The Inheritors

by A Bertram Chandler

  "So."

  "So what are your instructions, Captain?"

  "Get a boat out, to keep a watch over the town and to report what the people are doing. Have Seeker in a state of instant readiness for lift-off . . . ."

  "I've already given the orders, sir. But the armament . . . "

  "I've already told you not to go firing guns off indiscriminately. But . . . mphm. Have the belts for the sixty millimeters loaded with sleep gas shells. And if you use 'em—and you'll have to justify their use to me—make bloody sure that you don't hit anybody. Understood?"

  "Understood, Captain."

  "Good. Then keep me informed."

  Grimes turned to Maya. "Can you tell me," he asked, what is going on?"

  "I don't know. We have always kept ourselves to ourselves, Sabrina and I. We have never been close friends. We have never been friends. But Captain Kane gave many gifts to Sabrina's people. There were books, with beautiful pictures of other worlds, with accounts of other worlds. There were . . . catalogues, giving details of all the goods that may be purchased on other worlds . . . ."

  "First Lieutenant to Captain." It was Saul again. "Number Three boat is in position over Oxford. We are trying to get a picture to you."

  And there, on the screen, was the picture of the town as seen from the air. The boat was hanging almost directly over the central plaza and transmitting a magnified image. The two men from Southerly Buster, being clothed, were easily identifiable.

  They were busily marshaling about two hundred Morrowvians into an orderly column. Even from above it was obvious that they were all women. To one side of the plaza a half dozen light handcarts had been loaded with possessions—cushions, pieces of pottery, longbows and quivers of arrows. One of Kane's men went to inspect the cart that was loaded with weapons, called a woman to him and was obviously telling her that these would have to be left. Then whoever was in charge of the boat got a long-range microphone working.

  "I'm sorry, Peggy. These will have to be left behind."

  "But the girls must have them, Bill. What will they do for sport on Caribbea if they have no bows?"

  Caribbea? wondered Grimes. Probably it was the most glamorous world depicted in the brochures that Kane had distributed—but Essen would be a more likely destination for this shipment of female slaves.

  "You can't use bows and arrows underwater," explained the man Bill patiently. "In the seas of Caribbea they use spear guns."

  "But we don't like water. None of us likes water. Nobody will make us go into the water, will they?"

  There's not much water on Essen, thought Grimes. Only enough for washing and drinking—not that those Waldegren miners wash much, and they don't believe in diluting their schnapps . . . .

  "Nobody will make you do anything," lied Bill.

  His companion called to him, "Dump that junk, and we'll get the show on the road!"

  "Our ETA, Mr. Pitcher?" asked Grimes.

  "We're doing the best we can, sir, but we can't make it before nineteen-hundred Local—another four and a half hours."

  "Mr. Saul, do you read me?"

  "Sir?"

  "Lay a barrage of sleep gas on the bank of the river as soon as that column from Oxford gets under way."

  "Very good, sir."

  "And be careful."

  "Of course, sir." Saul's voice was hurt.

  "Let me know as soon as you open fire, and give me a picture if you can."

  "Very good sir." Grimes could almost read the first lieutenant's thoughts: Get off my back, Whitey!

  It is not only the black races who hate slavery, thought Grimes, and it is not only the black races who've been enslaved. But what the hell is Kane playing at? Pressing ahead with his blackbirding under the very nose of a Survey Service ship . . . He's always prided himself on being able to keep just on the right side of the law.

  He said, "Get me Mr. Hayakawa, please."

  "Yes, Captain?" asked the psionicist at last. His picture did not appear on the screen; that was being reserved for the transmissions from the lookout boat. "Yes, Captain?"

  "Mr. Hayakawa, I know that your opposite number aboard the Buster is maintaining a block, but have you been able to pick up anything?"

  "Yes, Captain. A few minutes ago there were stray thoughts from the mate of Southerly Buster. They ran like this, 'And the beauty of it is that the stupid Space Scouts can't touch us!' "

  "That remains to be seen, Mr. Hayakawa," said Grimes. "That remains to be seen."

  21

  The trouble with radio as a means of communication is that anybody can listen. Grimes, in his later conversations with his ship, had employed a scrambler. He did not know whether or not Southerly Buster ran to a descrambling device. Apparently she did not. Dreebly appeared to be proceeding with his embarkation procedure as planned.

  In an orderly march the two hundred young women streamed out of Oxford, a score of spearmen at the head of the column, another twenty male warriors bringing up the rear, behind the carts laden with small possessions. Kane's two men were in the lead. Grimes, remembering the general layout of the country, knew that once the van of the procession passed a low, tree-crowned hill it would be in the field of fire of Seeker's guns. With an effort he restrained himself from taking over the fire control from Saul. He knew that a direct hit from a nonlethal gas shell can kill just as surely—and messily—as one from a high explosive projectile. But Saul was on the spot, and he was not. All he could do was to watch the marchers proceeding slowly along the bank of the winding river.

