First Command (83 page)

Such a meeting, however, was far from the thoughts of anybody aboard
The Far Traveler.
Not that there was any sharing of thoughts during the initial stages of the voyage; Grimes and his employer were barely on speaking terms and if Big Sister were human it would have been said that she was sulking hard. Jealousy came into it. Grimes found it hard to forgive the Baroness for her brief affair with Drongo Kane. It was not that Grimes considered himself the guardian of her virginity; it was far too late to the day for that, anyhow. It was just that ever since his first meeting with that gentleman he had numbered Kane among his enemies. And the Baroness, although she would never admit it publicly, resented the way in which Grimes and Big Sister, acting in concert, had frustrated Kane’s attempt to take over Morrowvia. So, for the time being at least, there were no more morning coffee and afternoon tea sessions in the Baroness’s salon, no more pre-luncheon or pre-dinner cocktail parties, no more shared meals. The Baroness kept to herself to her quarters, Grimes kept to himself in his. And Big Sister, unusually for her, talked only when talked to, concerning herself to the exclusion of all else with running the ship.

Grimes was not altogether displeased. He had—he secretly admitted to himself—lusted after the Baroness and still remembered—how could he ever forget?—that he could have had her in that cave on Farhaven. Now it was a case of
You can look but you mustn’t touch.
As things were now he preferred not to look even. And Big Sister? She could very well have been nicknamed Little Miss Knowall. It was refreshing—for a time, at any rate—to be spared her omniscience. Meanwhile, his quarters were more luxurious than merely comfortable. His robot stewardess—or, to be more exact, Big Sister acting through that literally golden girl—spoiled him. For his playmaster there was a seemingly inexhaustible supply of music, plays and microfilmed books. He was kept informed as to what times of the ship’s day the little gymnasium was frequented by the Baroness and adjusted his own routine so as not to clash.

The Far Traveler
fell through the dark dimensions, the warped continuum, a micro-society that, despite its smallness, contained all the essentials—a man, a woman, a computer. Even though the members of this tiny community weren’t exactly living in each other’s pockets they weren’t actually fighting among themselves—and that was something to be thankful for.

One morning—according to
The Far Traveler’s
clocks— Grimes was awakened indecently early. Big Sister, exercising her newly developed sense of humor, used an archaic bugle call,
Reveille,
instead of the usual chimes to call him. He opened his eyes, saw that the stewardess was placing the tray with his coffee on the bedside table. She said, in Big Sister’s voice, “There is no urgency, Captain Grimes, but I should like you in the control room.”

Grimes swung his legs out of the bed. “What’s wrong?” he demanded.

“Nothing is wrong, Captain, but a situation has arisen for which I am not programmed.” She added, as Grimes opened the wardrobe door and reached for a clean uniform shirt, “As I have said, there is no urgency. Please finish your coffee and then shower and depilate before coming to Control. You know very well that Her Excellency does not tolerate scruffiness.”

“So this is not exactly Action Stations,” said Grimes. “Not yet,” agreed Big Sister.

Grimes showered and depilated. He dressed. He made his way to the control room after he had smoked a soothing pipe, knowing that the Baroness objected to the use of tobacco or other smouldering vegetable matter in her presence. She was in Control, waiting for him. She had not troubled to put on her usual, for this locality, insignialess uniform shirt and shorts. She was wearing a transparent rather than translucent white robe. She smelled of sleep. She regarded Grimes coldly and said, “You took your time,
Captain.”

Grimes said, “Big Sister told me that there was no immediate urgency, Your Excellency.”

She said, “Big Sister told me the same. But I am the Owner, and your employer. I came straight here as soon as I was called—while you, obviously, sat down to enjoy your eggs and sausages and bacon, your buttered toast and honey. You might, at least, have had the decency to wipe the egg off your face.”

The back of Grimes’ hand came up automatically to his mouth. Then he said stiffly, “I had no breakfast, Your Excellency. And, I repeat; I was told by Big Sister that there was no need to hurry.”

Big Sister’s voice came from the transceiver. “That is correct. There was no need to hurry.”

