by John Kippax
Maseba said: 'Does it ever occur to you that the Minos aliens, the Kepler aliens, plus one or two other odd sightings, may not be all the same sort of alien? That in fact we could have come near to contacting three or four different sorts?'
Creighton looked at the other with utter solemnity. 'Wel
come,' he said, 'to my favourite nightmare. Shall I go on explaining this scratchy drawing to you?'
'I can guess most of the rest. In any case, I'm going for a walk.'
Creighton just sat and looked at him; what the hell sort of man was Maseba? Here they were, hurling through space at light ninety and still accelerating, and Maseba was going for a walk.
Creighton said, 'I'll come with you. It should be instructive.'
'The idea,' Maseba said, as they took the elevator down to the power systems, 'is that the gardener's shadow is the best fertilizer. You heard that saying? In our case it also translates into "prevention is better than cure". You just go around talking to people, never mind ranks, you're the doc, see? And as you chat, you look for clues, an awkward stance, twitch, a slight stutter where you hadn't noticed one before, uneconomical movements, and so on. They all tell a story.' He stopped for a moment, gazing at nothing. 'I remember once spotting a pregnant crew-woman whose belly was flat as a board, simply by the way she walked. And from behind... It's a knack.'
The elevator halted with a clunk, and as the door slid open they were met by a wave of noise felt through the feet rather than through the ear drums. Creighton winced. 'Use your ear plugs,' Maseba said, and Creighton gratefully armed himself against the vibration which was so intense that it carried a touch of fear. The plugs cut out the engine noise, but speech was audible.
Creighton nodded his thanks. They walked the length of the shiny alley, Creighton remembering that he and the Russian Lieutenant Commander had met only once. He'd glimpsed Lindstrom, once or twice in grubby coveralls...
Maseba thumped a red button on the shiny door which was the shape of an elongated oval. The door opened, and there stood an enormous man, nearly two metres in height, with a knobbly, high-cheekboned face, and a large grin of welcome. He shook hands with Creighton, and the latter decided that there were probably no bones broken.
Maseba conversed with the top engineer. Creighton took a walk along the aseptically clean room, where men wore briefs, shoes and caps; it seemed that there were no female engineers or, if there were, they did not work in power control. He found himself moving along, examining each dial and screen. When he turned at the end of the short promenade, he saw that a curved section of panelling, half wall, half ceiling, was out. Kusnetzov was pointing at this, explaining to Maseba. There was some easily-spotted joke there, about the chief engineer's size relative to the opening's measurements.
Creighton watched. A sandalled foot came through the opening, then another. He watched idly, for a moment, then his attention snapped up to full. Those legs were female, and they belonged to a big woman, lowering herself down through the opening. The legs were long, the hips, clad in minimal briefs, were broad and entirely right for the length and size of leg. Then came the rest of her; her clothing, in addition to the briefs and sandals, was a cap set on rich golden hair, and a man's singlet partially covering firm breasts. She turned to Maseba and Kusnetzov, and smiled and chatted; Creighton stood apart, deeply stirred...
Lindstrom put on her coveralls, Maseba and Creighton continued Maseba's walk, and while Creighton listened to Maseba, and saw him, in less oppressive circumstances, exercise his freedom and concern for the crew - he knew everyone's name - Creighton's mind was also concerned with Lindstrom. Who amused and satisfied the woman? Looking as she did, it was impossible for her to do without, Creighton figured, unless she was some kind of liz.
Bruce was alone, running through some of his orders from Corps Central, mugging up a few details from the half dozen closely printed sheets. In a Corps ship, the CO rated three areas which were especially his own. He had his cabin, his office next door to it, and, up at bridge, a standby room where he could rest apart from the crew when there was any sort of alert.
