First Command

by A Bertram Chandler

  He had said (Maya quoted), “I am leaving you a good world. The land, the air and the sea are clean. Your own wastes go back into the soil and render it more fertile. The wastes of the machines will pollute everything—the sky, the sea and the very ground you walk upon. Beware of the machine. It pretends to be a good servant—but the wages that it exacts are far too high.”

  “A machine brought you—your ancestors—here,” pointed out Grimes.

  “If that machine had worked properly we should not be here,” said Maya. She smiled. “The breaking down of the machine was our good luck.”

  “Mphm.” But this was a good world. It could be improved—and what planet could not? But would the reintroduction of machinery improve it? The reintroduction not only of machinery but of the servants of the machine, that peculiar breed of men who have sold their souls to false gods of steam and steel, of metal and burning oil, who tend, more and more, to degrade humanity to the status of slaves, to elevate the mindless automata to the status of masters.

  Even so . . . what was that quotation he had used in a recent conversation with Maggie? “Transportation is civilization.”

  More efficient transportation, communications in general, would improve Morrowvia. He said as much. He argued, “Suppose there’s some sort of natural catastrophe . . . a hurricane, say, or a fire, or a flood. . . . If you had radio again, or efficient aircraft, the survivors could call for help, almost at once, and the help would not be long in reaching them.”

  “But why?” Maya asked. “But why? Why should they call for help, and why should we answer? Or why should we call for help, and why should they answer? We—how shall I put it? We go our ways, all of us, with neither help or hindrance, from anybody. We . . . cope. If disaster strikes, it is our disaster. We should not wish any interference from outsiders.”

  “A passion for privacy,” remarked Maggie, “carried to extremes.”

  “Privacy is our way of life,” Maya told her. “It is a good way of life.”

  Grimes had been wondering how soon it would be before the pair of them clashed; now the clash had come. They glared at each other, the two handsome women, one naked, the other in her too-skimpy uniform, somehow alike—and yet very unlike each other. Claws were being unsheathed.

  And then young Billard called out from the forward compartment. “Land on the radar, sir! Looks like the coastline, at four hundred kilometers!”

  Rather thankfully Grimes got up and went into the pilot’s cabin. He looked into the screen of the radarscope, then studied the chart that had been made from the original survey data and from Maggie’s photographs of that quite accurate wall map in Maya’s “palace.” Yes, that looked like Port Phillip Bay, with the mighty Yarra flowing into it from the north. He thought, North Australia, here we come! Then, with an affection of the Terran Australian accent, Norstrylia, here we come!

  That corruption of words rang a faint but disturbing bell in his mind—but he had, as and from now, more important things to think about.

  He said to the navigator, “A very nice landfall, Mr. Pitcher,” and to Billard, “Better put her back on manual. And keep her as she’s going.”

  Maya was by his side, looking with pleased wonderment at the glowing picture in the radar screen. Grimes thought, I wish she wouldn’t rub up against me so much. Not in front of Pitcher and Billard, anyhow. And not in front of Maggie, especially.

  14

  It was summer in the northern hemisphere, and when the pinnace arrived over Melbourne, having followed the winding course of the Yarra to the foothills of the Dandenongs, there were still half a dozen hours of daylight left. The town, as were all the towns, was a small one; Grimes estimated that its population would run to about four thousand people. As they made the approach he studied it through powerful binoculars. It was neatly laid out, and the houses seemed to be of wooden construction, with thatched roofs. Beyond the town, on a conveniently sited patch of level, tree-free ground, towered the unmistakable metal steeple of a starship. There was only one ship that it could be.

  Suddenly the pinnace’s transceiver came to life. “Schnauzer calling strange aircraft. Schnauzer calling strange aircraft. Do you read me?”

  “I read you,” replied Grimes laconically.

  “Identify yourself, please.”

  “Schnauzer, this is Number One Pinnace of FSS Seeker. Over.”

  There was a silence. Then, “You may land by me, Number One Pinnace.”

