Ride the Star Winds

by A Bertram Chandler

  She pressed buttons and the little screen of her telephone console came alive. Grimes shifted position so he could look over the ensign’s shoulder. He saw Damien’s face—that prominent nose, the thin lips, the yellowish skin stretched taut over sharp bones—take form. Old Skull Face never changes, he thought. And Damien could see him in his own screen, standing behind the girl. There was a flicker of recognition in the cold, gray eyes.

  “Admiral, sir,” said the girl, “there is a . . .”

  “I know, Ms. Pemberthy. There is a Captain Grimes to see me. Or a Commodore Grimes. Or His ex-Excellency ex-Governor Grimes . . . All right, Grimes. I was wondering when you would condescend to come and see me. You know where I live. I’m still in the office where you were debriefed after you came in from New Sparta—when was it, now? Three months ago?—and now you’re back from New Sparta again. But you won’t be going back there for quite a while, if ever . . . . As you know full well I always keep my finger on the pulse of things.” Then, to the girl, “That’s all, Ms. Pemberthy. Captain Grimes can find his own way up. He has only to follow the signs. Even Blind Freddy and his dog could do that much.”

  The screen went blank.

  The girl turned to stare at Grimes.

  “The admiral seems to know you, sir. But what is your rank, captain or commodore? And are you an Excellency?”

  “I was,” Grimes told her. “And I was, at one time, commodore of a squadron of privateers . . . “

  “Privateers, sir? Aren’t they some sort of pirates?”

  “No,” Grimes told her firmly.

  Chapter 2

  Damien did Grimes the honor of getting up from behind his huge desk, walking around the massive piece of furniture and advancing on Grimes with bony right hand outstretched. Grimes did Damien the honor of saluting quite smartly before shaking hands with the rear admiral. Damien motioned Grimes to a quite comfortable armchair before resuming his own seat. He put his elbows on the surface of the desk, made a steeple of the skeletal fingers of both hands and resting his chin upon the apex, looked intently at the younger man.

  “Well, young Grimes,” he said at last, “what can I do you for?”

  “I do not think,” replied Grimes, “that that was an unintentional slip of the tongue.”

  “Too right it wasn’t. Nonetheless I may be in a position to do something for you.”

  “At a price, no doubt, Sir. How many pounds of flesh, or is it just my soul you’re after?”

  “Grimes, Grimes . . . . This uppity attitude does not become you. And I would remind you that you hold a Survey Service commission, albeit on the Reserve List. You are subject to Service discipline—and, when you are recalled to active duty, are entitled to the full pay and allowances for your rank in addition to the quite—indeed overly—generous retaining fee of which you are already in receipt.”

  Grimes’s prominent ears reddened but he kept his temper. After all he had the services of himself and his ship to sell—and this was a buyer’s market. He could not afford to antagonize Damien.

  “And now, Grimes, what exactly are your current troubles?”

  “Well, sir, I was hoping that the Interstellar Transport Commission would renew or extend my time charter on the Earth/New Sparta run. After all, my ship has given very good service on that trade . . . .”

  “But not with you in command of her, Grimes, until recently. As far as New Sparta is concerned you’re too much of a catalyst. Things have a habit of happening around you rather than to you . . . .”

  “Mphm!” grunted Grimes indignantly.

  “I wish that you’d break yourself of that disgusting habit,” said Damien. “I’ve told you before that I do not expect naval officers to make noises like refugees from a pig sty. But, to revert to New Sparta, it will be better for all concerned if things are allowed to settle down. Your boozing pal Brasidus is doing quite well now that he no longer has Queen Ellena to stick her tits into everything. Our Commander Lazenby is maintaining a watching brief, as I am sure that you know. You and she are old friends, aren’t you? And that obnoxious news hen Fenella Pruin has taken flight to some other planet to do her muckraking. . . .”

  “So you persuaded the Commission not to renew the charter,” said Grimes.

  “Hinted, just hinted. And I also hinted that there was no need to bust a gut to get your inward cargo discharged. Until it’s out you’re still on hire. And money, I need hardly remind you, is money. . . .”

