“It wouldn’t be the first time,” grunted Grimes. “An’ now—” Flannery turned up the three cards to the left of the first three: the four and the six: of spades, the two of clubs. “Good an’ bad again—but that’s life. Loss, an’ poverty, an’ jealousy, an’ envy a-destroyin’ of yer success—but good luck again when it’s all over. The Odd Gods o’ the Galaxy alone know how ye do it, but always ye come to the top. Not at once, mind ye. It takes time. But remember this—when all the cards are on the table there’s but the one man in the universe ye can trust. Yerself.
“Now—” the telepath turned up the third trio of cards: five of clubs, four of hearts, and six of diamonds. He chuckled. “A foine mixture, this! The cards say as how ye’re to take things as they come, marriage wise. It’ll all turn out wrong in the end, anyhow. Did I iver tell ye that I was married once? Anyhow—play yer cards right for a wealthy marriage says this one, an’ this one says that ye’re the last o’ a long line o’ bachelors. An’ this one—an early, romantic marriage an’ an unlucky second marriage. So ye did have fun, or ye’re goin’ to have fun, or ye never did have nor ever will have any fun at all. Take yer choice.
“Aha!” The next set of three was flipped over. “The King an’ the Queen o’ Gravediggers, an’ the trey o’ diamonds. The King’s another captain, who’s going to get in yer hair in the nearish future. And would it be yer old pal Commander Delamere?”
“What do you know about him?” snapped Grimes.
“Only what flickered through yer mind when I turned up the card. An’ the Queen? Sorry, Captain, I can’t place her. She’s nobody ye know—yet. But ye’ll be gettin’ quite a handful. An’ that little three? Oh, all sorts o’ fun an’ games, an’ I have a feelin’ that the King’ll be playin’ a part in ‘em. He doesn’t like you at all, at all.
“An’ now, what have we? Six an’ eight o’ blackberries, seven o’ sparklers. Goodish, goodish—but not all that good when ye remember all that’s come before, an’ all that’s to come. Good for business? Ha! Ye’re not a shopkeeper, Captain. An’, come to that, ye’re not a merchant skipper. Your ship doesn’t have to show a profit. An’ the other two cards warn ye against gamblin’. But isn’t all life a gamble? Aren’t we gamblin’ with our lives ivery time that we liftoff planet, or come in for a happy landin’? And when ye gamble ye must always expect the odd run o’ bad luck.”
He turned over the sixth set of three. “Eight o’ spades, two an’ three o’ hearts. Ah, overcome resistance, it says. Ye always do that, don’t ye? But what about traitors? What about them as’d stab ye in the back?”
“What about them?” demanded Grimes sharply.
“I said nothin’, Captain, nothin’ what iver. Twas the cards said it—an’ surely ye, of all men, wouldn’t be after payin’ attention to silly pieces o’ plastic? Or would ye?” He chuckled, prodding the cards with a thick forefinger. “But the deuce an’ the trey—don’t they cancel out sweetly? Success, an’ good fortune, an’ everything ye wish yerself—but when? This week, next week, sometime, never. An’ agin that there’s the risk o’ unwise choices, an’ leapin’ afore ye look, an’ all the rest of it. So—look first, leap second—if at all.
“Nine an’ ten o’ hearts, nine o’ spades. Two o’ one, one o’ t’ other. Hearts an’ flowers the first two, love and roses all the way—but, if that black bastard of a nine is telling the truth, only if ye come through the troubles that are waitin’ for ye. There’s a crisis brewin’, Captain. Beware o’ the night o’ the long knives. Keep yer back to the bulkhead.”
I do have enemies, bad ones, thought Grimes.
“An’ don’t ye ever!” There was a note of admiration in Flannery’s voice. “But now we’ll see what the last point o’ the star has to tell us. Nine o’ clubs. Two o’ spades, an’ the ten o’ the same. Black, black, black. Really, ye should ha’ stayed in bed in the BOQ on Lindisfarne. Battle, murder, an’ sudden death. Disasters by land an’ by sea an’ in deep space. If it wasn’t for the very last card of all I’d be wishin’ meself that I’d gone sick on New Maine an’ been left behind.”
