First Command

by A Bertram Chandler

  “We do not need your advice, Commander.”

  “Mphm.” Grimes fished his battered pipe from his pocket, filled it, lit it.

  “Please!” said Lilian sharply, “do not smoke that filthy thing in here!”

  “So your great ancestor warned you about smoking. . . .”

  “He did so. He warned us about all the vices and unpleasant habits of the men who, eventually, would make contact with us.”

  “Oh, well,” muttered Grimes at last. Then, “I suppose that there is no objection to our visiting Ballarat, to look at your library, your records . . . .”

  “That is a matter for the Queen of Ballarat.”

  And there isn’t any radio, thought Grimes, and there aren’t any telephones, and I’m damned if I’ll ask Her Majesty here to send a messenger. He said, “Thank you for your hospitality, Lilian. And now, if you will excuse us, we’ll get back to our pinnace and set up camp for the night.”

  She said, “You are excused. And you have my permission to sleep on the outskirts of the town.”

  “Shall we set up a tent for you, Maya?” Grimes asked.

  “Thank you, no. Lilian and I have so much to talk about.”

  “Can I see Tabitha?” pleaded Delamere.

  “No, Francis. You may not.”

  Schnauzer’s second officer got reluctantly to his feet. He mumbled, “Are you ready, Commander? I’m getting back to my ship.”

  He led the way out of the palace and back to the landing site, although his services as a guide were hardly necessary. Schnauzer, dwarfing the trees that grew around the grassy field, stuck up like a sore thumb.

  Back at the pinnace Grimes, Pitcher and Billard unloaded their camping gear, with Maggie watching and, at times, criticizing. The little air compresser swiftly inflated the four small sleeping tents, the larger one that would combine the functions of mess-room and galley. Then Billard went to the nearby stream for two buckets of water. A sterilizing tablet was dropped into each one, more as a matter of routine than anything else. If the broad spectrum antibiotic shots administered aboard Seeker had not been effective it would have been obvious by now. The battery-powered cooker was set up, and in a short time a pot of savory stew, prepared from dehydrated ingredients, was simmering and water was boiling for coffee.

  The four of them sat around the collapsible table waiting until the meal was ready.

  Grimes said, “What do you make of it, Maggie?”

  “Make of what?” she countered.

  “The whole setup.”

  She replied thoughtfully. “There’s something odd about this world. In the case of Sparta there were all sorts of historical analogies to draw upon—here, there aren’t. And how shall I put it? Like this, perhaps. The Morrowvians rather resent the violation of their privacy, but realize that there’s nothing much that they can do about it. They certainly aren’t mechanically minded, and distrust of the machine has been bred into them—but they do appreciate that the machine can contribute greatly to their comfort. I imagine that Danzellan’s ‘cold boxes’ will be very popular. . . . As for their attitude toward ourselves—there’s distrust again, but I think that they are prepared to like us as individuals. Maya, for example, has taken quite a shine to you. I’ve been expecting to see you raped at any tick of the clock . . . .”

  “Mphm.”

  “You could do worse, I suppose—though whether or not she could is another matter . . . .”

  “Ha, ha,” chuckled Pitcher politely.

  “Hah. Hah,” growled Grimes, inhibiting any further mirth on the part of his subordinates.

  “Anyhow, as far as behavior goes they do tend to deviate widely from the norm. The human norm, that is . . .”

  “What do you mean?” asked Grimes.

  “I rather wish that I knew, myself,” she told him.

  16

  Grimes had Pitcher work out the local time of sunrise, then saw to it that everybody had his watch alarm set accordingly. Before retiring he called Saul aboard Seeker—his wrist transceiver was hooked up to the much more powerful set in the pinnace—and listened to his first lieutenant’s report of the day’s activities. Mr. Saul had little to tell him. Maya’s people had made considerable inroads into the ship’s supply of ice cream. Sabrina’s people had been coming and going around Southerly Buster all day, but neither Sabrina nor Captain Kane had put in an appearance. Saul seemed to be shocked by this circumstance. Grimes shrugged. Drongo’s morals—or lack of them—were none of his concern.