“Pah!” The Baroness was flushed with temper—all the way down to her navel, Grimes noted with clinical interest. “Who owns this ship, this not inconsiderable investment, may I ask? Neither of you! And now,
Captain
Grimes, it would seem that there is a target showing up in the screen of the Mass Proximity Indicator. According to extrapolation we shall close it—whatever
it
is—just over one hour from now. Big Sister has condescended to inform me that this target is probably a ship and that it is not proceeding under any form of interstellar drive. I think that we should investigate it.”

Grimes said, “In any case, we are required to do so by Interstellar Law, Your Excellency.”

“Are we? As far as this vessel is concerned,
I
am the law. Nonetheless I am curious. If I were not naturally so I should not have undertaken this cruise. And so,
Captain,
I shall be vastly obliged if you will bring us to a rendezvous with this unidentified vessel. Please inform me when you are ready to board.”

She swept out of the control room.

Grimes pulled his pipe and tobacco pouch out of his pocket, began to fill the charred, dottle-encrusted bowl. Big Sister stepped up the revolutions of an exhaust fan, said, “I shall deodorize before
she
returns.”

Grimes said, “Thank you.” He lit up, peered through exhaled smoke into the tank of the Mass Proximity Indicator. In the sphere of darkness floated a tiny green spark, well away from the center. To a ship not proceeding under the space- and time-twisting Mannschenn Drive it would have been weeks distant. As it was . . . His fingers went to the controls to set up calibration and extra-potation but Big Sister saved him the trouble.

“Contact fifty-three minutes, forty-five seconds from . . .
now,”
she told him. “If you are agreeable I shall shut down our Mannschenn Drive when ten kilometers from target, leaving you to make the final approach on inertial drive and to match velocities. As soon as we have broken through into the normal continuum I shall commence calling on NST radio and also make the Morse signal,
What ship!
by flashing light. As you are aware, attempts to communicate by Carlotti radio have not been successful.”

“I wasn’t aware,” said Grimes, “but I am now.” He realized that he was being childishly sulky and asked, in as friendly a voice as he could manage, “Do you know of any ships missing, presumed lost, in this sector of Space, Big Sister? With the enormous fund of information in your data bank you might well do so . . .”

She replied, “I have already extrapolated the assumed trajectories of missing vessels over the past two hundred years. What we see in our screen could not be any of them. Allowances must be made, however, for incomplete data.”

“So this thing,” said Grimes, “could be an ancient gaussjammer or even one of the deep freeze ships . . .”

“It could be,” said Big Sister,
“anything.”

Chapter 35

There was little for Grimes
to do until
The Far Traveler
had closed the strange ship, the derelict. Big Sister had his breakfast brought up to the control room. He enjoyed the meal—but it was only on very rare occasions that he did not appreciate his food. He used the Carlotti transceiver to put out his own call; it was not that he did not trust Big Sister to handle such matters but he liked to feel that he was earning his keep. There was no reply to his reiterated demand,
“Far Traveler
to vessel in my vicinity. Please identify yourself.” He stared out of the viewports along the bearing of the unidentified object. There was nothing to be seen, of course— nothing, that is, but the distant stars, each of which, viewed from a ship proceeding under interstellar drive, presenting the appearance of a pulsating iridescent spiral nebula.

Then Big Sister said, “In precisely five minutes we shall be ten kilometers from the target. I have informed Her Excellency.”

The Baroness came into Control, looking crisply efficient in her insignialess uniform. She asked, “Are you ready for the final approach, Captain?”

“Yes,” said” Grimes. “Your Excellency.”

“Permission to shut down Mannschenn Drive?” asked Big Sister formally.

“Yes,” replied Grimes and the Baroness simultaneously. She glared at him. He turned away to hide his own expression. He went to his chair, strapped himself in. She did likewise. He held his hands poised over the controls although it was unlikely that he would have to use them yet; Big Sister was quite capable of carrying out the initial maneuvers by herself.

