“Mphm. And how do you feel?”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“Presumably you had plenty to drink, as we all did. Any hangover?”
“No, sir.”
“Mphm. Commander MacMorris?”
“The Seamen’s Guild laid it on for us, Captain. Plenty o’ drinks. A smorgasbord. Plenty o’ seawomen as well as seamen. There were a couple—engineers in the big schooners.” He grinned. “Well, you can sort o’ say it was all in the family.”
“Mphm. Commander—or Doctor, if you prefer—Brandt?” The scientist colored, his flush looking odd over his pointed beard. “I don’t see that it is any concern of yours, Commander Grimes, but I was the guest of honor at a banquet at the university.”
“And were you—er—suitably honored, Dr. Brandt?” The flush deepened. “I suppose so.”
“Try to forget your dignity, Doctor, and answer me as a scientist. What happened?”
“I’ve always been a reserved man, Commander Grimes. I was expecting an evening spent in intelligent conversation, not an—” He had trouble getting the word out. “Not an orgy. This morning I am shocked by the memory of what those outwardly respectable academics did. Last night I just joined in the party. Happily.”
“As did we all,” murmured Grimes. “Dr. Rath?” The medical officer had reverted to his normal morose self. “You should know, Captain. You were there.”
“What I’m getting at is this. What is your opinion of it all as a physician?”
“I’d say, Captain, that we were all under the influence of a combined relaxant and aphrodisiac.”
“The beer?” suggested Grimes.
“I didn’t touch it. There was some quite fair local red wine.”
“And I was on what they call Scotch,” contributed MacMorris. “It ain’t Scotch, but you can force it down.”
“And I,” said Brandt, “do not drink.”
“But all of us smoked, presumably.”
“I do not smoke,” said Brandt.
“But you were in a room where other people were doing just that,” Grimes went on. “You were inhaling the fumes whether you wanted to or not.”
“I think you’ve the answer, Captain,” said Rath. “I wish I’d thought to bring a cigar stub aboard so I could analyze it.”
“And we all feel fine this morning,” said Grimes. “Even so, I want none of those cigars aboard the ship.”
“Not even for analysis?” demanded the two doctors simultaneously.
“Oh, all right. Analyze if you must—although no doubt a complete analysis of the weed will be made available to you if you ask in the right quarters. Our hosts were just being hospitable, that’s all.”
“And how,” murmured Brabham happily. “And how!”
The mayor came on board late in the forenoon. Grimes asked her about the cigars.
“Oh, we don’t smoke ‘em all day an’ every day,” she told him, “though there are some as’d like to. We regard ‘em as hair-let-downers, as leg-openers. An’ no party’d be a party without ‘em.”
You can say that again, thought Grimes. In the broad light of day, with nothing, not even alcohol, to blunt his sensibilities, Mavis no longer seemed quite so attractive. Her accent again jarred on his ear, and he didn’t really like big women; Vinegar Nell was far more to his taste. Nonetheless, he did not regret what had happened the previous night and hoped that it would happen again. He was sorry about the paymaster, though; it must have been galling for her to witness a man whom she regarded as her own property making love to somebody else. But whose fault was that? If she had waited for him instead of wandering off with the highly unsatisfactory Col—
He said, “You’ve a good export there. Are they made from a native plant?”
“No, Skip. They first comers brought terbaccer wif ‘em. Musta mutated like a bastard, or somethin’. An’ now, I’ve a full day for yer. To begin wif, an official lunch wif all the mayors o’ the planet, followed by a Mayors’ Council. An’ you’ll be sayin’ yer piece at the meetin’. About wot you were tellin’ me last night about the Empire o’ Waverley an’ the Federation an’ all the rest of it.”
What did I say? Grimes asked himself. But he remembered all too well. He had been hoping that she would have forgotten.
