The Inheritors

by A Bertram Chandler

  "It was quite some time before I realized the nature of the situation here, on Morrowvia. Kane, somehow, twigged it long before I did. But, last night, the final pieces of the jigsaw puzzle fell into place with a quite deafening click!. I should have seen it before. There are so many clues . . . ."

  "What do you mean, sir?"

  "You did the science fiction course at the Academy, Mr. Saul."

  "But I never cared for that wild stuff. I can't remember much of it."

  "You must remember some of it. Anyhow, we all assumed that this planet was named after the captain of Lode Cougar. But I saw some of the records in the museum at Ballarat. Morrow was not Lodge Cougar's master, neither was he one of her officers. He must have been one of the passengers—and a genetic engineer. I don't know yet how many survivors there were of Lode Cougar's original complement when she landed, although Commander Lazenby will no doubt be able to tell us. I don't think that there could have been many. I don't think that there were any women of childbearing age among them. But, like all the ships of her period, she carried banks of fertilized ova—both human and animal. Perhaps the human ova had been destroyed somehow—or perhaps Morrow just didn't want to use them. Perhaps the ova of all the usual useful animals—with no exception—had been somehow destroyed—or perhaps Morrow was an aelurophile. I rather think that he was. He was also a science fiction addict—there are shelves of his books on display in the museum at Ballarat. He also had a rather warped sense of humor. The clues that he left!"

  "What clues, sir?" asked Saul.

  "In the names he gave—to the continent where Lode Cougar landed, to the four families that he . . . founded, to the planet itself. The planet of Doctor Morrow . . . the island of Doctor Moreau . . . ."

  "You're way beyond me, sir."

  "Mr. Saul, Mr. Saul, you should have read that Twentieth Century rubbish while you had the chance. One of Morrow's books was The Island of Doctor Moreau, by a writer called Wells. Wells' Doctor Moreau was a rather mad scientist who converted animals into imitation humans by crude surgical means. Morrow . . . Moreau . . . see the connection? And one of the four family names on Morrowvia is Wells, another is Morrow.

  "Another book was The Planet Buyer, by Cordwainer Smith. It was Cordwainer Smith who invented the underpeople. One of his favorite planets—he wrote, of course, before men had landed on Earth's moon—was Old North Australia, shortened to Norstrilia. So Morrow called the continent on which he landed North Australia, and made Cordwainer and Smith the other two family names.

  "Meanwhile, he was having fun. He was breeding a people to fit in with all his own pet ideas. Evidently he disapproved of the nudity taboo, just as Commander Lazenby's people do on Arcadia. His political ideas bordered on anarchism. Possibly he was an anarchist. I seem to recall from my reading of history that there was quite a powerful, or influential, Anarchist Party on Earth, in both hemispheres, at the time of the Second Expansion. It worked underground, and it contributed to the decline and fall of the Russian Empire. And we see here the results of Morrow's ideas. Utterly unselfconscious nudism, no central government, no monetary system . . . .

  "It's a pity that this Lost Colony was ever discovered. Its people are more human than many who are officially so—but they have no rights whatsoever."

  There was a silence, then Saul said, "We, our people, know what it was like . . . ." Grimes looked at him rather nastily so he hastily changed the subject. "But tell me, sir, what did you mean when you said that the pieces of the puzzle fell into place last night?"

  "You've served in Pathfinder, with Captain Lewis," said Grimes. "So have I. You know his taste in pets. You know how obvious it is, once you step inboard through the airlock . . . .

  "Well, since you ask, my quarters stink of cat."

  26

  Maya joined the two men in the control room. She looked as though she had slept well. She glanced incuriously through the viewports at the disabled Southerly Buster, then said plaintively, "I'm hungry . . . "

  Go down to the galley and see if the cook can find you some fish heads . . . thought Grimes—and then despised himself for thinking it. He said, "Mr. Saul, would you mind taking Maya to the wardroom for breakfast?"

  "But what does she eat, sir?" asked the first lieutenant desperately.

  "I'll try anything, everything," she said sweetly, "until I find something I like."

  Grimes watched her as she followed Saul out of the control room. There should have been, he thought, a tail ornamenting those shapely buttocks. A nice, furry, striped tail . . . He shrugged.

  The officer of the watch reported, "Sir, an unidentified craft is approaching from the north."

  "That will be Schnauzer's pinnace," said Grimes. He went to the transceiver, selected the most probable waveband. "Commander Grimes to Captain Danzellan. Do you read me? Over."

  "Loud and clear, Commander. Danzellan here. My ETA your landing site is thirty minutes Standard, twenty-four minutes Local, from now. I have your Commander Lazenby with me. Over."

  "Thank you, Captain Danzellan." Should he ask to speak with Maggie? No. She had made no attempt to speak with him. And Grimes was in a misogynistic mood. Women! Cats!

  He returned to the viewport. He passed the time by mentally composing the sort of report—or complaint—that he would write if he were Drongo Kane.

  To: Flag Officer in Charge of Lindisfarne Base

  From: Drongo Kane, master and owner of s/s Southerly Buster

  Subject: Piratical action by Lieutenant Commander John Grimes, Captain of ESS Seeker.