“The ten of spades?” asked Grimes. “But that’s unlucky too, surely.”
“Think yerself lucky that it’s not the Gravedigger itself, the Ace. Do ye really want to know what it means?”
“Yes,” Grimes told him firmly.
Flannery laughed. “Beware o’ false prophets. That’s its meanin’. So, decide for yerself, Captain. Do ye trust the cards, or don’t ye?”
And do I trust you? wondered Grimes.
“The cards say to trust nobody,” Flannery told him.
Chapter 14
Grimes did not believe the card reading, of course. Nonetheless it added to his growing uneasiness, and when he was uneasy he tended to snarl. He knew that his officers and crew resented his attempts to maintain minimal standards of smartness aboard the ship, and that the scientist, Dr. Brandt, regarded him as a barely necessary evil. He refused to admit that in taking command of Discovery he had bitten off more than he could chew, but he was coming to realize, more and more, that his predecessor had taken the easy way out, had made arrangements for his own comfort, and then allowed the vessel to run herself in her own bumbling, inefficient way.
Meanwhile, as the ship steadily narrowed the distance between herself and the first of the two possible stars, Flannery, with all his faults, was pulling his weight. Straining his telepathic faculties, he had begun to pick up what could be construed as indications of intelligent life on one of the worlds in orbit about that sun.
“The skipper of Sundowner was right, Captain,” he said. “There’s somethin’ there, all right. Or, even, somebody. There’s—there’s a sort o’ murmur. Ye can’t hear it, of course, but Ned’s hearin’ it, an’ I’m hearin’ it.” He grinned. “T’is a real Irish parliament. Everybody talkin’, an’ nobody listenin’.”
“Except you,” said Grimes.
“Exceptin’ me—an’ Ned,” agreed the PCO.
“Human?” asked Grimes.
“That I couldn’t be sayin’, Captain. T’is too early yet. But humanoid, for sure. Somethin’ with warm blood an’ breathin’ oxygen.”
“Or its equivalent,” suggested Grimes doubtfully. “After all, the essential physiology of chlorine breathers is very similar to our own.”
“A bridge we’ll cross when we come to it, Captain. But even if they, whoever they might be when they’re up an’ dressed, ain’t human, ye’ll still have discovered a new world for the Federation—may all the Saints preserve it—an’ that’ll be a feather in yer cap!”
“I suppose so.” Somehow the prospect did not cheer Grimes, as it should have done. “I suppose so.”
He got up to return to his own quarters, where he was to preside over a meeting of his senior officers and petty officers.
He sat behind his desk, facing the others.
Brandt was there, sitting by himself, a compact ball of hostility. Brabham, Swinton, and Vinegar Nell shared a settee—sullen bloodhound, belligerent terrier, and spiteful cat. Dr. Rath was wrapped in his own private cloud of funereal gloom. MacMorris, too, was keeping himself to himself, obviously begrudging the time that he was being obliged to spend away from his precious engines. Longer, the bos’n, and Washington, the sergeant of Marines, formed a two-man conspiracy in a corner, ostentatiously holding themselves aloof from the commissioned officers.
“Gentlemen,” began Grimes. “And Miss Russell,” he added. “Mphm.” He answered their not very friendly stares with one of his own. “Mr. Flannery assures me that there is life, intelligent life, very probably our sort of life, on one of the worlds of Ballchin 1717, the star that we are now approaching.”
“So your luck is holding, sir,” said Brabham.
“What exactly do your mean, Number One?”
“Even you, sir, would have found it hard to justify this deviation from the original plan if you’d found nothing.”
“We have only the word of a drunken telepath that a
nything has been found,” huffed Brandt. “And it still might not be a Lost Colony.”
“Even if it is,” grumbled MacMorris, “I doubt if there’ll be any machine shops. I’m still far from happy about my innies.”
“You never are,” remarked Brabham.
“We didn’t have enough time on New Maine to get anything fixed up properly,” complained Vinegar Nell, favoring Grimes with a hostile glare.
“At least,” stated Swinton, “my men, as always, are ready for anything.”
“There probably will be some civilians for you to massacre,” murmured Vinegar Nell sweetly.