  “Thank you, sir. And I wonder if you’d mind hinting to the Astronauts’ Guild that I have a vacancy for a chief officer, one with some experience and with a master’s ticket. Come to that, I also want a new catering officer. . . .”

  “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Grimes. You’ll be getting your new chief officer shortly. One of our people, needless to say. And a very good catering officer. And . . .” A sardonic grin appeared briefly on Damien’s face.

  “And what? Or whom?”

  “You remember Shirl and Darleen, the two young ladies whom you brought to Earth, as passengers, from New Sparta. . . .”

  “How could I forget them?”

  “Like that, was it?”

  Again Grimes’s prominent ears flushed angrily.

  He said, “So it was you who arranged for their passage, in my ship, from New Sparta to Earth. Oh, well, as long as you pay their fares again I’ll carry them to anywhere else you wish.”

  “You’re a mercenary bastard, Grimes, aren’t you? But we shall not be paying their fares. They will not be paying their fares. On the contrary, you’ll be paying them. Wages, at the award rate.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me, Grimes. After all, merchant vessels quite often carry officer cadets.”

  “Who have had the required pre-Space training at some recognized academy. And I’m sure that there’s no such an academy on New Alice.”

  “There’s not. But there are such things as STS—Straight To Space—cadets.”

  Grimes, who since he had become a merchant spaceman had made a study of all the regulations that could possibly affect him, ransacked his memory.

  He said, “But Shirl and Darleen just aren’t qualified in any possible way. Aboard a spaceship they’d be completely unskilled personnel.”

  “But with qualifications, Grimes.” He opened one of the folders on his desk, began to read from it. “ ‘Any person who has held commissioned rank in the armed forces of any federated planet, wishing to embark upon a new career in the Merchant Service, may serve the qualifying time for the lowest grade of certificate of competency in any merchant vessels, with the rank and pay of officer cadet.’”

  “But . . . Commissioned rank?” asked Grimes.

  Then he realized that Damien was right. New Sparta was a federated planet. Ellena’s Amazon Guard had been part of the armed forces of that planet. Shirl and Darleen had held commissions—as officer instructors, but commissions nonetheless—in that body.

  “Too,” said Damien, grinning again, “both young ladies are now Probationary Ensigns, Special Branch, in the Federation Survey Service Reserve. Of course, their reserve commissions are as secret as yours is. But when I got the first reports, by Carlottigram, from Commander Lazenby about what was happening on New Sparta I decided that I, that we could make use of the special skills and talents of those New Alicians. After all, you did. On Venusberg first of all, then on New Sparta . . . .”

  “And your Special Branch,” grumbled Grimes, “is one sprouting many strange fruits and flowers.”

  “Well said. You have the soul of a poet, young Grimes. Anyhow when, in the fullness of time, your Sister Sue lifts off you will have, on your Articles, in addition to your normal complement, officer cadets Shirl Kelly and Darleen Byrne . . . “

  “Kelly and Byrne?”

  “Why not? I explained to the young ladies that they would have to adopt surnames and told them that Kelly and Byrnes are both names associated with Australian history.”

  “But they were bushra
ngers, sir.”

  “Don’t be snobbish, Grimes. After all, you’ve been a pirate yourself.”

  “A privateer,” snapped Grimes. “And acting under your secret orders.”

  “Which included, at the finish, committing an act of real piracy. But enough of this quibbling. Tomorrow a Mr. Steerforth will be reporting to you as your new chief officer. He will be on loan from the Interstellar Transport Commission. He is also a lieutenant commander in the Survey Service Reserve. He is a capable and experienced officer. Give him a day to settle in and then you’ll be free to inflict yourself on your parents in Alice Springs for three weeks. It will be all of that before anybody gets around to discharge your cargo and before your next charter has been arranged.”

  “Thank you, sir. But can you tell me anything about the next charter? Time, or voyage? Where to?”