Chapter 30
Botany Bay was a good world, but speedily Grimes came to the conclusion that the sooner Discovery lifted from its surface and headed for Lindisfarne Base the better. She had never been and never would be a taut ship—and, in any case, Grimes hated that expression—but now standards of efficiency and discipline were falling to a deplorably low level. Rank meant nothing to the people of Botany Bay. In their own ships—air and surface—the captain was, of course, still the captain, but every crew member was entitled to officer status, an inevitable consequence of automation. Their attitude was rubbing off onto the ratings, petty officers, and junior officers of the spaceship.
Grimes set a date for departure. In the four weeks that this gave him he was able to make quite a good survey of the planet, using Discovery’s pinnace instead of one of the local aircraft. The mayors of the city-states cooperated fully, as did the universities of the state capitals. Loaded aboard the survey ship were microfilmed copies of the history of the colony from its first beginnings, from several viewpoints, as well as samples of its various arts from the first beginnings to the present time. There were the standard works on zoology, botany, and geology, as well as such specimens as could safely be carried. (The box of local cigars Grimes locked in his safe, of which only he knew the combination.) There were manuals of airmanship and seamanship. There was all the literature covering local industry. Mavis—who was no fool—insisted on taking out Galactic Patents on their contents after discovering, by shrewd questioning, that the captain of a survey vessel can function as a patents office director in exceptional circumstances.
It was, however, by no means a case of all-work-and-no-play. Grimes went to his share of parties. At most of them he partook of what Mavis referred to as hair-let-downers, the cigars made from the leaves of the mutated tobacco. He had been assured by Dr. Rath that they were not habit-forming and no ill results would ensue from his smoking them. Usually his partner at such affairs was the mayor of Paddington, but there were others. On one occasion he found himself strongly attracted to Vinegar Nell—but she, even though she was smoking herself, rejected him and wandered away with the City Constable. Grimes shrugged it off. After all, as he had discovered, she wasn’t the only fish in the sea, and on his return to Lindisfarne Base he would, he hoped, be able to resume where he had left off with Maggie Lazenby.
Brandt wanted to stay on Botany Bay, but expressed misgivings about the amount of time he would have to wait until contact with the Federation was established. Grimes told the scientist of the simple code that he had agreed upon with Captain Davinas. He said, “With any luck at all, Sundowner should drop in almost as soon as I’ve shoved off. As the sole representative of the Federation on this planet you’ll be empowered to make your own deal with Davinas. And Davinas, of course, will be making his own deals with the Council of Mayors. I’ve told Mavis to expect him.”
“It all seems foolproof enough, Commander Grimes,” admitted Brandt.
“You can make anything foolproof, but it’s hard to make it bloody foolproof,” Grimes told him cheerfully. “All the same, neither Davinas nor myself come in that category.”
“So you say,” grumbled Brandt. Yet it was obvious that he was pleased to be able to get off the ship for an indefinite period. Grimes suspected that a romance had blossomed between him and a not very young, rather plain professor of physics at Paddington University. Quite possibly he would decide to resign his commission in the Survey Service and live on Botany Bay. There were quite a few others, Grimes knew, who had the same idea. That was why he wanted to get spaceborne before the rot set in properly.
Then there was the farewell party—the last, in fact, of a series of farewell parties. It was a beach
barbecue. (The colonists loved beach barbecues.) It was a huge affair, with no fewer than a dozen fires going, held on the beach of Manly Cove, one of the bigger bays on the north coast but still within easy reach of the city. All hands were there, with the exception of the unlucky watchkeepers. The beer and the wine flowed freely and everybody was smoking the mutated tobacco. Grimes stayed with Mavis. He might see her again; he most probably would not. He wanted to make the most of this last evening. They found a lonely spot, a small floor of smooth sand among the rocks.
She said, “I shall miss yer, Skip.”
“And I you.”
“But when yer gotter go, yer gotter go. That’s the way of it, ain’t it?”
“Too right it is. Unluckily.”
“Yer boys don’t wanter go. Nor yer sheilas.”
“There is such a thing as duty, you know.”
“Duty be buggered. Ships have vanished without trace, as yer know bloody well. No one knows yer here.”
