The Big Black Mark

by A Bertram Chandler

  He felt almost happy as he maneuvered the little craft down through the atmosphere. It was good to have a command again, even if it was only a ship's boat, especially after a passage in a vessel captained by Delamere. Once clear of the ship he had steered to a position over the night hemisphere, a little to the west of the terminator. Conditions were cloudless, and he could see, without any difficulty, the diffuse patch of soft light that was Paddington and, as he steadily lost altitude, the hard, bright, coded flash of the Macquarie Light. As he dropped toward it the picture formed on the radar screen, a chart drawn in pale-green luminescence—the northern coastline and the great, irregular bite out of it that was Port Jackson. Lower yet, and lower, and he could see the outlines of the finger jetties. He had decided to land in the southeastern corner of the harbor where several old hulks were moored, a marine junkyard.

  Dawn was pale in the east when, at last, the boat dropped to the surface of the calm water with hardly a ripple. Grimes steered her toward the shadowy forms of the obsolete shipping, threading a cautious way between the looming dark hulls. There was, he remembered, a rickety little jetty just about here, used by work boats and the like. He came alongside it cautiously, opened the airlock doors. The Marines scrambled out onto the warped and weatherworn planking. Grimes followed. And then, working as quietly as possible, they succeeded in pushing and pulling the boat under the jetty, squeezing her in, somehow, between the marine-growth-encrusted piles. She would not be found unless somebody were making a deliberate search for her.

  Grimes led the way inland. There was just enough light—although it was growing stronger—for them to pick their way through the rusty tangle of obstacles: anchors, lengths of chain cable, a big, four-bladed propeller. One of the Marines swore as he stubbed his bare toe on some unseen obstruction. Then they came to a road leading down to the water's edge, and the first, sleeping houses. The light of the gas street lamps was paling as the dawn brightened. Ahead of them, quite suddenly, the sun came up and, simultaneously, the lamps went out. Somewhere a dog was barking, and there was a brief and startling clamor overhead as a flock of birdlike things emerged from the trees, circled and assembled, then flew steadily toward the north on some unknown mission.

  "It—it's like time travel, sir," whispered the Marine officer.

  "What do you mean, Major?"

  "This—this city. It's like something out of Earth's past So . . . quiet. The way a morning should be, but hardly ever is. And these houses . . . nothing over three stories. And all the trees."

  "This is the way they wanted it," said Grimes, "and this is the way they got it."

  It was not far to the mayor's palace—a big, low structure, built in the long-dead (on Earth) colonial style. Grimes marched up to the front door, the gravel of the driveway grating under his sandals. The others followed him into the portico, the major looking with admiration at the graceful, cast-aluminum pillars with their ornate floral designs. He tapped one. He said, "Should be cast-iron, really, but aluminum's more practical."

  "This isn't a sight-seeing tour, Major Briggs," Grimes told him. He added, "But I wish it were."

  He pressed the bell firmly. He heard a distant, muffled shrilling inside the house. He pressed it again, and again.

  The door suddenly opened. A girl stood there, glaring at them. Grimes recognized her. She was one of Mavis' staff. She demanded, "Wot the hell do yer want at this Jesus-less hour?"

  "A word with Her Ladyship," said Grimes.

  "Then yer can come back later. Noonish. Mavis left word that she wants her breakfast in bed at 1000 hours an' not a bleedin' second before."

  "This is important," Grimes told her.

  "Here, let me look at yer!" She put out a shapely arm and pulled him close to her. "Commander Grimes, ain't it? Cor stone the bleedin' crows, wot are you doin' back here, Skip? Wait till I tell Mavis. She won't half be beside her bleedin' self!"

  "Not a word to anybody else, Shirley. Nobody must know I'm here."

  "A secret mission, is it? I knew there was somethin' wrong, somewhere. Come on in, all o' yer. I'll put yer in her study while I drag her out. An' I'll rustle up some tea an' scones while yer waitin'."