  Or were they?

  Grimes then told Saul, in detail, of his own doings of the day, of his plans for the morrow. He signed off, undressed, wriggled into his sleeping bag. Seconds after he had switched off his portable light he was soundly asleep.

  The shrilling of the alarm woke him just as the almost level rays of the rising sun were striking through the translucent walls of his tent. He got up, went outside into the fresh, cool morning, sniffed appreciatively the tangy scent of dew-wet grass. Somewhere something that probably was nothing at all like a bird was sounding a series of bell-like notes. There were as yet no signs of life around Schnauzer, although the first thin, blue drift of smoke from cooking fires was wreathing around the thatched rooftops of Melbourne.

  Grimes walked down to the river to make his toilet. He was joined there by Pitcher and Billard. The water was too cold for the three men to linger long over their ablutions, although the heat of the sun was pleasant on their naked bodies. As they were walking back to the camp Maggie passed them on her way to her own morning swim. She told them that she had made coffee.

  Soon the four of them were seated round the table in the mess tent to a breakfast of reconstituted scrambled egg and more coffee. Rather surprisingly they were joined there by Maya. The Morrowvian woman put out a dainty hand and scooped up a small sample of the mess on Grimes’s plate, tasted it. She complained, “I don’t like this.”

  “Frankly, neither do I,” admitted Grimes, “but it’s the best we can offer.” He masticated and swallowed glumly. “And what can we do for you this morning?”

  She said, “I am coming with you.”

  “Good. Do you know the Queen of Ballarat?”

  “I know of her. And Lilian has given me a letter of introduction.” With her free hand she tapped the small bag of woven straw that she was carrying.

  “Then let’s get cracking,” said Grimes.

  While Maggie, with Maya assisting rather ineffectually, washed the breakfast things Grimes, with Pitcher and Billard doing most of the work, struck and stowed the sleeping tents. Then the furniture and other gear from the mess tent was loaded aboard the pinnace, and finally the mess tent itself was deflated and folded and packed with the other gear.

  From the pinnace Grimes called Seeker, told Saul that he was getting under way. While he was doing so Billard started the inertial drive, and within seconds the small craft was lifting vertically. As she drew level with Schnauzer’s control room Grimes could see figures standing behind the big viewports. He picked up his binoculars for a better look. Yes, there was the portly figure of Captain Danzellan, and with him was Eklund, his mate.

  “Take her south for a start, sir?” asked Pitcher. “And then, once we’re out of Schnauzer’s sight, we can bring her round on the course for Ballarat . . . .”

  “No,” decided Grimes. The same idea had occurred to him—but Lilian knew his destination, and she was at least on speaking terms with Danzellan and his officers. In any case—as compared with Drongo Kane—the Dog Star people were goodies, and if anything went badly wrong they would be in a position to offer immediate help. “No,” he said again. “Head straight for Ballarat.”

  Ballarat was different from the other towns that they had seen. It was dominated by a towering structure, a great hulk of metal, pitted and weathered yet still gleaming dully in the morning sunlight. It was like no ship that Grimes or his officers had ever seen—although they had seen pictures and models of such ships in the astronautical museum at the Aca
demy. It was a typical gaussjammer of the days of the Second Expansion, a peg-top-shaped hull with its wide end uppermost, buttressed by flimsy looking fins. To land her here, not far from the magnetic equator, her captain must have been a spaceman of no mean order—or must have been actuated by desperation. It could well have been that his passengers and crew were so weakened by starvation that a safe landing, sliding down the vertical lines of force in the planet’s solar regions, would have been safe for the ship only, not for her personnel. Only the very hardy can survive the rigors of an arctic climate.

  Hard by the ship was a long, low building. As seen from the air it seemed to be mainly of wooden construction, although it was roofed with sheets of gray metal. No doubt there had been cannibalization; no doubt many nonessential bulkheads and the like were missing from the gaussjammer’s internal structure.