  He heard Saul say quietly, "Bearing one hundred and seventy-five true. Range three thousand. Shoot."

  "Bearing one hundred and seventy-five. Range three thousand. Fire!"

  Even over the radio the hammering of the heavy automatics was deafening. Watching the screen Grimes saw a neat seam of explosions stitched across the line of advance of the Morrowvian women, saw the billowing clouds of greenish vapor pouring from each bursting shell.

  "Traverse, traverse! Now—ladder!"

  Nice gunnery, thought Grimes. Saul was boxing his targets in with the gas shells.

  A new voice came from the transceiver. It was Dreebly's. "Southerly Buster to Seeker. What the hell are you playing at?"

  "Seeker to Southerly Buster. What the hell are you playing at?"

  Grimes decided that he had better intervene; Mr. Saul was not in a diplomatic mood. He said quietly, "Commander Grimes to Southerly Buster. What is the nature of your complaint, please?"

  Dreebly spluttered, then, "What is the nature of my complaint, you ask? Some butterfly-brained ape aboard your ship is firing off guns. There're shells whistling past our control room."

  "Routine weekly practice shoot, Mr. Dreebly," said Grimes. "Don't worry; we never hit anything unless we want to."

  "But you're firing toward Oxford!"

  "Are we? But our range setting is well short of the town."

  "I know what you're firing at, Commander Grimes. You've a boat up, spotting for you!"

  "What am I firing at, Mr. Dreebly?"

  "Pah! You make me sick!" Dreebly broke off the conversation. Grimes returned his attention to the screen. The gas was slowly thinning, and through its translucent veil he could see the untidily sprawling figures of the Morrowvians—and of Kane's two officers .

  Maya demanded, "You haven't killed them? You haven't killed them?"

  "Of course not!" Grimes told her. "They'll wake in a few hours' time, without even a headache. I've just put them to sleep, that's all . . . ."

  Mean while Timmins had succeeded in tuning in to the conversation between Dreebly and Kane. Kane was saying, "Get them aboard, and then get off-planet! Yes, I know they can't walk—but you've ground cars, haven't you? And there are respirators in the stores. Pull your finger out, Dreebly, and get cracking! What do you think I pay you for?"

  Saul was back on the air. "Sir, you heard all that. What do I do now?"

  I could answer that question a lot more easily, thought Grimes
, if I knew that Kane was breaking Federation law. But he seems to have the idea that he is not . . . .

  "What do I do now?" repeated Saul.

  "Mphm. Carry on with your practice shoot, Mr. Saul. Use H.E. Chew up the ground between Southerly Buster and the . . . er . . . intending emigrants."

  "Emigrants! The slaves, you mean, Captain."

  "They aren't slaves yet. Just make a mess of the terrain so that it's impassable to Kane's ground cars."

  "But he's got boats, sir. He can use them."

  "He has two boats—a pinnace, which is still at Ballarat, and one lifeboat. The lifeboat is just big enough for his crew. It will take it a long time to ferry two hundred people—especially as they will have to be lifted aboard it, and lifted off."

  "I see, sir . . . . But what if Southerly Buster fires at us?"

  "They won't dare, Mr. Saul. At least, I hope they won't. If they do—if they do—it is your duty to take every possible measure for the protection of Seeker."

  No, he thought, Kane won't open fire, or order his mate to do so. Apart from anything else, he's the injured, innocent citizen and I'm the big, bad, gun-toting villain. I'm not happy about things at all, at all. But I must stop him.

  Meanwhile, he wished that he were back aboard his ship. He liked guns. He knew that this was childish of him, and that it was high time that mankind outgrew its love for noisy pyrotechnics. He knew that a gun pleads to be pointed at something—and then begs to have its trigger pulled. He hoped that Saul would remain content merely to wreck havoc on the landscape.

  22

  Saul wreaked havoc on the landscape. Grimes, watching on his screen, thought, relishing the play on words, He's wrecking the landscape. What had been grassland was now a crater-pitted desolation over which drifted acrid fumes, and the copses had been reduced to jagged, blackened stumps.

  Kane came on the air. His voice, despite the fact that it had been relayed through at least two stations, was loud and clear. He said, "Commander Grimes, this is Captain Kane. My mate tells me that your first lieutenant's runnin' amok."

  "Running amok, Captain Kane? What do you mean?"

  "He's shootin' off his guns—your guns—like a madman. Wastin' the taxpayer's money. He's interferin' with the embarkation of my passengers."

  "Passengers, Captain Kane?"

  "Yeah. Passengers. I own me own ship, an' if I decide to go into the passenger trade, that's my business."

  "I'm sure it is, Captain. I'm sorry that my arrangements clashed with yours, but we were due for a practice shoot . . . ."

  "Oh, you were, were you? An' did you promulgate a warnin'?"

  "Unfortunately the facilities for so doing don't exist on this planet."

  "Listen, Grimes, keep your nose out of my business or you'll get it bloodied."