He was not a man much given to fantasies. He had become used to the loneliness of command. To him, it was more of an outside shell than a burden, a carapace which thickened steadily over the years, an all-embracing protection which enabled him to maintain high efficiency. He never thought of further promotion, though Admiral Gerber back home had him down for rear-admiral in two, maybe three years. Sometimes he thought of good crew personnel he wished he could have kept, like Lt (R) Yvonne Maranne, a beautiful octoroon of French ancestry who had been the best radar officer he had ever known. Sometimes he thought of the dead, like that fool Piet Huygens, the defecting medico who died in the Kepler holocaust. . . [see Seed of Stars]
The orders...
Piloris Five. Get the true story of all the alleged claim-jumping, and have all statements and depositions voice- recorded. Note - smart operator in titanium and other difficult metals, a Mr Achmeed, may he there under false papers. Pictures herewith. If you find him, have him tried under Piloris law for the following charges... Interview Excelsior agent there. Record secretly, run recording through lie detector, take appropriate action... Ariadne Four. Possibility of ecological balance being dangerously disturbed by man, though only sixty-eight thousand total colonists. Rules for maintaining balance laid down, (see Appendix A). Check in detail. Special directives re control of Japanese Knot grass. (See Appendix B) Suggest that Lt Fulton be in total charge of this. Also...
He welcomed the tap at the door. 'Come in, George.'
Maseba saluted on entrance. Then he became less formal.
'Been doing some drawing. I have to show you. Need your authority to proceed.'
'Right here,' Bruce said, and Maseba spread the drawing on the Commander's desk.
"You didn't do this,' Bruce observed.
Maseba's eyes widened. "Well, of course not. PO Martinelli's the expert. I don't keep dogs and bark myself.'
'Structural,' Bruce's voice held a faint note of surprise.
'Sick bay modification. Need a room six metres by eight, minimum, and the following fittings as listed here...'
Bruce said: 'I thought you'd shot your bolt with your insulation drawings back home.'
'This isn't directly for me,' Maseba replied, and to Bruce's attentive ear he sounded a fraction too carefully spoken. 'But it's necessary, I think,' the MO added, 'otherwise we might be caught unawares.'
'Who's "we"? Command, or medical branch, who?'
'Both of those. This is a cage for an alien. If you just look at—'
Bruce felt as though something had snapped inside his head. 'Who initiated this modification?' There was not a scrap of friendliness in his voice, now.
'Creighton.'
Bruce made a grunt, and stared at the drawing, typical of the efficiency of PO Martinelli. The stare became something of a glare, with which expression he looked up at Maseba, who was totally unimpressed.
Maseba said: 'Creighton knows his business. We have to be ready.'
'I'm ready,' Bruce said.
'All you want is something to shoot at,' Maseba said, somewhat sharply, 'but Creighton and I want to catch one alive, if it's possible.'
'Oh,' Bruce said, Creighton and I, you say?'
'As an all-rounder,' Maseba said, 'I can lick Creighton; but he is the expert. How can we afford not to be ready in any possible way?'
'Let's not have you forgetting that you're the boss, medically. What you say goes.'
'You can't apply rigid Corps rules to everything,' Maseba* said patiently.
'I can,' Bruce said.
'I've noticed,' Maseba replied, 'and a fat lot of good may it do us, if you try to treat Charlie Alien as though he was a pubtrans mugger.'
Bruce exhaled air, and his personal irritation lowered a little. 'If you, as my chief medic, assure me that this needs to be done, then that's enough for me. Consult the Siberian Bear, and let his men get on with it.'
'Possibly,' Bruce said, 'but I'd be more interested if he also got what he really needs, and I don't mean from the standpoint of hotel accommodation for wandering aliens.'
'Message received and understood,' Maseba returned, and as he saluted, there was not the slightest glint of humour in his face.
For some moments after Maseba had left, Bruce stared at the documents in front of him without giving them the slightest attention. Then he roused himself, and continued his study...
...Leander One. (See Directive EX/217/PI/An/Merc/PM) It is possible now, with the coming into service of Fridge suit type D(Impr) that metallurgists may be landed safely upon this planet. Duration of stay probably around three to three and a half hours. Imperative that only truly necessary risks are taken...