  She led them through a long corridor into a large, book-lined room, told them to be seated, then hurried out. The Marines, after Briggs had nodded his permission, disposed themselves on a long settee. Grimes went to the big window, accompanied by the major, and looked out. The city was, at last, showing some slight signs of life. A large coach drove by, obviously bound to the airport to meet an incoming passenger-carrying dirigible. There were a few, a very few, pedestrians.

  "Skip, you old bastard!" It was Mavis, her abundant charms barely concealed by a thin wrapper. She grabbed Grimes as he turned to face her, almost smothered him in a tight embrace. "Gawd! It's good to see yer back!" Then her face clouded. "But I don't suppose yer came back just to see me. An' where's yer ship? Don't try ter tell me that yer walked all the way!"

  "The ship's in orbit," began Grimes.

  "An' who're yer pals? Don't think I know "em."

  Grimes made introductions, and while he was in the middle of them Shirley came in with a big tray, with tea things and a great dish of hot, buttered, lavishly jammed scones.

  "An' now," asked Mavis, speaking through a mouthful, "wot is all this about, Skip? You come droppin' in unannounced, wif a goon squad, an' I don't think the bulges under their shirts are male tits!"

  "Nothing more lethal than stunguns," Grimes assured her. "Now, I'll be frank with you. I'm here on a police mission."

  "We have our own police force, Skip, an' we ain't members of your Federation."

  "That's so, Mavis. But you're harboring criminals."

  "An' what concern is that o' yours, Skip?"

  "Plenty. The criminals are the entire crew of Discovery."

  "Garn!"

  "It's true, Mavis. There was a mutiny."

  "You can't tell me that Commander Brabham'd do a thing like that. As nice a bloke as you'd ever meet. Not as nice as you, perhaps"—she smiled—"but nice enough."

  "Brabham did do it, Mavis. He and Swinton were the ringleaders."

  "Oh, Swinton. Him. And his bloody pongoes. That doesn't surprise me."

  "They were going to push Dr. Rath and Mr. Flannery and myself out through the airlock. Without spacesuits."

  "What!"

  "Yes. I'm not kidding, Mavis. And then Vinegar Nell and Tangye persuaded the others to set us adrift in a small boat, with no Deep Space radio and no Deep Space drive. Where we were, we'd have died of old age long before we got anywhere."

  "Is this true, Skip?"

  "Of course it's true. We picked up a few news broadcasts before I came down in the boat, including the one about Vinegar Nell's wedding. Your news reader made the point that there has been absolutely no communication between Discovery and Lindisfarne Base. Brabham has his story to account for that, but it doesn't hold water, does it?"

  "I . . . I s'pose not. But how did yer get yer boat back here?" She laughed at the stupidity of her own question. "But, o' course, you didn't. You were picked up, weren't yer?"

  "Yes. By a ship called Sundowner, commanded by a friend of mine. He took us back to Lindisfarne. And the admiral commanding the base has sent a frigate to arrest the mutineers and take them back for trial."

  "Wot'll happen to 'em?"

  "The same as was going to happen to me. An unsuited spacewalk."

  "It's a bastard of a universe you live in, Skip. I'm not sure that I'd like Botany Bay dragged inter it. Swinton an' his drongoes we can deal with. The others? They're integratin' nicely."

  "We must take them, Mavis. All of them."

  "An' what if we refuse to give 'em up?"

  "Then we have to use force. Under Federation Law, we're entitled to."

  "But we ain't members o' your bleedin' Federation."

  "You're still subject to Interstellar Law, which is subscribed to by all spacefaring races."

  "We aren't."

/>   "I'm sorry, Mavis, but you are. You have been since Discovery's first landing."

  "You might've told me. A right bastard I clasped to me bosom when I made yer free of the body beautiful."

  "Look, Mavis. I've a job to do. Send for the City Constable, but don't tell him what for until he gets here."

