First Command

by A Bertram Chandler

  But he, Grimes . . . ? When it came to the crunch where did his loyalties lie? To his Service, or to an ex-mistress?

  Certainly not, he decided, to the obnoxious Delamere. He said, as he slowly filled his pipe, “We may be able to do something, Skipper. But only for Nell. Only for Nell. Shall we take a stroll to the university?”

  Chapter 44

  They found Brandt without any trouble. The scientist was unchanged, as irascible as ever. He demanded, “What is going on here, Commander Grimes? A dawn attack on our world by a Federation warship—”

  “Our world, Doctor?”

  “Yes. I’m married now, and I resigned my commission, and applied for citizenship.”

  “You resigned your commission?”

  “Must you parrot every word, Commander Grimes? Commander Brabham was the senior officer of the Survey Service on Botany Bay, so I handed my resignation in to him. He accepted it. I got tired of waiting for that chum of yours, Captain Davinas.”

  “Did you tell Brabham about Davinas?” asked Grimes.

  “Of course not. I knew that it was some private deal between you and him, so I kept my mouth shut.”

  “Just as well,” said Grimes. “If Brabham and his crowd had been expecting Sundowner they’d have been more alert.”

  “What do you mean, just as well? If they’d been alert, they’d have stood a fighting chance.”

  “But they’re mutineers, Doctor.”

  “Mutineers, shmutineers . . . a mutiny’s only a strike, but with the strikers wearing uniform.”

  “Mphm,” grunted Grimes. “That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose. But I’m lucky to be alive, Doctor.”

  “You’re always lucky. Well, what can I do for you?”

  “Are there any supplies of Somnopon gas on this world, Doctor? Or anything like it?”

  “Not as far as I know. We’re a peaceful planet. We could make some, I suppose. Do you know the formula?”

  “I’ve seen it, in gunnery manuals, but I didn’t memorize it.”

  “You wouldn’t. You’re a typical spaceman, always bludging on the scientists and technologists. But what do you want it for?”

  “Can we trust this bastard?” asked Jones. “Why not?” countered Grimes. “He’s one of yours, now.” He turned to Brandt. “This gentleman is Miss Russell’s husband.”

  “He has my sympathy,” said Brandt.

  Grimes looked at him sharply. That remark could be taken two ways. He said, “Naturally, he does not wish to see his wife taken away to be tried and executed, as she will be. The trial will be a mere formality. On every occasion that the Survey Service has had a mutiny the entire crew has been made an example of. That, I suppose, is why mutiny is such a rare crime. But Miss Russell—or Mrs. Jones, as she is now—saved my life. I want to reciprocate.”

  “Uncommonly decent of you, Commander Grimes. Beneath that rugged exterior there beats a heart of gold.”

  “Let me finish, damn you. What I want is enough Somnopon, or something like it, so that Skipper Jones and his friends can put the entire Oval, including Vega, to sleep. Then Jones rescues Nell—and surely, with the population of an entire planet shielding her, she’ll never be found.” He added, “There’s always plastic surgery.”

  “I like her the way she is!” growled Jones.

  “All very ingenious, Grimes, and it keeps your yardarm clear, as you would put it. But you don’t remember the formula. I’ve no doubt that we could work it out for ourselves, but that would take time. Too much time.” He picked up a telephone on his desk. “Rene, could you get hold of Doc Travis? Tell her it’s urgent. Yes, in my office.”

  “Is Dr. Travis a chemist?” asked Grimes.

  “No. A psychologist. You’ve no idea what dirt she can drag out of people’s minds by hypnosis.”

  “A brain drain?” demanded Grimes, alarmed.

  “Nothing like as drastic,” Brandt assured him. “It’ll just be a sleep from which you’ll awake with your mind, such as it is, quite intact.”

  Grimes looked at Jones. The airship captain’s strong face was drawn with worry and his eyes held a deep misery.

  “All right,” he said.

  The hypnosis session bore little relationship to the brain drain techniques used by the Intelligence Branch of the Survey Service. There was no complicated electronic apparatus, no screens with the wavering, luminescent traces of brain waves. There was only a soft-voiced, attractive blonde, whose soothing contralto suggested that Grimes, sitting on his shoulder blades in a deep, comfortable chair, relax, relax, relax. He relaxed. He must have dozed off. He was awakened by the snapping of the hypnotist’s fingers. He was as refreshed as he would have been by a full night’s sleep. He felt exceptionally alert.