“They’d soon guess. If there were any sort of flap about Discovery’s going missing, then Captain Davinas—the master of Sundowner I was telling you about—would soon spill his beans. And the Survey Service can be very vicious regarding the penalty of mutiny and similar crimes. I’ve no desire to be pushed out of the airlock, in Deep Space without a spacesuit.”
“You mean they’d do that to yer?”
“Too bloody right, they would.”
“An’ I’m not worth takin’ the risk for. But you sort of explode in a vacuum, don’t yer? All right. I see yer point.”
“I didn’t think that there was enough light,” said Grimes, looking down at her dimly visible nudity.
She laughed. “I didn’t mean that. But seein’ as how the subject has risen. For the third time, ain’t it?”
“Third time lucky,” murmured Grimes.
Liftoff had been set for 1200 hours the following day. As on the day of landing the stands were crowded, and the brave, blue flags were flying from every pole. Two of the big dirigibles cruised slowly in a circle above the Oval. Their captains would extend the radius before Discovery began to lift.
There were no absentees from the ship at departure time, although it was certain that many of her complement would have liked to have missed their passage. Grimes was the last man up the ramp. At the foot of the gangway he shook hands with Brandt, with the mayors of the city-states. He had intended that his farewell to Mavis would be no more than a formal handshake, but her intentions were otherwise. He felt her mouth on his for the last time. When he pulled away he saw a tear glistening in the corner of her eye.
He marched stiffly up the ramp, which retracted as soon as he was in the airlock. He rode the elevator up to control. In the control room he went to his chair, strapped himself in. He looked at the telltale lights on his console. Everything was ready. His hand went out to the inertial drive start button.
Discovery growled, shook herself. (Growl you may, but go you must!) She shuddered, and from below came the unrhythmic rattle of loose fittings. She heaved herself off the grass. In the periscope screen Grimes could see a great circular patch of dead growth to mark where she had stood, with three deep indentations where the vanes had dug into the sod. He wondered, briefly, when it would be possible to play a cricket match in the Oval again.
“Port Paddington to Discovery,” came a voice from the speaker of the NST transceiver, “you know where we live now. Come back as soon as yer like. Over.”
“Thank you,” said Grimes. “I hope I shall be back.”
“Look after yourself, Skip!” It was Mavis’ voice.
“I’ll try,” he told her. “And you look after yourself.”
She had the sense to realize that Grimes would be, from now on, fully occupied with his pilotage. But it was an easy ascent. There was little wind at any level, no turbulence. The old ship, once she had torn herself clear from the surface, seemed glad to be heading back into her natural element. After not very long, with trajectory set for Lindisfarne Base, Grimes was free to go below.
In his cabin he got out a message pad. He wrote: Davinas, d/s/s Sundowner. Happy Anniversary. John. He took it down to the radio officer on duty. He said, “I’d like this away as soon as possible. It might just catch him in time. On Botany Bay I rather lost track of the Standard Date.”
“Didn’t we all, sir?” The young man yawned. No doubt he had a good excuse for being tired, but his manner was little short of insolent. “Through the Carlotti station on Elsinore, sir?”
“Yes. A single transmission. I don’t want the emperor’s monitors getting a fix on us. Elsinore will relay it.”
“As you say, sir.”
The tiny Carlotti antenna, the rotating Moebius strip, synchronized with the main antenna now extruded from the hull, began to turn and hunt. Elsinore would receive the signal, over the light-years, almost instantaneously. How long would it be before Davinas got it, and where would he be? How long would it be before Sundowner made her landing on Botany Bay? How long would Brandt have to wait? Grimes found that he was envying the scientist.
He debated with himself whether or not to drop in on Flannery, but decided against it. The PCO had found no fellow telepaths, but he had found quite a few boozing pals. No doubt the man would be suffering from a monumental hangover.
He went up to his quarters. He started to think about writing his report. Then he thought about his first report, the one in which he had damned Swinton. Should he rewrite it? The Mad Major had been very well behaved on Botany Bay. People like him should smoke those cigars all the time. Make love, not war.
