by John Kippax
Elsa Niebohr did not pray to the Christian God or to any god. She believed in her own strength, this strength which came from her ancestors and above all from the father whom she had deliberately killed. 'There's only one thing that makes a tycoon out of a businessman. The real rewards are always to the fellow who has the nerve, at the right time and in the right manner, to plunge. The real tycoon knows when only the "shit or bust" policy works. Me, I could always pick that moment You, my girl, could learn to pick it.'
She believed that she had learned.
The buzzer of the top floor's exclusive elevator sounded. She smiled. So, he had come, and so rightly, just at the time when she needed a man... no, perhaps that was not fair to James Creighton. She needed him. He was an entertaining companion, and his sexual capabilities were superb. When he lifted off in Vee Twelve, there would have to be a replacement found, but in the meantime...
As the buzzer sounded again, she pressed the button beside it, and from far below the high speed elevator swept upwards. She walked to the small entrance lobby. He stepped out to greet her, smiling. He took her hands, raised them to his lips. And she chuckled.
'Now why,' Creighton asked, 'did you have to go and spoil that? I'd rehearsed it; and then you giggled.'
She led him into the quiet luxury, her fingertips holding his. 'Are you hungry?'
'Starving.'
'Have they been working you hard?'
'Don't rouse unpleasant memories. I'm the junior of those three medics. Enough is enough.'
'Drink?'
He flopped down in a caressing chair, marvelling once more at the discreet beauty of these surroundings. 'Please, Scotch on the rocks.'
She handed him his drink, sat on the side of his chair. He drank deeply, with closed eyes, and once more she thought: 'Oh, I'd like to keep this one, I really would.'
He looked up and said: 'I'm a severe case of malnutrition. Or did I mention that?'
She smiled. 'Hog,' she said.
'You are unkind.'
'No. Hog you are. I remember what makes you hoggish.'
'Like you?' 'Fool.' She went to the table, lifted the covers, put them on one side.
Creighton rose to his feet. 'I don't believe it.'
'You are a seafood hog. So there is our seafood meal.'
Creighton drew breath. 'I've never seen anything like it.'
'Don't you dare sit down before you've opened the first bottle of Niersteiner. Then, if all you do is make savage noises for the next fifteen or twenty minutes, I'll excuse you.'
Creighton did as he was told, and for glorious minutes of sheer eating delight, they spoke little.
'I gather,' he remarked, 'that you don't mind if I make an occasional ungentlemanly burp.'
'I understand you perfectly, James.'
'Good. Very good indeed.' And he ate with relish. 'I'm pleased.'
'Especially pleased?'
'Yes. Because, you see, I'm not a gentleman.'
'With your upbringing, education and so on, you're not? You could have fooled me.'
'I have fooled everybody else. But I am still not a gentleman. A gentleman is one who does not take out of life more than he puts in; therefore, I am automatically disqualified.'
She laughed. 'You're an original.'
'A semi-French way of saying I'm a bit off centre? Well, be glad you're neurotic. Mr Blasted Bruce has never met anyone of my stamp before, and he doesn't like it.'
Elsa pushed away the wreck of a superb lobster. 'You must admit that you got off to a rattling bad start.' She saw a momentary glint in his eye.
'Yes. I did. Bruce may be the king of his little castle, but I know better castles, and have seen better kings. He is well aware that I don't give a sod for him.'
'And how about Maseba?'
'Maseba - no; he gives me the slight inferiorities.'
'Impossible. Why?'
'Because he is the real gentleman on Vee Twelve. He can't beat me at my specialities, of course, but for all-round competence, he really rings the bell. Herr Bruce, I may say, has insisted that I share all routine medical duties with Maseba and Leela de Witt.'
'Like what?'
'Inspecting crewmen's cocks.'
She laughed.
The sheer monotony is incredible. Only thing I have been able to do is to give all the crew a bit of a warm up about ET life. Apart from that I have done nothing of any value.'
