First Command (58 page)

“Poor, stupid bastards,” murmured Davinas. Then, “I thought your paymaster was a very attractive woman. I’d never have thought that she’d have been among the mutineers.”

“She stopped me from being pushed out from the airlock,” said Grimes.

“And yet she’ll still have to pay the same penalty as the others,” stated Davinas.

“I suppose so,” said Grimes. “I suppose so.” He did not like the vision that flickered across his mind, of that slim body bursting in hard vacuum, its erupting fluids immediately frozen.

“There are times,” Davinas said, “when I’m glad I’m a merchant spaceman. Being a galactic policeman is no job for the squeamish.”

Chapter 36

“You will have to face a court-martial,
of course,” said the admiral coldly.

“Of course, sir,” agreed Grimes glumly.

“Not only did you lose your ship, but there was that unfortunate affair on the first world you visited. Yes, yes, I know that fire was opened against your orders—but you, at the time, were captain of
Discovery
.”

“I suppose so, sir.”

“You suppose! There’s no supposition about it. And then”—the old man was warming up nicely—”there’s the odd private deal you made with that tramp skipper, Davinas.”

“I acted as I thought fit, sir.”

“In other words—it seemed a good idea at the time. Hrrmph. All in all, young man, you’ve made a right royal balls of things. I warned you, before you lifted off in
Discovery
, not to put a foot wrong. I told you, too, that you were expected to lick the ship into shape. You should have known that a crew of misfits, such as those you had under you, would be demoralized by an extended sojourn on a world such as Botany Bay.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The court-martial will not be convened until your return, however.”

“My return, sir?”

“From Botany Bay, of course. You will be proceeding there in the frigate
Vega
, as adviser to Commander Delamere, whose instructions are to apprehend the mutineers and bring them to Lindisfarne for trial.”

Delamere, of all people! thought Grimes. He had always hated the man, and Delamere had always hated him. Of Delamere it had been said that he would stand on his mother’s grave to get a foot nearer to his objective.

“That is all, Commander,” snapped the admiral. “You will remain on Base until sent for.”

“Very good, sir.”

“Try to reply in a more spacemanlike manner, young man You’re a naval officer—still a naval officer, that is—not a shopwalker.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Grimes saluted with what smartness he could muster, turned and strode out of the admiral’s office.

Chapter 37

“You’re in a mess, John,”
said Commander Maggie Lazenby soberly. Her fine-featured face, under the glossy auburn hair, was serious.

“A blinding glimpse of the obvious,” said Grimes.

“This is no laughing matter, you oaf. I’ve been keeping my ears flapping all day for gossip. And there’s plenty. Not everybody in this Base regards you as a little friend to all the universe, my dear. You’ve enemies—bad ones. You’ve friends, too—but I doubt if they’re numerous or powerful enough. And Frankie Delamere hates you.”

“That’s no news.”

“When you’re aboard his ship, don’t put a foot wrong.”

“I’ve heard that advice before.”

“But it’s
good
advice. I tell you, John, that you’ll be lucky to keep your rank after the court-martial. Or your commission, even.”

“Bligh kept his,” said Grimes. “And then he rose to admiral’s rank.”

“Bligh? Who was he? I can’t remember any Admiral Bligh in the Survey Service.”

“Never mind,” said Grimes. He filled and lit his pipe. “You know, Maggie . . . I’ve been thinking. Why should I stay in the Service? No matter how the court-martial goes—and I don’t see how they can crucify me for Brabham’s and Swinton’s sins—it looks as though I shall never, now, make the jump from commander to a four-ring captain.”

“But you just said that Bligh, whoever he was—”

“All right. Bligh did, and he’d lost his ship because of a mutiny, the same as I’ve done. I might be as lucky as Bligh—if Bligh ever was lucky, which I doubt. But let’s forget him, shall we? The question before the meeting is this: do I resign my commission, and go out to the Rim Worlds?”

“The Rim Worlds, John? Are you quite mad?”

“No. I’m not. They’ve a new state shipping line, Rim Runners, which is expanding. There’s a demand for officers.”

“As long as you don’t mind making a fresh start as third mate of a star tramp.”