  “We got it,” said Brandt. “Nothing else?” asked Grimes suspiciously. “No,” replied the scientist virtuously. “No posthypnotic suggestions?”

  “Wot d’yer take us for?” demanded Dr. Travis indignantly. “You do the right thing by us, we do the right thing by you.” She looked thoughtful. “As you know, we ain’t got any telepaths on this planet. There’ll be at least one aboard that frigate. Wot’re the chances o’ him snoopin’?”

  “That’s a chance we have to take, Doctor. But you can’t snoop all of the people all of the time. Anyhow, there’re quite a few people aboard Vega who’d like to see their gallant captain come a gutser, and he’s one of them.”

  “Some time, Dolly,” said Brandt, “you must make a study of the micro-societies of ships. I assure you that it would be fascinating. And now, while we’re waiting for Dr. Ronson and his team to let us know what they can do with the formula, we’ll have a drink. Skipper Jones, at least, looks as though he could use one.”

  *****

  Ronson phoned through to say that he would have a supply of the gas ready within forty-eight hours. It would take more than that time to bring Discovery back to full spaceworthiness as well as to modify her for her new role as a prison ship.

  Chapter 45

  Delamere, after a stormy session with Mavis—who was backed by Grimes—reluctantly agreed to allow the prisoners some small privileges before their removal from Botany Bay. “You must remember,” Grimes told him, “that these Lost Colonists are descended from other colonists, and that those other colonists have always distrusted brassbound authority, and often with good reason. Who else would make a folk hero out of a bushranger like Ned Kelly?”

  “You’ve Australian blood yourself, Grimes, haven’t you? That accounts for your own attitude toward authority. My authority, specifically.”

  “I’m speaking as a man, Delamere, not as an Australian, nor as an officer of the Survey Service, nor as any other bloody thing. Those mutineers—and I admit that most of ‘em are as guilty as all hell—have made friends on this planet, have formed very close relationships. You’re hurting those people, who’ll never see their friends or lovers again, as much as you’re hurting the criminals. Don’t forget what I said about the bleeding hearts, the sob sisters, and the do-gooders.”

  “Good on yer, Skip!” murmured Mavis.

  “I haven’t forgotten, Grimes,” admitted Delamere coldly. “And I haven’t forgotten the rather dubious part you’ve played in affairs ever since we lifted ship for this blasted planet.” Then, to Mavis, “All right, madam. I’ll allow your people to visit their boyfriends and girlfriends, at times to be arranged by myself, under strict supervision. And I give you fair warning—if there’s any attempt to smuggle in weapons or escape tools, then may the Odd Gods of the Galaxy help you! You’ll need their help.”

  “Thank you, sir, Commander, sir,” simpered Mavis infuriatingly.

  There were visitors. The visitors brought gifts—mainly cakes. The cakes were, of course, X-rayed. There was nothing of a metallic nature inside them. They were sliced, and samples chemically analyzed. There was not a trace of plastic explosive. Delamere’s PCO was on hand during each visiting period to scan the minds of the visitors, and reported that although, n
aturally, there was considerable hostility to Delamere—and to Grimes himself—there was no knowledge of any planned jailbreak. Oddly enough, Skipper Jones did not visit his wife, and it was obvious that she was deeply hurt. Grimes knew the reason. He dare not tell Vinegar Nell. He dare not visit her himself. Jones, of course, knew of the clandestine manufacture of Somnopon. There was another slight oddity of which Grimes thought nothing—at the time. Many of the cakes and other edible goodies came from the kitchens of the mayor’s palace. But that was just another example of Mavis’ essential goodheartedness.