  "I'll call him—an' tell him to warn all yer so-called mutineers to go bush. They've too many friends on this bleedin' world for you ever ter find 'em. If they'd killed yer, I'd be thinkin' differently. But you're alive, ain't yer? Wot's yer beef?"

  "You won't cooperate, Mavis?"

  "No. Skip, an' that's definite." She turned to the girl. "Get on the blower, will yer, Shirl? Warn 'em aboard Discovery."

  Major Briggs said, "I'm sorry, Commander Grimes, but your way of doing things doesn't seem to be working." He raised his wrist transceiver, a special long-range model, to his mouth. "Briggs to Vega. Do you read me? Over."

  "Vega to Briggs. Captain here, Major. How are things going?" Delamere's voice was faint and distant, but all in the room could hear the words.

  "Operation Sweet Sleep, sir," said Briggs.

  "And about bloody time. We've given Commander Grimes his chance to look up his old flames. Over."

  "What's goin' on, Skip?" demanded Mavis.

  Grimes did not answer her, turned on Briggs. "I thought this landing party was under my orders, Major."

  "I had my own orders, sir, directly from the captain."

  "He's a bloody fool," snarled Grimes, "and so are you! I know what you're doing can be argued, by the right lawyers in the right court, to be legally correct—but you've lost Botany Bay to the Federation."

  The first dull thud sounded from overhead. Delamere's trigger finger must have been itchy. Grimes visualized the exploding missile, the heavy, odorless, invisible gas drifting slowly downward. He heard a second thud, and a third. Frankie was making sure.

  The last thing he saw as he drifted into unconsciousness was Mavis' hurt, accusing face.

  Chapter 42

  When Grimes slowly awakened he was conscious, first of all, of the dull ache in his upper arm, where he had been injected with an antidote to the gas, and then of the too handsome, too cheerful face of Delamere grinning down at him. "Rise and shine, Grimesy boy! You can wake up now. We've done all your work for you!"

  Grimes, unassisted, got groggily to his feet. He looked ,around the mayor's study. The Marines were gone, of course. They would have been given their shots before leaving the ship. Mavis and Shirley were still unconscious. Vega's surgeon was bending over the lady mayor, a hypodermic spraygun in his hand. He used it, on the fleshy part of a generously exposed thigh, then turned, to the younger woman.

  "What—what time is it?" asked Grimes.

  "Fifteen hundred hours, local. We have full control of the city. Such officials as we have awakened are cooperating with us. Most of the mutineers—with their popsies—were aboard Discovery. We carted 'em off to the dressing rooms in the stadium—the mutineers, that is, not the popsies—and they're there under guard. Safer there than in that apology for a jail." Delamere paused. "Oh, your girlfriend, or ex-girlfriend—" Grimes looked toward Mavis, who was listening intently. "No. Not her. Your paymaster. We had to persuade some of her friends to talk. We found out that she and her new husband were spending their honeymoon on"—he made a grimace of distaste—"Daydream Island. Only half an hour's flying time in one of my pinnaces."

  "So you've got her too," said Grimes.

  "What the hell else did you expect?" demanded Delamere.

  Mavis was on her feet now, glaring at the spacemen, clutching her thin wrap around her. She was about to say something when the ringing of a telephone bell broke the silence. It came, thought Grimes, from her office. She asked coldly, "I s'pose I can answer me own phone, in me own palace?"

  "Of course, madam," replied Delamere airily. "If it's for me, let me know, will you?"

  "Bastard!" she snarled, making her exit.

  "I suppose you brought the ship down," said Grimes.

  "Yes. I'm parked in that big oval sports arena. One of the first natives we woke up was quite hostile. He screamed about a big match due today, and accused me of buggering the pitch. He actually ordered me off. We had to use a stungun on him."

  "You mightn't make many friends, Delamere," said Grimes, "but you sure influence people."

  "Not to worry. We've got what we came for."

  Mavis, her face pale under the dark tan, returned to the study. She said, in a low, venomous voice, "You bloody murderers!"