“With prospects. Now we come to the second question before the meeting. If I resign my commission, will you resign yours, and come out to the Rim with me? They’re frontier worlds, as you know, and there’s bound to be a demand for scientists, like yourself.”

She got to her feet, stood over him as he sprawled in his easy chair. “I’m sorry, John, but you’re asking too much. I wasn’t cut out to be a frontierswoman. When
I
leave the Service I shall retire to Arcadia, my home world, where the climate, at least, is decent. From what I’ve heard of the Rim Worlds the climate on all of them is quite vile. My advice to you, for what it’s worth, is to stick it out. As I said, you have got friends, and your sins might be forgotten.”

“And I’d still have you,” he said.

“Yes. You’d still have me.”

“But to ship out under Delamere—”

“Not under. With. You hold the same rank. Forget your blasted pride, John. And who’s more important in your life? Me, or Handsome Frankie?”

“You,” he told her.

“All right,” she said practically. “We don’t have many nights before you push off. Let’s go to bed.”

Chapter 38

Commander Frank Delamere
could have posed for a Survey Service recruiting poster. He was tall, blond; blue-eyed, with a straight nose, a jutting chin, a firm mouth. He was an indefatigable skirt-chaser, although not always a successful one. (Women have rather more sense than is generally assumed.) More than once the definitely unhandsome Grimes had succeeded where he had failed. Nonetheless, his womanizing had contributed to his professional success; he was engaged to the ugly daughter of the Base commanding officer. He prided himself on running a taut ship. As he had always been fortunate enough to have under his command easily cowed personnel he had got away with it.

Commander John Grimes walked up the ramp to
Vega’s
after airlock slowly, without enthusiasm. Apart from the mutual dislike existing between himself and the frigate’s captain he just did not like traveling in somebody else’s ship. For many years now he had sailed only in command—in Serpent Class couriers (with the rank of lieutenant), in the Census Ship
Seeker,
and, finally, in the ill-fated
Discovery.
He had no doubt that Delamere would extract the ultimate in sadistic enjoyment from his present lack of status.

The Marine at the head of the ramp saluted him smartly.
And was that a flicker of sympathy in the man’s eyes?
“Commander Grimes, sir, the captain would like to see you in his quarters. I’ll organize a guide.”

“Thank you,” said Grimes. “But it’s not necessary. I’ll find my own way up.”

He went to the axial shaft, pressed the button for the elevator. He had to wait only seconds. The cage bore him swiftly up past level after level, stopped when the words CAPTAIN’S FLAT flashed on the indicator. He stepped out, found himself facing a door with the tally CAPTAIN’S DAYROOM. It slid open as he approached it.

“Come in!” called Delamere irritably. “I’ve been waiting long enough for you!” He did not get up from his chair, did not extend his hand in greeting.

“It is,” said Grimes, looking at his wristwatch, “one hour and forty-three minutes prior to liftoff.”

“You know that I require all hands to be aboard two full hours before departure.”

“I am not one of your hands, Commander Delamere,” said Grimes mildly.

“As long as you’re aboard my ship you’re under my command, Grimes.”

“Am I? My orders are to accompany you as an adviser.”

“When I need
your
advice that’ll be the sunny Friday!” Grimes sighed. Once again he was getting off on the wrong foot. He said mildly, “Perhaps I should go down to my quarters to get myself organized before liftoff. I take it that my gear has already been sent aboard.”

“It has. And your dogbox is on the deck abaft this. I’ll see you again as soon as we’re on trajectory.”

So he was not to be a guest in the control room during liftoff, thought Grimes. He was not to be the recipient of the courtesies normally extended to one captain by another. It was just as well, perhaps. Delamere was notorious rather than famous for the quality of his spacemanship, and Grimes would have found it hard to refrain from back-seat driving.

He left Delamere in his solitary majesty, went out into the circular alleyway. He did not bother to call the elevator, descended the one level by the spiral staircase. The compartment immediately below the captain’s flat was that occupied by the senior officers. There was nobody around to tell him which cabin was his, but between CHIEF ENGINEER and FIRST LIEUTENANT he found a door labeled SPARE. Presumably this was where he was to live. Going inside he found his gear, two new suitcases, officers, for the use of, large, and one new suitcase, officers, for the use of, small. He looked around the room. It was not large—but he had lived, for weeks at a time, in smaller ones when serving in the couriers. It was clean, and promised to be comfortable. It had its own tiny adjoining toilet room. It would do.