Balomain Four. This is to be a social visit of selected top personnel. TOP SECRET message to Captain in code D/5/1A herewith.
Criticism is neither possible nor permissible, as we are in extraordinary situation of being very much second behind the Excelsior Corporation's venture into the possibilities of
subspace travel. Should the Excelsior authority issue an order relative to the scientific work, the Corps representatives will obey without question...
Bruce pondered over that last piece. Oh, yes, he could see behind it the face of Elsa Niebohr, and, faintly behind that the features of her father, Old Elkan. Bruce had not forgotten how she cursed and raved at him on the occasion when duty had brought him out of her bed and away from her before she had gained her satisfaction. Bruce was not proud of that episode.
Once, talking with Bill Kibbee, the priest with the honorary rank of lieutenant who travelled with Vee Twelve, Bruce had taxed him upon the moral values of the business world of their times. Bruce thought it stank, and said so.
'Yes,' Kibbee said, placidly.
'What's the solution?'
'It has been laid out for us, in detail, for over two thousand years. We still choose to ignore most of it.'
'So what can be done about it? Tighter laws?'
"Rats are cunning enough to gnaw a way through anything.'
"Then what's the answer? We can't kill all the rats, or block the holes up fast enough.'
Kibbee shook his head gravely. 'God remains.'
'And I've no doubt He has a bloody uncomfortable time of it.'
Creighton had picked the woman he needed. A study of duty schedules showed him that his off-duty period and hers coincided; this, with the addition of a few discreet inquiries, gave him enough to start on. Everything else would follow.
In the wardroom were no more than half a dozen officers, most of them juniors. Creighton sat at a table on his own, with a chess board containing a complete set; a book was open beside him. He studied the book, then made moves according to the play set down. He pondered frequently; he turned the book over at one point and sat in deep study for fully ten minutes. Although the other officers present knew him and found him reasonably easy to get on with, the fact that he advertised himself as a chess buff kept company away from him.
He heard her come in, and took no notice.
'Ah, now the evening's a lot brighter.'
'Let me buy you a drink, madam, and I'll tell you the story of my life.'
'You're a scoffing, doubting, superficial lot.' Her voice was light and bantering. 'Very well, then. Citron on the rocks.'
'Sam, you heard the lady.'
'Yes, sir.'
'There. See how he pours her a double. You're in Sam's good books, ma'am.'
She answered: 'Sam knows when he's well off. As mess president, in a few days I shall be going through his books; every single drink chit.'
'Give them to me, ma'am.' (That was Lawrence, from astrogation.) 'I'll run 'em through the computer in a minute.'
'Commander Lindstrom,' the barman ventured, 'knows when the personal touch is needed. I'd hate to be told off by a computer.'
Then there was general chatter and, deliberately, Creighton blotted it out of his mind, knowing that, sooner or later, she would come and stand beside him. For ten minutes he played the game and checked with the book, the only slight disturbance being a momentary imbalance of the ship's internal gravity.
Now he was looking at the sparse, oddly placed remains of the game. He set himself to concentrate; much harder than this, and you got onto the three-level game. There was nothing in Creighton's world but the chessboard until, at last, he felt a faint movement behind him, and a tiny drift of an odour of cleanliness, rather than perfume, came to his nostrils. i
She was beside him.
'What book?' she asked.
'Fischer.'
'Ah. One of the wild ones.' She came just a little closer. 'White queen is in great danger.'
'And I, Creighton said, without taking his eyes from the board, 'am in great danger of resigning through sheer incompetence.'
'Are you going on your self-imposed rules... the generally accepted ones for book playing, that is?'
'Yes. But sometimes no.'
'Well, that's the way it is with most of us.'
Now was the time to look up, and say with a smile—
'Ah,' Creighton said, 'you look a lot different from when we met downstairs.'
She sat down beside him, returned his smile. They were two people of the same colouration...
'You mean I'm clean, and I'm clothed. What you saw - namely me crawling round inside some shielding - is part of a policy.'