  “Not yet. Oh, would you mind taking Shirl and Darleen with you to the Alice? They want to see something of inland Australia and you’d make a good guide. I’m sure that your parents wouldn’t mind putting up a couple of guests.”

  His father wouldn’t, Grimes thought, but regarding his mother he was far from certain. Even so he was looking forward to seeing Shirl and Darleen again.

  Chapter 3

  As promised, Mr. Steerforth reported on board shortly after breakfast the following morning. He was tall, blond, deeply tanned, with regular features, startling blue eyes and what seemed to be slightly too many gleaming white teeth. Grimes couldn’t be sure, at short acquaintance, whether he liked him or not. He was too much the big ship officer, with too obvious a parade of efficiency. His predecessor, Billy Williams, had been out of the Dog Star Line whose vessels, at their very best, were no more than glorified tramps. (But Williams had always got things done, in his own way, and done well.)

  “My gear’s on board, sir,” said Steerforth briskly. “If it’s all right with you I’ll nip across to the shipping office and get myself signed on. And then, perhaps, you might introduce me to the other officers, after which you can give me any special instructions. I understand that you are wanting to catch the late afternoon flight to Alice Springs.”

  “I suppose that the admiral has already given you your instructions,” grumbled Grimes.

  “The admiral, sir?”

  “Come off it, Mr. Steerforth. You know who I mean. Rear Admiral Damien. You’re one of his boys.”

  “If you say so, sir.”

  “I’ve said it. All right, go and get your name on the Articles. You should be back in time for morning coffee, when I’ll introduce you to the rest of the crowd in the wardroom.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Grimes’s next callers were Shirl and Darleen. They knew the ship, of course, having traveled in her, as passengers, from New Sparta to Earth. Certainly they were familiar enough with Grimes’s own quarters . . . .

  “Hi, John,” said Shirl (or was it Darleen?).

  “Hi, John,” said Darleen (or was it Shirl?).

  Had the girls been unclothed Grimes could have told them apart; there were certain minor skin blemishes. But now, dressed as they were in shorts (very short shorts) and shirt outfits they were as alike as two peas in a pod. The odd jointure of their legs was not concealed by their scanty lower garments, their thighs looked powerful (as they were in fact). Wide smiles redeemed the rather long faces under the short brown hair from mere pleasant plainness.

  “The Bureau of Colonial Affairs has been looking after us really well,” said one of the girls, “but it is good to be back aboard your ship again. The old crocodile has told us that we are to be part of your crew.”

  The old crocodile? wondered Grimes, then realized that this must be yet another nickname for Admiral Damien.

  “He has already made us officers,” said Shirl. (Grimes remembered that her voice was very slightly higher than that of Darleen.) “In the Survey Service. But it is supposed to be a secret, although he said that you would know.”

  “I do,” said Grimes.

  “And now we are to be officers aboard your ship,” Darleen told him unnecessarily.

  “And you are to show us the inland of this country of yours, from which our ancestors came. We have seen kangaroos in the zoo in Adelaide, of course, but we have yet to see them in the wild, where they belong. “

  “Where we belong,” said Darleen, a little wistfully. “You know, John, I have often thought that that genetic engineer, all those hundreds of years ago, did the wrong thing when he changed our ancestors . . . .”

  “If he hadn’t changed them,” pointed out Shirl, “we shouldn’t be here now.”

  “I suppose not.” Darleen’s face lit up with a smile. “And it is good being here, with John.”

  “Mphm,” grunted Grimes.

  The three of them caught the afternoon flight from Woomera to Alice Springs.

  Grimes loved dirigibles, and a flight by airship in charming company was an enjoyable experience. He had a few words with an attentive stewardess, scribbled a few words on the back of one of his business cards for her to take to the captain and, shortly thereafter, he and the two New Alicians were ushered into the control cab. The girls stared out through the wide windows at the sunburned landscape flowing astern beneath them, with the greenery around irrigation lakes and ditches in vivid contrast to the dark browns of the more normal landscape, peered through borrowed binoculars at the occasional racing emu, exclaimed with delight as they spotted a mob of kangaroos. But the shadows cast by rocks and hillocks were lengthening as the sun sagged down to the horizon. Soon there would be nothing to see but the scattered lights of villages and townships.