'Except your duty today.'
'I could have had a camera with me, of course, to take a picture of any unusual shape or size, but I simply didn't think of it. Oh well. Elsa, my sweet girl, that was admirable. Just about time to finish off the second bottle, I think...'
And when the table was cleared and all servants from the penthouse area gone, they took that deep refreshment which they both gave, and they slept from 0400 to 1200.
'. . .Leading Crewman Wasanov at once tried to go to the rescue of the trapped crane driver, Mears, trusting that he could swing himself on his safety line to the exact point of entry into the cab, and thus remove the man before either the fumes of shorted cables suffocated Mears, or an actual outbreak of fire took place. He was successful in this manoeuvre, and had the unconscious driver by one arm. At this point, before RESCUE, already busy with an a/g lift accident in Hangar D4, could send a telescopic lift, a fresh short in the electrical system of the crane occurred, causing both men to scream with pain. Wasanov let the crane driver fall, and Wasanov, unconscious, swung at the end of his safety line. Mears had multiple injuries, including a fractured pelvis and two broken legs. Wasanov was lowered to the ground. There was only the civilian doctor available,
Dr Rattray. He said to me that this fact contributed to Mears' death. Wasanov will probably never recover consciousness.' The little man who held a bright yellow helmet under his arm laid the document he had just read on the desk of Commander Bruce.
Bruce, his face an expressionless mask, glanced at Maseba, standing at his side. Then he said: 'Thank you, Mr Cohen. You're as good at your job as ever.'
'No, sir.'
'Why do you say that?'
'Well, sir, I try to anticipate accidents. If there was anything wrong with the electrics of that crane, I should have spotted it. And I didn't.'
'Yes. Well. Who's in charge of crane maintenance?'
'Mr Weyata, sir. New Zealander. But we can't blame—'
'It's a civilian matter, primarily, even though maybe we shall have to have an inquest on Leading Crewman Wasanov. He deserves a posthumous citation of some sort, and as it happened on duty his family will be taken care of. But the rest of it is not ours, fortunately. Thank you, Mr Cohen.'
'Thank you, sir,' said Cohen, and left the office.
Bruce turned to Maseba, and the senior medic returned stare for stare. Bruce said: 'I'm going to have that bastard's balls.''
'You mean—'
'Bloody hell, George, do you have to ask? Because of the number of Corps personnel still working on the ship, you detailed a Corps doctor to be on duty as well as Rattray. And he wasn't there!'
'Partly my fault,' Maseba muttered.
'Partly your - what are you talking about?'
'I should have mentioned it to him—'
'No! He should read orders the same as everyone else!' Maseba knew that. Bruce was right. But Maseba, with his respect for ability equalling his respect for human life, saw other aspects of the tragedy.
Took, Tom, I can't remember how long ago it was - before last night - when I detailed a Corps medic to go on standby with the civilian.'
The order was there. You gave it, rightly. Now just you keep to it.'
'If you're trying to turn Creighton into a Corps man, then you're making a great mistake, because you never will. With Jean-Claud Martin dead, Creighton is the top in his line, he's the only one worth considering in the matter of ET life—'
He's a medico on my ship, and he disobeyed a legitimate order. That's enough for me; and by God it had better be enough for you!'
; 'When a man has progressed as far as Creighton he can't condition himself very easily to looking at notice boards in order to see what he's supposed to do next. It's the sort of mistake which can happen to such a man. He's not flouting the order, he just didn't see it—'
'No excuse!'
'In my opinion, your dislike of this doctor is in danger of developing into an obsession.' That will slow you up, Maseba thought, that will give you something to chew on.
Bruce did not speak for twenty seconds; he stood quite still, with face like granite. When he did speak, it was quietly. "What are you planning to get me into?'
'I just gave you a medical opinion. If you like I'll write it down, sign it and stamp it, copy to the Surgeon General's Department.'
Bruce went to his desk and sat down, spread the fingers of his hands and put them flat before him, gazing at a spot between the thumbs.