  Sir,

  I regret to have to report that while my vessel was proceeding on her lawful occasions she was wantonly attacked by your Seeker, under the command of your Lieutenant Commander Grimes. Commander Grimes not only used his armament to impede the embarkation of fare-paying passengers, subjecting them to a sleep gas barrage, but also fired upon Southerly Buster herself. Later he attempted to ram my ship after she had lifted off, and only the superlative skill of my chief officer, who was in charge of the vessel at the time, averted a collision. Although contact between the two ships was avoided contact with the ground was not. As a result of this, Southerly Buster sustained severe structural damage . . .

  "Pinnace in sight visually, sir," reported the O. O. W.

  "Thank you, Mr. Giles."

  Danzellan came in more slowly and cautiously than Kane had done, but he wasted no time, setting his craft down at the foot of Seeker's ramp. Grimes watched Schnauzer's master get out, then help Maggie Lazenby to the ground. He told Giles to telephone down to the airlock sentry, instructing the man to inform Captain Danzellan and Maggie that he would be waiting for them in his quarters. He went down to his day cabin, hastily shutting the door between it and his bedroom. The smell of cat was still strong.

  He found and filled his foulest pipe, lit it. When Danzellan and Maggie came in he was wreathed in an acrid, blue smog.

  "What a fug!" she exclaimed.

  The intercom telephone buzzed. It was the O.O.W. calling. "Sir, Captain Kane and his chief officer are at the airlock. They wish to speak to you."

  "Send them up," said Grimes.

  "What in the universe have you been doing, Commander?" asked Danzellan. "Fighting a small war?"

  "Or not so small," commented Maggie.

  "I," Grimes told them bitterly, "was attempting to prevent the commission of a crime. Only it seems that slave trading is not a crime, insofar as this bloody world is concerned."

  "The underpeople . . . " said Maggie softly. "Underpeople—and the still unrepealed Non-Citizen Act . . . . But how did you find out? It took me hours after I was able to get my paws on the records . . . ."

  "I added two and two," Grimes told her, "and came up with three point nine recurring. All the clues are so obvious. Rudimentary nipples, paw-like hands and feet, the way in which the people eat and drink, and the use of 'cat' as a term of opprobrium when, apart from the Morrowvians themselves, there isn't a single animal of Terran origin o
n the planet . . . ."

  Danzellan grinned. "I see what you mean. I've been known to refer to particularly stupid officers as 'pathetic apes.' "

  "Those same points had me puzzled," admitted Maggie. "But I'm surprised that you noticed them."

  "And Morrow's books," went on Grimes. "The Island of Doctor Moreau. The Cordwainer Smith novels. The names of the four families—Wells, Morrow, Cordwainer and Smith. And North Australia . . . ."

  "You're losing me there," admitted Maggie.

  A junior officer knocked at the door. "Captain Kane to see you, sir. And Mr. Dreebly."

  Kane blew into the room like the violent storm after which his ship was named. He blustered, "I'll have your stripes for this, Grimes! As soon as your bloody admiral hears my story he'll bust you right down to Spaceman Sixteenth Class—unless he decides to shoot you first!"

  "Slave trading," said Grimes, "is prohibited by Federation law."

  "Yeah. It is. But, Mr. Commander Grimes, such laws exist only for the protection of Federation citizens. The Morrowvians are non-citizens."

  "How do you make that out?"

  "How do I make that out? Because they're under-people, Commander—which means that they have the same status as androids, which means that they have no bloody status at all. They're no more than cattle—with the accent on the first syllable!" He laughed briefly at his own play on words, turned to glare at Dreebly when he essayed a snicker. "The only protection they can claim is that of the S.P.C.A.—and there's no branch of that society on Morrowvia!"

  Grimes looked at Maggie appealingly. She flashed him a fleeting smile of encouragement. He looked at Danzellan. The portly shipmaster winked at him.

  "Slavery," said Grimes firmly, "is still a crime, ethically if not legally."

  "So is piracy, Grimes. Ethically and legally."

  "I seem to recall past occasions in your own career . . . ."

  "We're not talking about them. We're talking about this occasion in your career. The unprovoked attack upon an innocent merchantman. To begin with, Grimes, you can place your artificers at my disposal. If they make a good job I just might tone my report to your bosses down a little." He laughed lightly."A stiff note on paper, instead of a stiff note on cardboard . . . ."

  "Mphm," grunted Grimes thoughtfully.

  "In fact, Commander," went on Kane, speaking quite quietly now, his exaggerated accent gone, "I think that you could help me considerably . . . ."

  And Kane, thought Grimes, owes his survival to the number of friends he has in high places. And Kane is an opportunist. For all he knows I might be an admiral myself one day. He's debating with himself, "Shall I put the boot in, or shall I let bygones be bygones?" Too, he's probably not quite sure if he is altogether in the right, legally speaking . . . .

  "Don't trust him, Commander," said Danzellan.

  "Keep your nose out of this!" snarled Kane.