  “This must seem a very slow means of transport to you, Captain,” said the airship’s master. “After all, when you’re used to exceeding the speed of light . . .”

  “But not with scenery like this to look at, Captain,” said Grimes.

  “The two young ladies seem to be appreciating it,” said the airshipman. “They’re not Terran, are they?”

  “No, although their ancestors were both Terran and Australian. They’re from a world called New Alice.”

  “The name rings no bell. Would it be one of the lost colonies?”

  “Yes.”

  “I saw a piece on trivi about Morrowvia a few months ago. . . . The world of the cat people. . . . If I ever save enough for an offplanet holiday I might go there. Say, wasn’t it you who discovered, or rediscovered, that Lost Colony?”

  “Not exactly. But I was there during the period when it was decided that the Morrowvians were legally human.”

  The airship captain lowered his voice. “And these young ladies with you . . . . From New Alice, you say. Would they be the end result of some nutty experiment by some round-the-bend genetic engineer?”

  Shirl and Darleen possessed abnormal, by human standards, hearing. They turned as one away from the window to face the airshipman. They smiled sweetly.

  “Yes, captain,” said Shirl. “Although we are legally human our ancestors were not, as yours are, monkeys.”

  If the captain was embarrassed he did not show it. He looked them up and down in a manner that suggested that he was mentally undressing them. He grinned at them cheerfully.

  “Tie me kangaroo down, sport,” he chuckled. “I shouldn’t mind gettin’ the chance to tie you down!”

  “You could try,” said Darleen slowly.

  “And it could be the last thing you ever did try,” said Shirl.

  They were still smiling, the pair of them, but Grimes knew that it was more of a vicious baring of teeth than anything else.

  The airshipman broke the tense silence.

  “Excuse me, ladies. Excuse me, Captain. I’d better start thinkin’ about gettin’ the old girl to her mooring mast at the Alice.” He addressed his first officer. “Mr. Cleary, confirm our ETA with airport control, will you? Ask ’em about conditions—surface wind and all the rest of it . . . .”

  Why tell me to do what I always do? said Cleary’s expression as plainly as
spoken words.

  “Shall we get out of your way now, Captain?” asked Grimes.

  “Oh, no, Captain. Just keep well aft in the cab.” He managed a laugh. “Who knows? You might learn something.”

  But it wasn’t the airshipman’s day. He bumbled his first approach to mast, slid past it with only millimeters of clearance. He had to bring his ship around to make a second try. He blamed a sudden shift of wind for the initial bungle but he knew—and Grimes knew—that it was nothing of the kind. It was no more and no less than the result of an attempt to impress a hostile female audience.

  Chapter 4

  Grimes’s parents were waiting in the lounge at the base of the mooring mast. His mother embraced him, his father took his hand and grasped it warmly between both of his. Then Grimes introduced the two girls. He realized that he could not remember which one had been given Kelly as a surname and which one was Byrne. Why the hell, he asked himself, couldn’t Damien have had them entered in the books as sisters? As twin sisters, even. They looked enough alike. (Some little time later he raised this point with the two New Alicians. “But the admiral is very thorough, John,” Darleen told him. “To put us down as being related would have made nonsense of his files. It was explained to us. It is all a matter of blood groups and such . . . .”)

  The older people did, as a matter of fact, look rather puzzled when Shirl and Darleen were introduced. But they asked no questions and, in any case, the Grimes household was one in which the use of given names was the rule rather than the exception.

  Baggage was collected and then the party boarded the family hover-car. Grimes senior took the road in a direction away from the city, deviated from this on to what was little more than a rough track, heading toward what the old man called his private oasis. By now it was quite dark and overhead the black sky was ablaze with stars. In the spreading beam of the headlights green eyes gleamed with reflected radiance from the low brush on either side of the track. For a while an old man kangaroo bounded ahead of the vehicle until, at last, it collected its wits and broke away to the right, out of the path of the car.