'Which is?' Creighton was performing an old, standard manoeuvre - of letting his eyes rove with undisguised approval while his manner remained deferential.
'Rub it into the crew that whatever they can do, you can. That can't apply to medics, I know, but it's something we do believe in. Lieutenant Lee, for example - he runs competitions in gun stripping and assembling, and pays fines to any gunner who can beat him. He doesn't lose much.'
'Guns? This ship has guns?'
'No. But missile crews are still called gunners.' She turned her attention to the chessboard. 'Why not look up the ending and put yourself out of your misery?'
Creighton did so, grimaced, and swept the board's contents into a jumble with those which had gone before. 'You play, obviously.'
'Yes. Once George and I used to play a lot, even though we often didn't actually meet. But he's had to give up in favour of study, of keeping up with new material.'
'Perhaps you will be my guest?' Creighton suggested.
Now Creighton was conscious that she was appraising him; he didn't mind.
Look as much as you like, madam. I assure you it's all good quality...
'I've some tapes of the Fischer-Spassky games.'
'Ah.'
'With the waits edited, of course.'
'That's a kindly thought,' Creighton remarked, and he was conscious that there was now no hint of guardedness in the kind of replies they exchanged.
'There are half a dozen of which I never tire. They really cut me down to size. Would you like to see one, on my player?'
With no hint of emotion, or speed, Creighton, feeling that the whole thing was going rather well, fitted the pieces in their box. 'That would be delightful.' He finished replacing the pieces, closed the box, folded the board, and took up the book as well. With the three items under his arm, he made towards the wardroom door. As soon as that door closed, one of the juniors remaining inside gave a long whistle in a low register, and shook his head in envy.
'There ought to be a law, you know,' he murmured.
'Don't kid yourself child, you'd fail your practical.'
'I think you're an assuming lot.'
'And you're unassuming? That'll get you promotion, all right!'
Someone knocked at the wardroom door, and opened it. CPO Dockridge was a man of such character that he dare knock and open in the same second, and not be reproved.
'Yes, Doc?' Lawrence said.
'I don't
wanna worry any of you gents, but I think you ought to know that—'
She said: 'I'll be frank with you, James. I've been taking anti-pills ever since we lifted off. It's a long time. I've no time for boys, or for dear lumbering oafs like Sergei. I've an appetite; I need it satisfying, but really satisfying. Are you prepared to see if we match?'
'Yes. Of course. And no rancour if we don't.'
'Fine. I thought you'd say that. And I've a feeling that we might be right.'
As she made the gesture of pushing aside the videotape player, the main alarm of the ship clanged harshly and unceasingly, crying alert stations alert stations alert stations alert stations...
Chapter 7
I heard a young engineer say, recently - and I was not deliberately eavesdropping - 'be a nice change when we start to build'. I could understand his feelings, but 1 fear that the realization of his hope may be delayed. We are only half-way to proving the mathematics. If I were truly a brilliant man, none of this would have been necessary; all that would have been needed was that I sit at my desk, hour after hour, week after week until, having covered X number of sheets of paper, I produce the answer in one line or, at the most, two.
PROFESSOR HANS KONINBURGER
to his senior staff at Project Elkan Base
Elsa Niebohr sat opposite the World President, in his large, plain and quite beautiful office. October rain beat soundlessly upon the broad windows.
'If your father were alive, and this venture were in progress, I feel sure that he would have been not quite as proud as his daughter.' Fong's smile was gentle, as he gazed at his vivid visitor.
'Do tell me why, Mr President.'
'Your father would have been after me, I'm sure, for more help from the Space Corps.'
'You volunteered help. The generators from Blue Mountain are much valued, though we have installed them a little differently.' She was not trying to fool him with her expertise. 'Beneath each one is a shaft one thousand metres deep, with sleeved plunger covers, so that, if need be, the whole pile can be dropped and covered, and cause no damage. And that was a Corps idea, which they never used.'