  "I discovered this planet," stated Danzellan. "The Dog Star Line . . . "

  " . . . can go and cock its leg against a lamp post," Kane finished the sentence.

  "Gentlemen," said Grimes soothingly. "Gentlemen . . . ."

  "I can't see any round here," remarked Maggie.

  "You shut up for a start," he told her. But he realized that her flippancy had broken the tension.

  "What do you say, Commander?" persisted Kane. "You have a workshop, and skilled technicians . . . . Get the old Buster back into commission for me and you can write your own report to your superiors." He grinned. "After all, I'm just a semiliterate tramp skipper. Paperwork's beyond my capabilities."

  "And what about me?" asked Danzellan interestedly.

  "The Dog Star Line's big enough to look after itself, Captain, as I have no doubt that it will. My own activities, for quite some time, anyhow, will be confined to this continent of New England. You," he said generously, "can have North Australia."

  "Thank you, Captain. I appreciate the gesture. But I feel obliged to tell you that my employers are not quite the soul-less bastards that they have often been alleged to be. They would not wish to share a planet with a slaver. Not," he added, "that it will ever come to that."

  "So you're pulling out?" asked Kane.

  "No."

  "I warn you, Captain Danzellan, that if you or your people try to make things awkward for me, I shall make things even more awkward for the Dog Star Line. They'll finish up by buying me out, at my price. It will not be a low one." He turned to Grimes. "And what do you say, Commander, to my proposition to you?"

  "No," said Grimes. "No, repeat no."

  "You'll be sorry. My report—and it's a damning one—has already been written. My Carlotti transmitter is quite powerful, and will be able to raise the Lindisfarne Base station with ease. You'd better have your letter of resignation ready."

  He turned to go.

  "Hold your horses," said Maggie sweetly. "Hold your horses, Captain Kane. I haven't said my party piece yet."

  27

  She said, "You'd better all sit down and make yourselves comfortable, as this is quite a long story. You, John, just read the very beginnings of it. You, Captain Kane, read enough to convince you that slaving activities, with Federation law as it stands at present, would be quite legal. And I was able to do more research than either of you.

  "The story of Lode Cougar is not, in its early stages, an unusual one. There was the gaussjammer, lifting from Port Woomera, bound for the newly established colony on Austral—your home world, Captain Kane. As well as the intending colonists she carried cargo, among which was a shipment of fertilized ova. Dogs were required on Austral, and cats, to deal with the numerous indigenous vermin. There were cattle too, of course, and horses—oh, all the usual. And there were human ova, just in case the ship got thrown off course by a magnetic storm and had to start a new colony from scratch, in some utterly uncharted sector of the galaxy. Quite a number of colonies were started that way.

  "Lode Cougar was unlucky—as so many of the old gaussjammers were. A magnetic storm threw her thousands of light-years off course. Her navigators were unable to determine her position. Her pile was dead, and her only source of power was her diesel generators. The engineers kept these running—which meant that the ship's biochemist was having to produce fuel for the jennies rather than food for the crew and passengers.

  "But all they could do was to stand on and stand on, from likely star to likely star, pulling their belts ever tighter, finding that some suns had no planetary systems, that other suns had worlds in orbit about them utterly incapable of supporting any kind of life, let alone life as we know it.

  "Almost inevitably there was a mutiny. It came about when a gang of starving passengers was caught foraging in the cargo spaces—the refrigerated cargo spaces. Is it cannibalism when you gorge yourself on fertilized human ova? A rather doubtful legal point . . . Anyhow, the master of the Cougar decided that it was cannibalism, and ordered the offenders shot. In the consequent flareup there was rather too much shooting and then an orgy of real cannibalism . . . . Things went from bad to worse after that, especially since the captain, his senior officers and most of the more responsible passengers were killed. Among the survivors was a professional genetic engineer, a Dr. Edward Morrow. He wrote despairingly in his private journal, 'Will this voyage never end? Men and women are behaving like wild beasts. No, I must not say that, because my fellow passengers are worse than beasts. No decent animal could ever sink to such depths.' That passage sticks in my memory. It explains so much. Sometime later he wrote that the ship was approaching yet another sun, and that Bastable, the liner's third officer, hoped that it would run to a habitable planet. 'If it does not,' Morrow wrote, 'that is the finish of us. Soon there will be only one survivor, gnawing the last shreds of human flesh from the last bone.'

  "Lode Cougar cautiously approached the world that was still to be named. It looked to be habitable. There was a meeting of crew and passengers—what was left of them—and Bastable told them that the landing would have to be made in high
magnetic latitudes, for the obvious reason. The others told Bastable that the landing would have to be made in some region with a hospitable climate; nobody was in fit condition to undertake a long trek over ice fields. Bastable acceded to their demands, after a long argument. Had he not been the only man capable of handling the ship he would have been murdered there and then.

  "He got her down, as we know. He got her down, in one piece. The experience shattered him. He went to his quarters immediately after the landing, got out the bottle of alcohol that he had been jealously hoarding, and drank himself into insensibility. In his weakened condition—like all the rest he was more than half starved—it killed him. Regarding his death, Morrow made more unkind remarks in his journal about the human race.