boats—a pinnace, which is still at Ballarat, and one lifeboat. The lifeboat is just big enough for his crew. It will take it a long time to ferry two hundred people—especially as they will have to be lifted aboard it, and lifted off.”

“I see, sir. . . . But what if
Southerly Buster
fires at us?”

“They won’t dare, Mr. Saul. At least, I hope they won’t. If they do—
if
they do—it is your duty to take every possible measure for the protection of
Seeker.”

No,
he thought,
Kane won’t open fire, or order his mate to do so. Apart from anything else, he’s the injured, innocent citizen and I’m the big, bad, gun-toting villain. I’m not happy about things at all, at all. But I
must
stop him.

Meanwhile, he wished that he were back aboard his ship. He
liked
guns. He knew that this was childish of him, and that it was high time that mankind outgrew its love for noisy pyrotechnics. He knew that a gun pleads to be pointed at something—and then begs to have its trigger pulled. He hoped that Saul would remain content merely to wreak havoc on the landscape.

22

Saul wreaked havoc
on the landscape. Grimes, watching on his screen, thought, relishing the play on words,
He’s
wrecking
the landscape.
What had been grassland was now a crater-pitted desolation over which drifted acrid fumes, and the copses had been reduced to jagged, blackened stumps.

Kane came on the air. His voice, despite the fact that it had been relayed through at least two stations, was loud and clear. He said, “Commander Grimes, this is Captain Kane. My mate tells me that your first lieutenant’s runnin’ amok.”

“Running amok, Captain Kane? What do you mean?”

“He’s shootin’ off his guns—
your
guns—like a madman. Wastin’ the taxpayers’ money. He’s interferin’ with the embarkation of my passengers.”

“Passengers, Captain Kane?”

“Yeah. Passengers. I own me own ship, an’ if I decide to go into the passenger trade, that’s my business.”

“I’m sure it is, Captain. I’m sorry that my arrangements clashed with yours, but we were due for a practice shoot. . . .”

“Oh, you were, were you? An’ did you promulgate a warnin’?”

“Unfortunately the facilities for so doing don’t exist on this planet.”

“Listen, Grimes, keep your nose out of my business or you’ll get it bloodied.”

“I’m inclined to think, Kane, that your business is
my
business. I represent the Federation . . . .”

“An’ the Federation is supposed to encourage honest trade, not interfere with it.”

“Honest
trade?”

“You heard me. Honest
and
legal.”

“All right, Kane. I have your word for it—for what it’s worth. Where are you taking those women?”

“It’s no concern of yours, Grimes. But it’s only natural that after generations of isolation they’ll want to see new worlds.”

“Mphm. And how are they paying their fares? You never impressed me as being a philanthropic institution.”

Kane laughed. “Have you never heard of
Travel Now, Pay Later?
TG Clippers do a lot of business that way, an’ so does Cluster Lines.”

“But these people don’t have money.”

“There’re more important things in life than money—not that I can think of any right now.”

Grimes realized that he was being talked into a corner. He said firmly, “I have to know where you intend taking your . . . er . . . passengers.”

“I’ve already told you that it’s none of your business.”

“Would it be . . . Essen?”

“I’m not sayin’ that is is—but what if it is Essen?”

“All right, Captain Kane.
If
you don’t mind, I’ll just assume that it is Essen. There’d be a good market there for women, wouldn’t there? And Federation law definitely prohibits any kind of traffic in human beings.”

“Yeah. It does. I know the law as well as you do, Commander. Probably better. An’ I’m tellin’ you flat that I’m breakin’ no laws. So I’ll be greatly obliged if you’ll tell your Jimmy The One to get out of
my
mate’s hair.”

“I’m sorry, Captain Kane, but I just can’t take your word for it.”

“No, you wouldn’t, would you? We couldn’t have a spick-an’-span Survey Service commander takin’ the word of Drongo Kane, a poor, honest workin’ stiff, master of a scruffy little star tramp, could we? Oh, no. But I’ll tell you this. One of your own officers, that Commander Maggie Lazenby, is in Janine’s palace now, an’ that stuffed shirt Danzellan is with her. Janine’s lettin’ ‘em look at the secret
records, the ones that she showed me. I’m not kiddin’ you, Grimes. She’ll tell you that you can’t touch me.”

“That remains to be seen, Captain Kane.”

“Why don’t you call her now?”

“Why not?” agreed Grimes tiredly. He got on to Timmins, ordered him to arrange a hookup. After a few minutes Maggie’s voice came through the speaker of the pinnace’s transceiver.

“Commander Lazenby here,
Seeker.”

“Stand by, please, Commander Lazenby. I’m putting you through to the captain.”

“Captain here,” said Grimes.

“Yes, John?”

“I’ve been talking with Captain Kane . . . .”

“Yes. I know. He’s just come into the Records Room.”

“He assures me that whatever he’s doing is quite legal, and that you’ll bear him out.”

“Yes, but . . . I’ve just unearthed some very old records. . . . And from what Captain Danzellan tells me . . .

“She says yes,” put in Kane. “An’ until the law is changed, if it ever is . . . .”

“I said yes,
but . . .”
insisted Maggie.

“And if Tabitha is not lying . . .” contributed Danzellan.

“She said
yes!”
snapped Kane, his customary drawl forgotten.