Someone knocked at the door. Bruce said nothing, so Maseba went to it, and opened it to reveal Creighton, in civilian clothes. 'I say, I've just been told I'm wanted by the - the chief. Or do they mean you?'
'Come in, Dr Creighton,' Bruce said. Maseba stood aside, knowing that Bruce was going to have his row. If Bruce played his king, then Maseba would have to play his ace - and in consequence, suffer Bruce's disapproval.
'A man is dead,' Bruce said, with an oversimplification to which Maseba took instant exception, 'because you were not here on duty last night.'
Creighton's disbelief and surprise were perfectly genuine, Maseba could see that at once.
The ETL man read the report. 'This is most unfortunate.'
'I'm glad you think so,' Bruce growled.
'But who - who says I was on duty last night? I mean, I understood that the civilian - ah - Rattray—'
Maseba watched, with growing apprehension, the way in which Bruce, without the slightest possibility of his admitting it, was enjoying this encounter.
'Here, Dr Creighton, is the order which was on the notice board last night from sixteen hundred hours onwards.'
Creighton read it. 'I never saw it.'
'Because you didn't look!' Bruce was warming it up, now, getting close to what Maseba had heard called 'his number one frightener' manner. 'What do you think of the fact that your behaviour amounts to dereliction of duty?'
Creighton took it gently. 'How,' he asked patiently, 'could I obey an order which I didn't know about?' Maseba sympathized.
Bruce said: 'It is the duty of every officer under my command - and that includes you, whether you like it or not - to make himself acquainted with Orders Parts One, Two and Three at all times. Have you been told that?'
'Yes, but surely—'
'You pass that notice board quite a few times every day, I imagine?'
'I suppose so.'
'You suppose. Don't you know?'
'Yes, I do pass it.'
'But reading it is beneath you.'
Creighton's voice rose. 'I didn't say that. I am not fully accustomed to this routine, here on the ground. Once we are in space, I feel sure that I shall be able to—'
'Once we're in space. That includes you, does it, mister?'
'Well - yes. Of course.'
Maseba could anticipate the next step, and he hated what he knew he was going to hear.
'Right. Dr Creighton, in my opinion, and in the opinion of the Corps Regulations - which I claim to know rather well - you are guilty in the first degree of dereliction of duty. Look it up in the manual if you want, but that's what it says. This being so, you may now consider yourself under open arrest, confined to this shipyard until such time as a court martial is convened. I can have the senior clerk present you with the official notification, signed by me, during the next hour. Is that clear?'
Creighton said mildly: 'Look here, sir, I know I've made a boob, and I'm sorry. I do earnestly apologize for my omission. It really is that I don't sort of know my way around, yet. It hasn't sunk in. It will do. I'm sure. These days I'm - well - I'm a bit split up - if you follow me.' He stopped and looked appealingly at his commanding officer.
'I'm listening,' Bruce said.
'The thing that bothers me,' Creighton said with a modest dignity, 'is that I'm two people. I mean, I'm one person to myself, and another one to you. I think Dr Maseba knows what I'm getting at. On the one hand I am the world's number one expert on Extra-Terrestrial Life. On the other I'm the Surgeon Lieutenant JG, which, as far as the Corps is concerned, makes me the sick bay's general dogsbody. I've had only one opportunity to demonstrate the first qualities, and too many opportunities to be the second. Yet it is really by reason of the first that I am here at all. I'm hoping that we meet the ET life, and when and if we do meet it, I must have a crack at it. I must; I have got as far as I can without seeing one of the aliens.
'I must have one, alive. On the one hand, sir, there is the subspace programme, and on the other, you find me. It's odd, I admit, but until you put the alien alongside the subspace project with myself and Koninburger doing the
liaison work, little can really happen.'
'Unless we in this ship bring 'em back alive. I'll let you have your court-martial details within the hour, Lieutenant Creighton.'