  Grimes looked at Pitcher and Billard. They looked back at him. He raised an eyebrow sardonically. Pitcher said, “Uncommonly decent of him, sir, to give permission to land . . . .”

  “Mphm. I suppose he was here first—although I don’t think that planting a shipping company’s flag makes a territorial claim legally valid.”

  “They could rename this world Pomerania . . .” suggested Pitcher.

  “Or Alsatia . . .” contributed Billard.

  “Or NewPekin . . .” continued Pitcher. “Or some other son-of-a-bitching name . . . .”

  “Or Dogpatch,” said Grimes, with an air of finality. And then, into the microphone, an edge of sarcasm to his voice. “Thank you, Schnauzer. I am coming in.”

  Acting on his captain’s instructions Billard brought the pinnace low over the town. People stared up at them—some in the by now familiar state of nudity, some clothed. Those who were dressed were wearing uniform, obviously personnel from the Dog Star ship. The small craft almost grazed the peaked, thatched roofs, then settled down gently fifty meters to the west of Schnauzer, on the side from which her boarding ramp was extended.

  “Well,” remarked Maggie, “we’re here. I don’t notice any red carpet out for us. What do we do now?”

  “We disembark,” Grimes told her. “There’ll be no need to leave anybody aboard; the officers of major shipping companies are usually quite law-abiding people.” Ususally, he thought, but not always. He remembered suddenly the almost piratical exploits of one Captain Craven, the master of Delta Orionis, to which he, Grimes, had been an accessory.

  “What about Drongo Kane?” asked Maggie.

  “You can hardly call him a major shipping company,” said Grimes.

  Three men were walking slowly down the merchant ship’s ramp. In the lead was a bareheaded, yellow-haired giant, heavily muscled. Following him was a tall and slender, too slender, young man. Finally—last ashore and first to board—was a portly gentleman, clothed in dignity and respectability as well as in master’s uniform. All of them wore sidearms. Grimes frowned. As a naval officer he did not like to see merchant officers going about armed to the teeth—but he knew that the Dog Star Line held quite strong views on the desirability of the ability of its ships and its personnel to defend themselves.

  The door of the pinnace opened and the short ladder extended itself to the grassy ground. Grimes buckled on his belt with the holstered pistol, put on his cap and, ignoring the steps, jumped out of the small craft. He turned to assist Maggie but she ignored his hand, jumped also. Maya followed her, leaping down with feline grace. Pitcher was next, then Billard, who spoiled the effect by tripping and sprawling untidily.

  Schnauzer’s master had taken leading place now, and was advancing slowly, with his two officers a couple of paces to the rear. Unlike them he was not wearing the comfortable, utilitarian gray shorts, shirt and stockings but a white uniform, with tunic and long trousers—but portly men look their best in clothing that conceals most of the body.

  He acknowledged Grimes’s salute stiffly, while his rather protuberant brown eyes flickered over the young man’s insignia of rank. He said, in a rather reedy voice, “Good afternoon, Commander.” Then, “You are the commanding officer of Seeker?”

  “Yes, Captain. Lieutenant Commander Grimes. And you, sir, are Captain Roger Danzellan, and the two gentlemen with you are Mr. Oscar Eklund, chief officer, and Mr. Francis Delamere, second officer.”

  “How right you are, Commander. I realize that there is no need for me to introduce myself and my
people. But as a mere merchant captain I do not have the resources of an Intelligence Service to draw upon. . . .”

  Grimes took the hint and introduced Maggie, Maya, Pitcher and Billard.

  “And now, Commander,” asked Danzellan, “what can I do for you?”

  “If you would, sir, you can tell me what you are doing here.”

  “Trade, Commander, trade. This is a competitive galaxy, although you ladies and gentlemen in the Survey Service may not find it so. My employers are not in business for the state of their health . . . .”

  “Aren’t they?” inquired Maggie. “I would have thought that the state of their financial health was their main concern.”