Grimes began to unpack, stowing the things from the collapsible cases into drawers and lockers. Everything was new. He had been obliged completely to reequip himself after his return to Base. He wondered gloomily how much wear he would get out of the uniforms.

The intercom speaker came to life. “Attention, attention! Secure all! Secure all! This is the first warning.”

A little spacewoman poked her head inside the door, a very pale blonde, a tiny white mouse of a girl. “Oh, you’re here, sir. Do you want any help? The captain’s very fussy.”

“Thank you,” said Grimes, “but I think I’ve everything stowed now.” He looked at his watch. “It’s still over forty minutes before liftoff.”

“Yes, sir, but he wants to be
sure.
”

“Better to be safe than sorry, I suppose,” said Grimes. “But since you’re here you can fill me in on a few things. Mealtimes, for a start.”

“In space, breakfast at 0800 hours. Lunch at 1230 hours. Dinner at 1900 hours. Commander Delamere expects all officers to dress for dinner.”

He would,
thought Grimes. Luckily, mess dress had been included in the uniform issue that he had drawn.

“And then there’re the drills. The captain is very fond of his drills. Action Stations, Boat Stations, Collision Stations.”

“At fixed times?”

“Oh, no, sir. He says that the real thing is liable to happen at unexpected times, and so the drills have to happen likewise. If he wakes up in the middle of the night with indigestion he’s liable to push one of the panic buttons.”

And then,
thought Grimes,
he’ll be standing there in his control room, his uniform carefully casual, imagining that he’s fighting a single ship action against the Grand Flight of the Hallichek Hegemony.

“You seem to have fun in this ship,” he said. “Everything, in fact, but a mutiny.”

The girl blushed in embarrassment, the sudden rush of color to her pale cheeks startling. “I didn’t think you’d be able to joke about
that,
sir.”

“It’s a poor funeral without at least one good laugh,” said Grimes.

“Attention, attention!” barked the bulkhead speaker. “Secure all! Secure all! This is the second warning!”

“I have to be going, sir,” said the girl. “I have to check the other cabins.”

Grimes picked up a novel that he had brought with him, lay down on the bunk, strapped himself in. There was no hurry, but he might as well wait in comfort. He was well into the first chapter when the third warning was given. He had almost finished it when an amplified voice announced, “This is the final countdown. Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . .”

And about bloody time, after all that yapping,
thought Grimes.

“. . . Three. . . two. . . one. . .
lift!
”

It was at least another three seconds before the inertial drive rumbled and clattered into life. And to Grimes, traveling as a mere passenger, away from the control room, where he could have seen what was going on, the climb through Lindisfarne’s atmosphere seemed painfully slow. At last, at long last,
Vega
was up and clear, swinging about her axes on her directional gyroscopes. She seemed to be taking an unconscionable time finding the target star. And was Delamere never going to start the Mannschenn Drive, restart the inertial drive?

“Attention, attention! The Mannschenn Drive is about to be started. Temporal disorientation is to be expected.”

You amaze me,
thought Grimes.

He heard the thin, high whine of the Drive building up, stared at the geometry of his cabin that had suddenly become alien, at the colors that flared and faded, sagging down the spectrum. There was the feeling of
déjà vu,
and the other feeling that he, by making a small effort only, could peer into the future, his own future. And he was frightened to.

Sounds, colors, and angles returned to normal. The temporal precession field had built up.

“Attention, attention! Normal acceleration is about to be resumed.”

The ship shuddered to the arhythmic beat of the inertial drive.

“Attention, attention! Will Commander Grimes please report to the captain’s daycabin?”

I
suppose I’d better do as the man says,
thought Grimes, unsnapping the safety straps.

Chapter 39

“Come in,”
grunted Delamere. “Sit down,” he said reluctantly.

Grimes took what looked like the most comfortable chair. “To begin with, Commander Grimes,” said the captain, “you were appointed to my ship against my wishes.”

“And against mine, Commander Delamere,” said Grimes. “That makes us even, doesn’t it?”