Swinton flushed hotly and Grimes spoke up before a quarrel could start. “Gentlemen. Miss Russell. If you wish to squabble, kindly do so elsewhere than in my quarters. I have called you here to discuss our course of action.”
“To begin with,” said Brandt, “there must be the minimal interference with whatever culture has developed on that world.”
“If we’re shot at,” snapped Swinton, “we shoot back!”
“You tell ‘em, Major!” murmured Sergeant Washington.
“That will do,” said Grimes coldly. Then, “To begin with, I shall advise you all of my intentions. This original plan will be subject to modification as required by changing circumstances and, possibly, as suggested by your good selves.”
“The vessel will continue on her present trajectory. Mr. Flannery will maintain his listening watch, endeavoring to learn as much as possible of the nature of the inhabitants. We are also, of course, maintaining a Carlotti listening watch, although it is doubtful if we shall pick anything up. The Carlotti system had not been dreamed of at the time of the Second Expansion, the heyday of the lodejammers. And, in any case, any station using it must, of necessity, be a well-established component of today’s network of interstellar communications. We can’t listen on NST radio, of course, until we shut down the Mannschenn Drive and reemerge into normal space-time.
“We shall endeavor to home on the source of psionic emission. With the interstellar drive shut down, we shall establish ourselves in orbit about the planet. We shall observe, listen, and send down our unmanned probes. And then we come in to a landing.”
“Not in the ship,” said Brandt flatly.
“And why not?” countered Grimes coldly.
“Have you considered,” asked the scientist, “the effect that a hulking brute of a vessel like this might—no, would!—have on a people who have reverted to savagery, who are painfully climbing back up the hill to civilization?”
“If I’m going to be a stranger on a strange world,” Grimes told him, “I prefer to be a stranger with all the resources of my own culture right there with me, not hanging in orbit and all too likely to be on the wrong side of the planet when I want something in a hurry!”
“I agree with the captain,” said Brabham.
“And I,” said Swinton.
“It is high time that the real command was put in the hands of the scientists,” growled Brandt.
“If it ever is,” Brabham snarled, “my resignation goes in.”
“That will do, gentlemen,” said Grimes firmly. “Whether we land in the ship, or whether we send down small parties in the boats, will be decided when we know more about 1717—but I can say, now, that the second course of action is extremely unlikely. Needless to say, the actual site of our landing will have to be decided upon. If the civilization has attained or re-attained a high standard of technology, then there is no reason why we should not set down close to a large center of population, in broad daylight. If the people reverted to savagery after their own first landing, and stayed that way, then caution on our part is indicated.”
“Putting it bluntly, Commander Grimes,” said Brandt unpleasantly, “you are dithering.”
“Putting it shortly,” retorted Grimes, “I shall be playing by ear. As I always do. As I always have done.” He was exaggerating, of course. Before any operation he always worked out his course of action in every smallest detail—but he was ever alert to changing circumstances, always ready to abandon his elaborate plan of campaign and to improvise.
He went on, “I want all of you carefully to consider the problems that are liable to confront us. I want all of you to work out your own ways of dealing with them. I am always open to suggestions. Don’t forget that we are a team.” (Did he hear a faint, derisive, Ha, ha!?) “Don’t forget that we are a team, and remember that this is a Federation vessel and not a warship of the Waldegren Navy, whose kapitan would have you pushed out of the airlock for speaking out of turn.” (And who was it who whispered in mock incredulity, Oh, no?) “Be ready for anything—and, above all, be ready for the things for which you aren’t ready. Mphm.” He carefully filled and then lit his pipe.
“Very enlightening, Commander Grimes,” commented Brandt condescendingly.
Brabham said nothing, merely looked wooden. Swinton said nothing and looked skeptical. Vinegar Nell permitted herself a slight sneer. Dr. Rath looked like an undertaker counting the dead for whom he would have to provide a free funeral. The burly Langer raised his hand, looking like an oversized schoolboy. “Captain?”
“Yes, Bos’n?”
“Speaking on behalf of the men, sir, I hope that you will allow shore leave. We had precious little back at Main Base, and precious little on New Maine.”
“This is not a pleasure cruise, Bos’n,” said Grimes.
“You can say that again!” whispered somebody, not quite inaudibly.