Grimes decided to sleep on it. After all, it would be some days before the ship would be in a sector of space from which it would be safe to inform Lindisfarne Base of her whereabouts, and even then a long and detailed report of her activities would almost certainly be picked up and decoded by the Waverley monitors. It could wait until Discovery was back at Lindisfarne.
By the Standard Time kept by the ship it was late at night. And Grimes was tired. He turned in, and slept soundly.
Chapter 31
Discovery was not a happy ship.
All hands went about their duties sullenly, with a complete lack of enthusiasm. Grimes could understand why. They had been made too much of on Botany Bay. It had been the sort of planet that spacemen dream about, but rarely visit. It had been a world that made the truth of Dr. Johnson’s famous dictum all too true. How did it go? A ship is like a prison where you stand a good chance of getting drowned. . . . Something like that, Grimes told himself. And though the chances of getting drowned while serving in a spaceship were rather remote there were much worse ways of making one’s exit if things went badly wrong.
He went down to the farm deck to have a yarn with Flannery. The PCO had recovered slightly from his excesses but, as usual, was in the process of taking several hairs of the dog that had bitten him. The bottle, Grimes noted, contained rum, distilled on Botany Bay.
“Oh, t’is you, Skipper. Could I persuade ye? No? I was hopin’ ye’d be takin’ a drop with me. I have to finish this rotgut afore I can get back to me own tipple.”
“So you enjoyed yourself on Botany Bay,” remarked Grimes.
“An’ didn’t we all, each in his own way? But the good times are all gone, an’ we have to travel on.”
“That seems to be the general attitude, Mr. Flannery.”
“Yours included, Skipper. How iver did ye manage to make yer own flight from the mayor’s nest?”
“Mphm.”
“Iverybody had the time of his life but poor ould Ned.” Flannery gestured toward the canine brain suspended in its sphere of murky nutrient fluid. “He’d’ve loved to have been out, in a body, runnin’ over the green grass of a world so like his own native land.”
“I didn’t think the dingo ever did much running over green grass,” remarked Grimes sourly. “Through the bush, over the desert, yes. But green grass, no.”
“Ye know what I’m meanin’.” Flannery suddenl
y became serious. “What are ye wantin’ from me, Skipper?” It always used to be “Captain,” thought Grimes. Flannery’s been tainted by Botany Bay as much as anybody else. “Don’t tell me. I know. Ye’re wonderin’ how things are in this rustbucket. I don’t snoop on me shipmates, as well ye know. But I can give ye some advice, if ye’ll only listen. Ride with a loose rein. Don’t go puttin’ yer foot down with a firm hand. An’ it might help if ye let it be known that ye’re not bringin’ charges against the Mad Major when we’re back on Lindisfarne. Oh—an’ ye could try bein’ nice to Vinegar Nell.”
“Is that all?” asked Grimes coldly.
“That’s all, Skipper. If it’s any consolation to ye, Ned still likes ye. He’s hopin’ that ye don’t go makin’ the same mistake as Grimes was always afther makin’.”
“Grimes?” asked Grimes bewilderedly.
“T’was Bligh I was meanin’.”
“Damn Bligh!” swore Grimes. “This ship isn’t HMS Bounty. This, in case you haven’t noticed, is FSS Discovery, with communications equipment that can reach out across the galaxy. Bounty only had signal flags.”
“Ye asked me, Skipper, an’ I told ye.” Flannery’s manner was deliberately offhand. “Would there be anythin’ else?”
“No!” snapped Grimes.
He went up to the main radio office, had a few words with the operator on duty. He was told there was very little traffic, and all of it signals from extremely distant stations and none of it concerning Discovery. He carried on to the control room, stared out through the viewports at the weirdly distorted universe observed from a ship running under Mannschenn Drive, tactfully turning his back while the officer of the watch hastily erased the three-dimensional ticktacktoe lattice from the plotting tank. Ride with a loose rein, Flannery had warned. He would do so. He looked at the arrays of telltale lights. All seemed to be in order.
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