  “A point well taken, Commander Lazenby. Anyhow, the Dog Star Line is always ready and willing to expand its sphere of operations. When a Dog Star ship, Corgi—but I imagine that you know all about that—stumbled upon this world, quite by chance, the reports made by her master, myself, were read with great interest by the Board of Directors. It was realized that we, as it were, have one foot well inside the door. It was decided to strike the iron while it is hot. Do you read me, Commander Grimes?”

  “Loud and clear, Captain Danzellan. But tell me, what sort of trade do you hope to establish with the people of Morrowvia?”

  “There are manufactured goods from a score of planets on our established routes for which there will be a demand here. For example, I have in my hold a large consignment of solar-powered refrigerators, and one of solar cookers. On the occasion of my first visit here a refrigerator was left with the, er, Queen of Melbourne. I was pleased to discover on my return that it is still working well, and even more pleased to learn that other, er, queens have seen it, and that still others have heard about it . . . .”

  “You will remember, Commander Grimes,” said Maya, “that I told you about the cold box.”

  “So even this lady, from Cambridge, many miles from here, has heard about it.”

  “Mphm. But how are the people going to pay the freight on these quite unnecessary luxuries—and for the luxuries themselves?”

  “Unnecessary luxuries, Commander? I put it to you—would you be prepared to sip your pre-prandial pink gin without an ice cube to make it more potable? Do you enjoy lukewarm beer?”

  “Frankly, no, Captain. But—the question of payment . . . .”

  “These are sordid details, Commander. But I have no doubt that something will be worked out.”

  “No doubt at all,” commented Maggie Lazenby. “When people want something badly enough they find some way of paying for it.”

  “In a nutshell, Commander Lazenby. In a nutshell.” Danzellan beamed upon her benignly. Then, “I am sorry that I cannot ask you aboard my ship, but we are rather cramped for space. In a merchant vessel carrying capacity for money-earning cargo is of greater importance than luxurious accommodation for personnel.”

  “I understand,” said Grimes. Such merchant vessels as he had been aboard housed their officers in far greater comfort than did the Survey Service. He went on, “Maya, here, wishes to pay her respects to her sister queen. We will accompany her.”

  “I’ll show you the way, Commander,” volunteered Mr. Delamere eagerly.

  Danzellan frowned at his second officer and the young man wilted visibly. Then the captain relented. “All right,” he said. “You may take the party from Seeker to Queen Lilian’s palace.” He added sternly, “See that they don’t get lost.”

  15

  Delamere led the way from the landing site to the town, walking fast. He did not pause when he took the party past a survey team from Schnauzer, busily engaged with tapes, rods and theodolite, working under the direction of a young woman with third officer’s braid on her shoulderboards. He acknowledged her wave absently. Watching the surveyors was a large group of children, with a smaller number of adults. These people, Grimes saw, were very similar to those whom he had encountered at Seeker’s landing place—well formed, beautiful rather than merely handsome. He was interested to note, however, that here the rudimentary nipples below the true breasts were the exception rather than the rule, whereas among Maya’s people almost every woman—as she herself—was so furnished.

  The dirt roads between the houses were level and tidy. The wooden buildings were well spaced and these, unlike those in Cambridge, had glazed windows—but, probably, the winters on this continent would be relatively severe. There was an amplitude of trees and flowering shrubs in every open space.

  Lilian’s palace was larger than the other houses. It had, like Maya’s, a tall staff standing outside its main entrance, a pole surmounted by a star fabricated from glittering metal rods. Also, in the full light of the westering sun, there stood just outside the door a metallic box, mounted on small wheels. Grimes had seen such contraptions before; this was the famous sun-powered refrigerator.

  A tall woman came out to meet them. Her skin was creamy; the hair of her head and body was a glowing orange color. She said to Maya, “Welcome, sister. My house is yours.”

  “Thank you, sister,” replied Maya. Then, “We have corresponded, but I did not think that we should ever meet.”

  “You are . . . ?”

  “Maya, from Cambridge, Lilian.”

  “I know of you, Maya. Now I have the pleasure of knowing you.”

  “Lilian . . .” said Delamere.

  “Yes, Francis?”