Chapter 15
Star 1717 in the Ballchin Catalog was a Sol-type sun.
Somehow it and its planetary family had, to date, escaped close investigation by the survey ships of the Interstellar Federation, the Empire of Waverley (although it was almost in the Imperial back yard), or the Duchy of Waldegren, to name the major human spacefaring powers; neither had it attracted the attention of the far-ranging Seeker-Queens of the Shaara Galactic Hive. One reason for its being ignored was that it lay well away from the regular trade routes. Another reason was that nobody—at the moment—was acutely short of lebensraum. There were other reasons—economic, political, and whatever—but Grimes, a mere Survey Service commander, knew nothing of these, and would know nothing of such matters until, if at all, he wore gold braid up to the elbow and a cap whose peak was one solid encrustation of scrambled egg.
The planetary system of 1717 consisted of six worlds, easily observed as Discovery, her own time out of kilter with the real time of the universe, cautiously approached the star, running on interstellar drive, from well to the north of the plane of the ecliptic. The planets showed as wavering bands of luminescence about the shapeless, quivering iridescent blob that was their primary. After the Mannschenn Drive had been shut down they were, of course, far harder to locate—but Flannery, one of those telepaths capable of psionic direction-finding, was able to guide the ship in toward the world that harbored intelligent life.
Of 1717’s six planets, the outermost three were gas giants. Of the innermost three, one was far too close to the sun for life, of any kind, to have developed. The other two were within the biosphere. The third one was almost another Earth, a resemblance that became more and more striking as Discovery approached it. There were seas and continents, mountain ranges, polar ice caps, and a cloudy atmosphere. On the night side were sparkling clusters of lights that had to be cities. And there were networks of unnaturally straight lines crisscrossing the landmasses that could be roads, or railways, or canals.
There was no doubt that 1717 III was inhabited. The people of 1717 III had achieved, it seemed certain, some kind of industrial civilization. But until an actual landing was made little could be known about them, although Flannery was doing his best to pick up information. He said to Grimes, who had taken to haunting the PCO’s squalid office, “T’is like the roarin’ o’ the crowd at a football game, Captain. Niver a single voice that ye can make out what it’s sayin’ . . . just jabber, jabber, jabber. Oh, there’s a power o’ people down there all r
ight, an’ they’re after thinkin’ what people always do be thinkin’—that it’s too hot, or too cold, or that it’s almost dinnertime, or that it’s a dreadful long time atween drinks. Which reminds me—” He reached for a full bulb of whiskey. “An’ how long are ye keepin’ us in free fall, Captain? I mislike these baby’s feedin’ bottles.”
Grimes ignored this. “But are they thinking in Standard English?” he demanded. “Or in any other human language?”
“Now ye’re askin’. An’ the answer is—I don’t know. Trouble is, there’s niver a real telepath among the bunch of ‘em. If there was, he’d be comin’ in loud and clear at this range, and I’d be able to tell ye for sure.” Flannery grinned. “Am I to take it that the opposition hasn’t brought ye any joy? That the bould Sparkses—bad cess to ‘em!—haven’t been able to raise anythin’ on their heathenish contraptions?”
“You know damn well they haven’t!” huffed Grimes. “We weren’t expecting anything on the Carlotti—but there’s been nothing on the NST either, nothing but static.”
“So ye haven’t found a Lost Colony after all, Captain. But ye’ve discovered a new world with new people. An’ isn’t that better?”
“A new world? How do you make that out?”
“A Lost Colony’d be makin’ its start with all the books an’ machinery an’ know-how aboard the ship, wouldn’t it? ‘Less they went all the way back to the Stone Age they’d be keepin’ the technology they started with, an’ improvin’ on it.”
“Mphm. But perhaps, for some reason, our friends down there prefer landlines to radio.”
“Ye’ve somethin’ there, Captain. But—there’s altogether too many o’ the bastards. That world has a powerful big population. Could the crew an’ passengers o’ just one ship—one flyin’ fridge, perhaps, or one o’ the lodejammers still not accounted for—have done so well, even if they bred like rabbits? Historically speakin’, the Deep Freeze ships o’ the First Expansion were only yesterday, an’ the Second Expansion was no more than a dog watch ago.”
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