  When the big night came—it was early evening, actually—Grimes was standing with Brandt and Jones on the flat roof of one of the towers of the university. From it they could see the airport, and just beyond it the huge, floodlit shape of Discovery. They could see the Oval, and the even larger, brightly illumined tower that was Vega. They returned their attention to the airport. One of the dirigibles was about to cast off—Duchess of Paddington, a cargo carrier, commanded by a friend of Jones’s. Grimes watched through borrowed binoculars. He could make out the mooring mast, with its flashing red light on top, quite well, and the long cigar shape that trailed from it like a wind sock. He saw the airship’s red and green navigation lights come on. So she had let go. Duchess of Paddington drifted away from the mast, gaining altitude. She was making way, and slowly circled Discovery. Grimes wondered vaguely why she was doing that; Discovery was not the target. A dry run, perhaps. Now she was steering toward the Oval, a dimly seen blob, foreshortened to the appearance of a sphere, in the darkling sky, two stars, one ruby and one emerald, brighter far than the other, distant stars that were appearing one by one in the firmament. The throbbing beat of her airscrews came faintly down the light breeze.

  The airship passed slowly over the university.

  “Conditions ideal,” whispered Jones. “Smithy’ll be openin’ his valves about now. Let’s go!”

  The party descended to ground level by an express elevator, piled into a waiting car. Jones took something off the back seat, thrust it at Grimes. “Take this, Commander. You’ll be needin’ it.”

  Grimes turned the thing over in his hands. It was a respirator. He asked, “What about the rest of you?”

  “We’re all full o’ the antidote. I hope it works. Ronson assured us that it will.”

  “Wouldn’t it be simpler if I had a shot?”

  “We took it orally. But we’re protectin’ you, Commander. When the fun’s over you take off yer mask an’ just pass out, same as all the other bastards. If there ain’t enough Somnopon still lyin’ around, we’ve a spare bottle.”

  “You’ve thought of everything,” admitted Grimes. He put on the respirator, looked out at the tree-lined, gas-lit streets sliding past the car. A few pedestrians, he saw, had succumbed to stray eddies of the anesthetic. Gas is always a chancy weapon.

  They were approaching the entrance to the Oval. They could already hear, over the hum of their engine, loud voices, the crashing of the main gate as it was forced. Grimes expected a rattle of fire, from Vega—but her people had been taken unawares, even as the mutineers had been.

  The car stopped. Jones jumped out. “Good-bye, Commander. An’ thanks. I wish I could’ve known you better.” He extended his hand for a brief, but firm, handshake.

  “I’ll see you again,” said Grimes.

  “You won’t. I sincerely hope you won’t. Nothin’ against you, mind you.” He ran off, toward the stands.

  Grimes got out of the car, realized that many vehicles were already on the scene, that more were arriving. He was almost knocked over by a mob rushing the transport. There was Jones, towing a bewildered Vinegar Nell by the hand. There were Brabham, MacMorris, Tangye, Sally. . . .

  “To the ship!” Jones was shouting. “To Discovery!”

  “To Discovery!” the cry was going up. “To Discovery!” Not only were there mutineers in the mob, but many local women.

  Enough was enough, thought Grimes. He stepped forward to try to stem the rush. He saw Swinton leveling a weapon taken from one of the guards—and saw Vinegar Nell knock it to one side just as it exploded. Nell clawed the respirator from his face, crying, “Keep out of this, John! The less you know the better!” She swung the gas mask to hit him in the belly, and he gasped. That was all he knew.

  Chapter 46

  He awoke suddenly. Once again there was the dull ache in his arm where a hypodermic spray had been used. He opened his eyes, saw a khaki-uniformed man bending over him. One of Delamere’s Marines . . . ?

  “You’re under arrest,” said the man. “All you Terry bastards’re under arrest.”

  What the hell was going on? The man, Grimes saw, was wearing a wide-brimmed hat, with the brim turned up on one side. The beam of a light shone on a badge of polished brass, a rising-sun design. Not a Marine . . . a policeman.

  “Don’t be so bloody silly, Vince.” It was Mavis’ voice. “The skipper’s a pal o’ mine.”

  “But the orders were—”

  “Who gives the orders round here? Get inside, to the Oval. There’s plenty o’ Terries in there to arrest, an’ quite a’ few wantin’ first aid!” She added admiringly, “That bloody Brabham! He’s made a clean getaway, an’ there’ll be no chase!” She put out a hand and helped Grimes to his feet. “Thinkin’ it over, Skip, I’d better have yer arrested with the others. But we’ll walk an’ talk a while, first.”