  “How is Tabitha?”

  “She is well, Francis.”

  “Can I see her, Lilian?”

  “ It will be well if you do not, Francis. Unless you are willing to abide by our customs.”

  The young man looked desperately unhappy. His long nose quivered like that of a timid rabbit. He said, “But you know . . .”

  “What do I know, Francis? Only what I am told. Only what I see with my own eyes.” (And those green eyes, thought Grimes, will see plenty.)

  “Lilian,” Maya said, “I have brought friends with me.”

  “So I see.” The woman was regarding the people from Seeker with a certain lack of enthusiasm. Her attitude seemed to be, If you’ve seen one stranger from beyond the stars, you’ve seen them all.

  “Lilian, this is Commander Grimes, captain of the ship called Seeker. The lady is Commander Maggie Lazenby. The gentlemen are Lieutenant Pitcher and Ensign Billard.”

  Grimes saluted. Lilian Morrow inclined her head gravely, then said, “Be pleased to enter.”

  They followed her into the palace. Inside it was very like Maya’s official residence, the big wall map being the most prominent decoration on a wall of the room into which she led them. She saw them seated, then excused herself and went back outside. While she was gone Grimes asked Delamere, “Who is Tabitha, Mr. Delamere?”

  The second mate flushed angrily and snapped, “None of your business, Commander.” Then, obviously regretting his display of temper, he muttered sulkily, “She’s Lilian’s daughter. I . . . I met her when I was here before, in Corgi. Now her mother won’t let me see her again unless . . .”

  “Unless what?” prompted Maggie. “Unless what, Francis?”

  That’s right, thought Grimes. Turn on the womanly charm and sympathy.

  Delamere was about to answer when Lilian returned. She was carrying a tray on which was a rather lopsided jug of iced water, a dish of some greenish looking flesh cut into cubes, glass drinking bowls. She filled a bowl for each of them from the jug.

  The water was refreshing, the meat tasted how Grimes imagined that the flesh of a snake would taste. He supposed—he hoped—that it was non-poisonous. Maya seemed to be enjoying it.

  “And now, Commander Grimes,” asked Lilian, after they had all sipped and nibbled, “what do you here?”

  “I represent the Federation, Lilian . . . .”

  “Just as Captain Danzellan represents the Dog Star Line. Captain Danzellan hopes to make money—and Morrow warned us about that—for his employers and himself. And what do you hope to make for yourself and your employers?”

  “We ar
e here to help you, Lilian.”

  “Do we need any help, Commander Grimes?”

  “The Survey Service, Lilian, is like a police force. You know what a police force is. You have read The History. We protect people from those who would exploit them, rob them, even.”

  “Have we asked for protection?”

  “You may do so.”

  “But we have not done so.”

  “Yet.”

  “Lilian knows that she has nothing to fear from us,” said Delamere, more than a little smugly.

  “Indeed, Francis?” The look that she gave him drove him back into sullen silence. Then she addressed Grimes again. “Commander Grimes, the relationship established between ourselves and Captain Danzellan is, on the whole, a friendly one. Captain Danzellan, in exchange for certain concessions, will bring us goods that we cannot make for ourselves. Before anything is decided, however, it will be necessary to convene a Council of Queens. I, of course, speak only for Melbourne—but Morrow foresaw that a time would come when matters affecting the entire continent, the entire world, even, would have to be discussed. Word has gone to my sisters of Ballarat, Alice, Darwin, Sydney, Perth, Brisbane—but there is no need for me to recite to you the names of all the towns of North Australia—that decisions affecting us all must soon be made. It is fortunate that our sister of Cambridge is with us; she will be able to report to her own people on what we are doing.”

  “These concessions . . .” began Grimes.

  “They are none of your business, Commander.”

  Grimes looked appealingly at Maggie. She was supposed to know what made people tick. She was supposed to know which button to push to get which results. She looked back at him blandly.

  Damn the woman! thought Grimes. Damn all women. He floundered on, “But perhaps I should be able to advise you. . . .”