“Maggie!” said Grimes forcibly. “Report, at once, in detail what you have discovered.”

But there was no report. Kane used his wrist transceiver to jam the signals from those worn by Maggie and Danzellan, and before either or both of them could take any action the far more powerful transceiver of Kane’s pinnace blocked all further transmissions from Ballarat.

23

Yes . . .
but.

Yes . . .
but.

But
what?

Meanwhile, Mr. Saul had made the terrain between the landing site and Oxford quite impassable to any ground vehicle, and would have to be restrained before he blew away all
Seeker’s
60 mm ammunition. Grimes told the first lieutenant to cease fire, at once.

But what loophole in Federation law had Kane discovered? What possible means of stopping that loophole had Maggie discovered? Where did Francis Delamere’s local girlfriend, Tabitha, come into it?

Grimes decided that
Southerly Buster’s
lift-off from Morrowvia must be, at the very least, delayed. Could he stop the
Buster’s
boat from ferrying, a dozen or so at a time, the unconscious women to the ship? Yes, he could—but only at grave risk to the boat’s passengers. Embarkation would have to be allowed to continue; by the time that it was complete he, Grimes, would be back aboard
Seeker
and would be able to take full charge.

Seeker’s
cannon were silent now, and
Southerly Buster’s
one remaining boat had nosed cautiously out of its bay and was flying to where the victims of the gas shell barrage were sprawled in the long grass.
Seeker’s
boat transmitted pictures of all that was going on. The small craft from the
Buster
dropped to a landing among the sleeping bodies and two men, wearing respirators, scrambled out of it. Working fast, they dragged fifteen of the women into the boat, careless of any abrasions or contusions they might inflict. They were equally careless with their two anesthetized mates—but that was no excuse. Kane’s men were clothed and the risk of painful damage to their skins was so much less.

“Do I have to watch this, Captain?” the first lieutenant was raging.

“I’m afraid you have to, Mr. Saul,” Grimes told him. “Of course, if you can think of any way of stopping it without hurting any innocent people . . .”

Saul did not reply.

The first load was carried to
Southerly Buster
, the boat landing at the foot of the boarding ramp. Its passengers were dragged out and dumped on the ground, and almost immediately the boat began its return journey. Meanwhile a cargo hatch had been opened high on the side of the ship and the arm of a crane swung out. A net was lowered and the women, together with the two unconscious men, were piled into it, swiftly hoisted up an inboard. It was obvious that Kane was blessed with an efficient second-in-command.

Seeker’s
boat followed the one from
Southerly Buster
back to her loading site. There was a repetition of the callously efficient handling of the unknowing passengers—and then another, and then another.

But Grimes’s pinnace had crossed the coastline now, was rushing inland. Grimes hoped to be back aboard
Seeker
before
Southerly Buster’s
embarkation was completed, although he could not hope to make it before sunset. Dusk was sweeping over the countryside as the two ships came into view, Kane’s vessel towering brightly in the harsh glare of working lights. Saul had the hatch of the pinnace’s bay open and waiting, and Billard expertly jockeyed the craft into the opening. Grimes was out through the door and running up to the control room before the pinnace had settled to her chocks. He found Saul staring sullenly out of a viewport.

“That’s the last boatload,” said the first lieutenant morosely. “Recall our boat, sir?”

“Do just that, Mr. Saul. I want the ship buttoned up for lift-off.”

“Yes . . . .” Saul gestured toward the
Buster
. “She’s buttoning up.”

The boom of the crane was withdrawn, the cargo hatch was shut.
Southerly Buster’s
boat lifted from the ground where she had discharged her last load, nosed up the mother ship’s side to her bay. The ramp folded up and inward. The airlock door slid shut. Faintly there came the clangor of starting machinery, the unmistakable broken rhythm of the inertial drive.

Grimes ordered, “Use your sixty millimeters again, Mr. Saul. Tracer, time fused. I want every shell bursting directly over her—not too close, but close enough so they can hear the shrapnel rattling around their control room.”

“Aye, sir!”

The automatics rattled deafeningly, the tracers streaked out from the muzzles in a flat trajectory, the bursting shells were spectacular orange flowers briefly blossoming against the dark sky.

Not at all surprisingly Dreebly’s voice came screaming from the transceiver. “Stop firing! Stop firing, you idiots, before you hurt somebody!”

“Then shut down your engines!” commanded Grimes. “I am grounding you.”

“By what authority? You have no authority here. This is not a Federated world.”

“Shut down your engines!”

“I refuse.”

Dreebly did more than merely refuse. Winking points of blue flame appeared from a turret on
Southerly Buster’s
side. The streams of tracer from the two ships intersected, forming a lethal arch. Freakishly there were explosions at its apex as time-and impact-fused projectiles came into violent contact with each other—but the majority of
Seeker’s
shells still burst over
Southerly Buster,
and those from the
Buster’s
guns burst directly over
Seeker.

“The bastard’s hosepiping!” exclaimed Saul.

Yes, Dreebly was hosepiping, slowly and deliberately lowering the trajectory of his stream of fire. Would he have the nerve to fire at rather than over a Federation ship? Grimes knew that
he
did not have the nerve to fire directly at
Southerly Buster.
Should he do so there would inevitably be casualties—and those casualties might well be among the
Buster’s
innocent passengers.