  "I'm inclined to think, Kane, that your business is my business. I represent the Federation . . . ."

  "An' the Federation is supposed to encourage honest trade, not interfere with it."

  "Honest trade?"

  "You heard me. Honest and legal."

  "All right, Kane. I have your word for it—for what it's worth. Where are you taking those women?"

  "It's no concern of yours, Grimes. But it's only natural that after generations of isolation they'll want to see new worlds."

  "Mphm. And how are they paying their fares? You never impressed me as being a philanthropic institution."

  Kane laughed. "Have you never heard of Travel Now, Pay Later? TG Clippers do a lot of business that way, an' so does Cluster Lines."

  "But these people don't have money."

  "There're more important things in life than money—not that I can think of any right now."

  Grimes realized that he was being talked into a corner. He said firmly, "I have to know where you intend taking your . . . er . . . passengers."

  "I've already told you that it's none of your business."

  "Would it be . . . Essen?"

  "I'm not sayin' that is is—but what if it is Essen?"

  "All right, Captain Kane. If you don't mind, I'll just assume that it is Essen. There'd be a good market there for women, wouldn't there? And Federation law definitely prohibits any kind of traffic in human beings."

  "Yeah. It does. I know the law as well as you do, Commander. Probably better. An' I'm tellin' you flat that I'm breakin' no laws. So I'll be greatly obliged if you'll tell your Jimmy The One to get out of my mate's hair."

  "I'm sorry, Captain Kane, but I just can't take your word for it."

  "No, you wouldn't, would you? We couldn't have a spick-an'-span Survey Service commander takin' the word of Drongo Kane, a poor, honest workin' stiff, master of a scruffy little star tramp, could we? Oh, no. But I'll tell you this. One of your own officers, that Commander Maggie Lazenby, is in Janine's palace now, an' that stuffed shirt Danzellan is with her. Janine's lettin' 'em look at the secret records, the ones that she showed me. I'm not kiddin' you, Grimes. She'll tell you that you can't touch me."

  "That remains to be seen, Captain Kane."

  "Why don't you call her now?"

  "Why not?" agreed Grimes tiredly. He got on to Timmins, ordered him to arrange a hookup. After a few minutes Maggie's voice came through the speaker of the pinnace's transceiver.

  "Commander Lazenby here, Seeker."

  "Stand by, please, Commander Lazenby. I'm putting you through to the captain."

  "Captain here," said Grimes.

  "Yes, John?"

  "I've been talking with Captain Kane . . . ."

  "Yes. I know. He's just come into the Records Room."

  "He assures me that whatever he's doing is quite legal, and that you'll bear him out."

  "Yes, but . . . I've just unearthed some very old records . . . . And from what Captain Danzellan tells me . . .

  "She says yes," put in Kane. "An' until the law is changed, if it ever is . . . ."

  "I said yes, but . . ." insisted Maggie.

  "And if Tabitha is not lying . . ." contributed Danzellan.

  "She said yes!" snapped Kane, his customary drawl forgotten.

  "Maggie!" said Grimes forcibly. "Report, at once, in detail what you have discovered."

  But there was no report. Kane used his wrist transceiver to jam the signals from those worn by Maggie and Danzellan, and before either or both of them could take any action the far more powerful transceiver of Kane's pinnace blocked all further transmissions from Ballarat.

  23

  Yes . . . but.

  Yes . . . but.

  But what?

  Meanwhile, Mr. Saul had made the terrain between the landing site and Oxford quite impassable to any ground vehicle, and would have to be restrained before he blew away all Seeker's 60 mm ammunition. Grimes told the first lieutenant to cease fire, at once.

  But what loophole in Federation law had Kane discovered? What possible means of stopping that loophole had Maggie discovered? Where did Francis Delamere's local girlfriend, Tabitha, come into it?

  Grimes decided that Southerly Buster's lift-off from Morrowvia must be, at the very least, delayed. Could he stop the Buster's boat from ferrying, a dozen or so at a time, the unconscious women to the ship? Yes, he could—but only at grave risk to the boat's passengers. Embarkation would have to be allowed to continue; by the time that it was complete he, Grimes, would be back aboard Seeker and would be able to take full charge.

  Seeker's cannon were silent now, and Southerly Buster's one remaining boat had nosed cautiously out of its bay and was flying to where the victims of the gas shell barrage were sprawled in the long grass. Seeker's boat transmitted pictures of all that was going on. The small craft from the Buster dropped to a landing among the sleeping bodies and two men, wearing respirators, scrambled out of it. Working fast, they dragged fifteen of the women into the boat, careless of any abrasions or contusions they might inflict. They were equally careless with their two anesthetized mates—but that was no excuse. Kane's men were clothed and the risk of painful damage to th
eir skins was so much less.

  "Do I have to watch this, Captain?" the first lieutenant was raging.

  "I'm afraid you have to, Mr. Saul," Grimes told him. "Of course, if you can think of any way of stopping it without hurting any innocent people . . ."