  They went in through the main entrance, picking their way carefully through the wreckage of the gate. Grimes cried out in dismay. Vega was there still, but no longer illumined by the glare of her own floodlights, no longer proudly erect. She was on her side, the great length of her picked out by the headlights of at least two dozen heavy-duty vehicles. Externally she seemed undamaged. Internally? She would be a mess, Grimes knew.

  “The cricket season’s well an’ truly buggered,” said Mavis cheerfully. “Never could see anythin’ in the game me self.”

  “What happened?” demanded Grimes.

  “That bloody Brabham . . . or it could’ve been Jonesy’s idea. It was as much airmanship as spacemanship.”

  “Jones? He’s with the mutineers?”

  “An’ quite a few more. I couldn’t stop ‘em. Not that I wanted to.”

  “But what happened?”

  “Oh, they all made a rush for your Discovery after the breakout. Your crew, an’ Jones, an’ . . . oh, we’ll have ter sort it out later, how many darlin’ daughters an’ even wives are missin’. Where was I? Oh, yes. Discovery lifted off. But she didn’t go straight up. She sorta drifted across the city, her engines goin’ like the hammers o’ Hell, just scrapin’ the rooftops. Then she lifted, but only a little, just so’s her backside was nuzzlin’ Vega’s nose. Like two dogs, it was. An’ she sorta wriggled, an’ Vega wriggled too, more an’ more, until. . . Crash! An’ then Brabham went upstairs as though the sheriff an’ his posse were after him.”

  “Delamere was lucky,” said Grimes.

  “Bloody unlucky, if you ask me.”

  “No. Lucky. Brabham could have used his weaponry. Or he could have sat on top of Vega and cooked her with the auxiliary rocket drive.” He managed a grin. “I guess you people must have had a civilizing influence on him. Oh, one more thing. How was it that the mutineers weren’t affected by the gas?”

  “They were all immune, that’s why. Ain’t many people can resist the goodies that come out o’ my kitchen! But we made sure that none o’ the popsies deliverin’ the pies an’ cakes knew the secret ingredient. Not with a nasty, pryin’ telepath pickin’ up every thought. But that’ll have ter do. Here come the mug coppers wi’ yer pal Frankie. He’s under arrest, same as you are.”

  Delamere, battered and bruised, held up by the two men of his police escort, staggered toward the mayor. He saw Grimes, stiffened.

  “I might have known that you’d be at the bottom of this, you bastard!”

  “How the hell could he be?” asked Mavis. “My police found him sprawled, unconscious, by the main
entrance.”

  “You’re in this too, you bitch! You’ll laugh on the other side of your face when this world is under Federation military occupation!”

  “An’ is your precious Federation willin’ ter fight a war over Botany Bay, specially at the end o’ long supply lines? Dr. Brandt showed us how ter build a Carlotti set. We used it, ternight. We got through ter Waverley without any trouble at all. The emperor’s willin’ to put us under his protection.”

  “Grimes, you’ll pay for this. This is a big black mark on your Service record that’ll never be erased!”

  This was so, Grimes knew. It would be extremely unwise for him to return to Lindisfarne to face court-martial. He would resign, here and now, by Carlottigram. After that? The Imperial Navy, if they’d have him? With his record, probably not.

  The Rim Worlds? Rim Runners would take anybody, as long as he had some qualifications and rigor mortis hadn’t set in.

  The implications of it all he would work out later. The full appreciation of the desperate situation into which he had been maneuvered—by Mavis as much as by anybody—would sink in slowly.

  He looked up at the night sky, at the distant stars.

  Would Discovery find her Pitcairn Island?

  Would the fate of her people be happier than that of those other, long ago and far away, mutineers?

  In spite of all that had been done to him by them, in spite of all that had happened because of them, he rather hoped so.

  THE FAR

  TRAVELER

  Dedication

  To all far travelers.

  The dreams changed.

  There were, as before, memories from the minds of the colonists who had long lived in symbiosis with the fungus but now there were other memories—brief flashes, indistinct at first but all the time increasing in clarity and duration. There were glimpses of the faces and the bodies of women whom Grimes had known.