The arhythmic beat of the inertial drive slowed, muttered into inaudibility. Even with the straps holding the two humans into their chairs the cessation of acceleration was immediately obvious. Then the thin, high whine of the ever-precessing rotors of the Mannschenn Drive changed frequency, deepened to a low humming, ceased. Colors sagged down the spectrum and perspective was briefly anarchic. There was disorientation, momentary nausea, evanescent hallucinatory experience. It seemed to Grimes that he was a child again, watching on the screen of the family playmaster a rendition of one of the old fairy tales, the story of the Sleeping Beauty. But there was something absurdly wrong. It was the Prince who was supine on the bed, under the dust and the cobwebs, and the Princess who was about to wake him with a kiss . . . And it was strange that this lady should bear such a striking resemblance to that aunt who had run away with the spaceman.

“When you have quite finished dreaming, Captain Grimes,” said the Baroness coldly, “I shall be obliged if you will take charge of the operation.”

The radar was on now, more accurate than the mass proximity indicator had been. Big Sister had done very well.
The Far Traveler
was a mere 10.35 kilometers from the target, which was almost ahead. Even though the inertial drive was still shut down, the range was slowly closing. Grimes shifted his attention from the radar screen to that of the telescope. At maximum magnification he could just see the stranger—a very faint glimmer of reflected starlight against the blackness of interstellar space.

He restarted the inertial drive. Acceleration pressed him down into the padding of his seat. He said, “Big Sister, put out a call on NST, please.”

He heard her voice, more feminine than metallic but metallic nonetheless,
“Far Traveler
to vessel in my vicinity. Identify yourself. Please identify yourself.” There was no reply.

Grimes was conscious of the flashing on the fringe of his vision;
The Far Traveler’s
powerful searchlight was being used as a signalling lamp. A succession of Morse “A”s, then, “What ship? What ship?” But there was only the intermittent glimmer of reflected radiance from the stranger.

Big Sister ceased her futile flashing but maintained a steady beam. It was possible now to make out details in the telescope screen. The object was certainly a ship—but no vessel such as Grimes had ever seen, either in actuality or in photographs. The hull was a dull-gleaming ovoid covered with excrescenes, whip-like rods, sponsons and turrets. Communications antennae, thought Grimes, and weaponry. But none of those gun muzzles—if guns they were—were swinging to bring themselves to bear on
The Far Traveler.

Grimes made a minor adjustment of trajectory so as to run up alongside the stranger, began to reduce the yacht’s acceleration. His intention was to approach to within half a kilometer and then to match velocities, cutting the drive so that both vessels were falling free. He was thankful that neither the Baroness nor Big Sister was in the mood for back seat driving.

He was thankful too soon. “Aren’t you liable to overshoot, Captain Grimes?” asked the lady.

“I don’t think so,” he said.

“I do!” she snapped. “I think that Big Sister could do this better.”

Surprisingly Big Sister said, “I have told you already, Your Excellency, that I am not yet programmed for this type of operation.”

“I am looking forward,” said the Baroness nastily, “to meeting your programmers again.”

And then Grimes was left alone. Doing a job of real space-manship he was quite happy. He would have been happier still if he could have smoked his pipe—but even he admitted that the foul male comforter was not essential. Finally, with the inertial drive shut down, he drew alongside the stranger. He applied a brief burst of reverse thrust. And then the two ships were, relative to each other, motionless—although they were falling through the interstellar immensities at many kilometers a second.

He said to Big Sister, “Keep her as she goes, please.” He knew that the inertial drive would have to be used, now and again, to maintain station—transverse thrust especially to prevent the two ships from gravitating into possibly damaging contact. Had the stranger’s hull been as featureless as that of
The Far Traveler
it would not have mattered—but, with all those protrusions, it would have been like some sleek and foolishly amorous animal trying to make love to a porcupine.

“And what do we do now?” asked the Baroness.

“Board, Your Excellency,” said Grimes. “But, first of all, I shall send a team of robots to make a preliminary survey.”

“Do that,” she said.

They sat in their chairs, watched the golden figures, each using a personal propulsion unit, leap the fathomless gulf between the ships. They saw the gleaming, mechanical humanoids land on the stranger’s shell plating, carefully avoiding the antennae, the turrets. Then the robots spread out over the hull—like, thought Grimes, yellow apes exploring a metal forest. Save for two of them they moved out of sight from the yacht but the big viewscreen displayed what they were seeing during their investigation.