  Billard brought the pinnace in low over the town. There were people in the streets, mainly women and children. They looked upward and pointed. Some of them waved. And then, quite suddenly, a smoky fire was lit in a wide plaza to the east of the gaussjammer. It was a signal, obviously. The tall streamer of smoke rose vertically into the still air.

  “That’s where we land,” said Grimes. “Take her down, please, Mr. Billard.”

  “Aye, aye, sir!”

  Quietly, without any fuss or bother, they landed. Even before the door was open, even before the last mutterings of the inertial drive had faded into silence, they heard the drums, a rhythmic thud and rattle, an oddly militaristic sound.

  “Mphm?” grunted Grimes dubiously. He turned to Maya. “Are you sure the natives are friendly?”

  She did not catch the allusion. “Of course,” she said stiffly. “Everybody on Morrowvia is friendly. A queen is received courteously by her sister queens wherever she may go.”

  “I’m not a queen,” said Grimes. “I’m not a king, even . . . .”

  “The way you carry on sometimes, aboard your ship, I’m inclined to doubt the validity of that last statement,” remarked Maggie Lazenby.

  “Open up, sir?” asked Billard.

  “Mphm. Yes. But nobody is to go outside—except myself—until I give the word. And you’d better have the twenty millimeters ready for use, Mr. Pitcher.”

  He belted on his pistols—one projectile, one laser—then set his cap firmly on his head. Maya said, “I am coming with you.”

  Grimes said, “I’m not in the habit of hiding behind a woman’s skirts.”

  “What skirts?” asked Maggie Lazenby. Then, “Don’t be silly, John. Maya’s obviously one of them. When they see her with you they’ll know that you’re friendly.”

  It made sense.

  Grimes jumped down from the open door to the packed earth of the plaza, clapping each hand to a pistol butt as soon as he was on the ground. Maya followed him. They stood there, listening to the rhythmic tap-tappity-tap that was, with every second, louder and louder.

  And then a women—a girl—appeared from around the end of the long, low building. She was naked save for polished high boots and a crimson sash, and was carrying a flag on a staff, a black flag with a stylized great cat, in gold, rampant over a compass rose. Behind her marched the drummers, also girls, and behind them a woman with a silver sash and with a silver crown set on her silvery hair. She was followed by six men, with spears, six female archers, and by six more men, each of whom carried what was obviously an automatic rifle of archaic design.

  Abruptly the drums fell silent and the drummers divided their ranks to let the queen pass through. She advanced steadily, followed by her standard bearer. Her skin was black and gleaming, but there was no hint of negroid ancestry in her regular features. Apart from the absence of rudimentary nipples she was what Grimes was coming to consider a typical Morrowvian woman.

  Grimes saluted.

  The standard bearer dipped her flag.

  The queen smiled sweetly and said, “I, Janine Morrow, welcome you to Ballarat—the landing place of Lode Cougar and of our forebears. I welcome you, spaceman, and I welcome you, sister.”

  “Thank you,” said Grimes. (Should he call this definitely regal female “Your Majesty” or not?)

  “Thank you, Janine,” said Maya. “I am Maya, of Cambridge.”

  “Thank you, Janine,” said Grimes. “I am John Grimes, of the Federation Survey Service ship Seeker.”

  17

  Grimes called the others down from the pinnace and introductions were made. Then Janine led the way to her palace, which was the long, low building hard by the ancient spaceship. In a room like the other rooms in which they had been similarly entertained there was the ritual sharing of food and water, during which the Queen of Ballarat read the letter that Maya had brought. Grimes was about to get a glimpse of it during her perusal; the paper was coarse-textured and gray rather than white, and the words had been scrawled upon it with a blunt pencil.

  Janine said, “Lilian is favored. Twice she has been visited by Captain Danzellan, and now Commander Grimes is calling on her.”

  “Now Commander Grimes is calling on you,” Maya pointed out.

  “And so he is.” Janine smiled sweetly, her teeth very white and her lips very red in her dark brown face. “And so he is. But what brings you to Ballarat, Commander Grimes? Do you have gifts for me?”

  “I shall have gifts for you—but I have nothing at the moment. You will appreciate that we cannot carry much in a small craft such as my pinnace.”