So the young man was dismissed. Maseba came over to Bruce. 'First time I ever knew you to shit on your own doorstep, Tom.'
No answer.
He shook his head. 'Bad thing. Leave it there, and some stupid cluck is sure to kick it inside. And then you won't like the smell.'
'Now look here, George, we've been friends for a long time, but the day you try to tell me how to run my business, that friendship ends, simply because duty takes precedence.'
The court-martial would finish Creighton.'
'Fine,' barked Bruce, 'then maybe we'll get a junior medic with not so much idea of his own bloody self-importance.'
'But we need Creighton.'
'Who says?'
'Speaking as an experienced doctor. I say that we do.'
'Doctors can be replaced,' growled Bruce.
'Any of them?'
'As far as I'm concerned, yeah, any!'
'Oh.' Maseba made his voice as light as a feather. 'I'd like to tell you two things. One, I have again received a letter from Gus Morgenson, of that group practice I told you about, asking me when I'm coming back to - quote - "sensible hours and sensible money" - unquote. The other point is that I have the privilege of Corps medical officers of ten years service and over to sign on again, or to leave at the end of a tour of duty. In other words I can go to my quarters, change into civilian clothes and shove my service uniforms into the disposal chute, make a well known two-fingered gesture to you, and just walk out! How does that grab you, Tom?'
Maseba noticed that Bruce's shoulders were tense. Then, after a few seconds silence, he saw his CO relax. 'What are you trying to do to me, George?'
'Oh, nothing,' Maseba said, 'we just had a slight argument, and I think you lost. Right?' .
Bruce hesitated. 'Right. But he'll get a court-martial notice, overstamped "suspended".'
Chapter 6
K. lectured us twice, in the hall,
And was probably right on the ball
When he said: 'Now, the geon,
If you get what I mean,
Is three times the square of ferkall.'
(Lines found upon the board of Lecture Hall 3C of King's College, Cambridge. Author unknown)
It was after a midday meal - which had been one of the three weekly 'real meals' - that Leela de Witt, sitting opposite, had produced two white capsules, handed them to Creighton and, with a hint of severity said: 'You should have asked.' He took them, surprised: 'I should?' 'You should. You need two twice daily, I'd say. They take off the raw edge of it, for new boys. Somax "A". Aspirins plus, that's all.' He swallowed them at once.
'That's where your baggy eyes give you away. You're not sleeping properly, and not working properly, all because of the racket.'
'Now that's odd. There are lots of hums at different levels, but not a
racket.'
'Which only shows that you are getting used to it. But there's a much higher decibel count than it might seem.' Well, he thought, here is someone who is nice. Leela de
Witt was not in his way, in the path of his progress, therefore he could praise and like. Neither was Helen Lindstrom in his way. He admired her, but made little headway. But, he figured the time might come...
Come to that, neither was George Maseba in his way. Those who knew James Creighton could not imagine him as a humble man, but in the matter of the study of alien life, which was his work, his passion, his goal, he knew that he was an absolute beginner; the only thing that could be said in his favour was that he had begun.
It was this frank admission to Maseba that gained him his senior's sympathy. He did not know of the show of strength'that Maseba had once put up for him, but the African was keen on knowing about the aliens, and shared with Creighton the view that 'we may turn them into friends or foes, depending on how they are treated by us'. For the converse - that it might be interesting to see how the aliens treated human beings - neither of the two skilled medics cared much.
Naturally, it was to Maseba that Creighton showed his ideas about having some form of reception ready in sick bay if they were ever lucky enough to catch specimens. Creighton's needs were simple, so he thought. He wanted a compartment, double-doored like an airlock. He wanted gas cylinders operated from the outside to have their nozzles within the special room; the gases - Creighton's first guesses were nitrogen, oxygen, ammonia, methane, chlorine, hydrogen and sulphur, together with one of the 'pax' gases - so that the mixture the alien needed might be made up for him- easily from outside, the 'pax' in case the alien needed suppressing.