  "The gas we used, madam," Delamere told her, "is no more than an instant anesthetic. Those whom we have not already revived will wake, quite naturally, in about one hour, feeling no ill effects whatsoever."

  "An' wot about those who won't wake? Wot about the young couple who were killed in bed when a dirty great hunk o' rocket casin' crashed through their roof? Wot about that power station engineer who fell against somethin' an' got fried? An' wot about Flyin' Scud? She was comin' in ter the moorin' mast when the skipper passed out, an' she kept on goin', an' gutted herself. An' that's just the start of it."

  "I am sure, madam," said Delamere stiffly, "that the Federation will pay generous compensation."

  "In Federation money, I s'pose," she sneered. "Wot bloody use will that be? Specially since we won't join your bloody Federation now, not for all the gold in the galaxy." She turned on Grimes. "An' as for you, you . . . you dingo! I thought you were a man. Wot a bloody hope! Not only do yer help this bastard ter murder my people, you're goin' ter stand back an' let yer own crew be dragged off ter be butchered."

  "But, Mavis—"

  "Gah! Yer make me sick!"

  "Delamere," demanded Grimes, "have you done anything about the crash at the airport, and the other accidents?"

  "When we got around to it, Grimes. Our first job was to round up the mutineers." He added smugly, "You can't make an omelet without breaking eggs, you know."

  "There was no need to run amuck in the kitchen," said Grimes.

  "Out!" yelled Mavis suddenly. "Out o' me palace, you Terry bastards! I've work to do!"

  "So have we, madam," said Delamere. "A very good after noon to you. Come, Doctor. And you, Grimes."

  "But, Mavis," Grimes began.

  "Out! All o' yer. That includes you, lover boy!"

  "You do have the oddest girlfriends," remarked Delamere as the three of them passed out through the front door.

  Grimes did not reply. He was full of bitter self-reproach. He should have guessed that Delamere would have his own secret plans. He could have stopped Major Briggs from making that call. . . or could he? His name, he admitted wryly, was not Superman.

  He followed the other two into the commandeered electric car that was waiting for them.

  Chapter 43

  They drove to the Oval, in the middle of which, an alien, menacing tower, stood Vega. They did not go straight to the ship but dismounted at the entrance to the sports ground. At the doors to the dressing rooms under the stands stood armed Marines and spacemen.

  Delamere led the way to one of the doors, which was opened by a sentry. He sneered as he pointed to the scene inside, and said disgustedly, "What a rabble! I can't see how anybody could have ever sailed in the same ship with them!"

  Yes, they were a rabble—as the crew of any ship would be if dragged naked and unconscious from their beds, to awake in captivity. The only ones clothed, in dirty, torn uniforms, were Swinton and his Marines. Swinton, followed by the huge Washington, pushed through the mob of his hapless shipmates. He stood there defiantly, glaring at Grimes and his companions. He demanded, "Have you come to gloat? Go on, damn you! Gloat to your heart's bloody content!"

  "I haven't come to gloat," said Grimes.

  "Then what the hell have you come for? But it's my fault. I should never have listened to Vinegar Nell and that puppy Tangye. We should have made sure of you while we had you."

  "But you didn't," said Grimes. "Unluckily for y
ou. Luckily for me."

  "Grimes's famous luck!" sneered the Mad Major.

  Vinegar Nell came slowly to stand beside the Marine. She had been conscious when she had been captured, and obviously had put up a fight. She looked steadily at Grimes.. She said, "So you made it, John. Am I glad, or sorry? I'm glad for you. Genuinely. As for me—" She shrugged. "Whatever I say will make no difference."

  "Very touching," commented Delamere.

  "Shut up!" snapped Grimes. He turned to face Brabham—who, like the majority of the prisoners, was without clothing. His ex-first lieutenant looked fit, far fitter than he had ever looked aboard Discovery. Life on Botany Bay had agreed with him.