  “That is true,” agreed Janine. “But every time that Captain Danzellan has wished to look for information in the museum or the library he has brought me something.” She gestured toward one of the walls where a new-looking clock, with a brightly gleaming metal case, was hanging. “That is a good clock—far better than the old one with its dangling weights. This one does not have a spring even—just a power cell which Captain Danzellan tells me will be good for centuries.”

  “From the way that you greeted us,” said Grimes, “I thought that you were pleased to see visitors from the home world of your ancestors.”

  “But I am, I am! Too, it pleases me to try to—what is the word?—to reconstruct the old rituals. I have studied The History, as have we all. Also, I have access to records which my sisters elsewhere have not. I received you as important visitors must be received on Earth. . . .”

  “Mphm.”

  “I am sorry that I could not fire a salute, but we have no big guns. In any case, the supply of ammunition for our rifles is limited.”

  “You did very nicely,” said Grimes.

  “Bring on the marching girls . . .” muttered Maggie.

  Grimes, surreptitiously, had eased his watch off his wrist. The instrument was almost new; he had purchased it from the commissary just prior to departure from Lindisfarne. He said, “Perhaps you will accept this, Janine. It is a personal timekeeper.”

  “Just what I’ve always wanted,” she said, pleased.

  “I take it, then,” said Grimes, “that you are the custodian of the books, the records, the . . .”

  “Of everything,” she told him proudly. “Perhaps, while Maya and I have a gossip, you would care to be shown around?”

  “We should,” said Grimes.

  Their guide was the young woman who had carried the banner. Her name was Lisa Morrow. She vouchsafed the information that it was usually she who conducted visiting queens from other towns through the palace, but that it was the first time that she had been responsible for a party of outworlders. She did not seem to be greatly impressed by the honor, or even to regard it as such.

  The palace was more than a palace. It was a library, and it was a museum. They were taken first of all into the Earth Room, a huge chamber devoted to Earth as it had been when Lode Cougar had lifted from Port Woomera on her last voyage. This had been the overcrowded planet dominated, in its northern and southern hemispheres respectively, by the short-lived Russian and Australian Empires.

  Lode Cougar, concluded Grimes, had carried a lot of junk—but even in the d
ays of the Third Expansion a ticket out to the stars was very often a one-way ticket; it was even more so in the days of the First and Second Expansions. Those first colonists had been so reluctant to break every tie with their home world.

  Here, in the Earth Room, were maps and photographs, reproductions of famous works of art, even files of newspapers and magazines. These latter had been chemically treated to make the paper impervious to normal wear and tear, but now were practically unreadable—and Lisa Morrow took good care her charges did not, as they would have loved to have done, leaf through them. Grimes could make out the headlines on the front page of one of the papers, The Australian. “Lode Tiger missing, feared lost.” No doubt the same paper had carried similar headlines regarding Lode Cougar. This had been long before the days of trained telepaths or the time-and-space-twisting Carlotti Communications System, but the established colonies had maintained a reasonably fast mail service with Earth. Grimes had read somewhere that it had taken less time for a letter to get from Port Southern, on Austral, to Sydney, in Australia, than it did to get through the post offices at either end. This state of affairs had persisted until the introduction of Carlotti radio transmission of all correspondence.

  There were books, too—real books, properly bound, although with very thin, lightweight covers and paper. There were shelves of How To volumes. House building, boat building, aircraft building . . . mining, smelting, casting . . . navigation . . . surveying. . . . Useful, Grimes supposed, if you did not, as you were supposed to do, finish up at an established colony but, instead, made a forced landing on a hitherto undiscovered world.

  There was fiction—but, in spite of their age, these books looked almost fresh from the printers. Grimes had suspected that the Morrowvians were oddly lacking in imagination. Anything factual—such as the famous History—they would read, or any book that would aid them to acquire necessary skills. But the products of the storyteller’s art left them cold. This attitude was not uncommon, of course, but it seemed more pronounced here than elsewhere. What books had Danzellan given to Lilian on the occasion of his first visit? Grimes asked Lisa the question.