Galactic Courier: The John Grimes Saga III

by A Bertram Chandler

  Grimes was obliged to rely heavily on his memories of his one previous visit to the planet; there was very little data concerning Joognaan in Bronson Star’s memory banks. But he was sure that he would be able to manage after making a rough visual survey from orbit. All that he had to identify was the one city of any size situated on a coastal plain, on the southern shore of a wide estuary and with a high mountain range to the eastward. The usual landing place for visiting starships was to the south of the city in a wide clearing, an obviously artificial field set in a forest. From this a broad road ran to the big town.

  The old ship dropped through the morning air, through the sparse scattering of high-altitude clouds that had not been thick enough to obscure her objective. Susie sat with Grimes in the control room. There was little that she could do to help as it was not necessary to man the NST radio. She spent most of the time staring out through the wide viewports, exclaiming now and again as something caught her attention.

  “Those must be ships down there . . . The sort of ships that sail on the sea, I mean . . . And there’s a railway . . .”

  “Early industrial culture,” said Grimes. “They’re still a long way behind us in engineering . . . But not in the medical sciences.”

  The clearing in the dark forest was showing up well in the stern vision screen. Grimes stepped up the magnification. There were no other spaceships in, which was all to the good. He reduced the scale again so that he could see something of the white road between city and clearing. There were a few moving black dots on it. So somebody was coming out to meet the ship. There would certainly be at least one linguist in the party, possibly Balaarsulimaam himself.

  He concentrated on his pilotage, keeping the black circle that had been painted at the center of the landing field coincident with the bull’s eye of the stern vision screen. He was having to make frequent applications of lateral thrust and the ship lurched as she fell through clear air turbulence. But at least, he thought, this time he wasn’t bringing Bronson Star in with the evil, black eyes of at least three pistol muzzles looking at him.

  He watched the presentation of radar altimeter readings, gradually slowed the rate of descent. At the finish the big ship was almost hovering, drifting down like a feather. Her vanes kissed the apron with the slightest of tremors rather than a jar.

  She was down.

  “We’re here,” said Grimes unnecessarily. He rang off the engines. He released himself from the command chair, went to the auxiliary control board and opened both inner and outer doors of the after airlock, extruded the ramp. He set the fans to work to flush out the ship with the fresh, forest air of Joognaan.

  “Tell Hodge to join me at the airlock,” he told Susie. “And you come along too.”

  He looked out from a viewport at the white road that ran between the somber trees like a parting in dark hair. The steam-driven cars of the Joognaanards did not have far to come. There would have been time for him, however, to change into a decent uniform if he had had a decent uniform to change into—but most of his possessions were still aboard Little Sister, back on Bronsonia. The hapless Paul had left finery in the captain’s cabin wardrobe but Grimes would sooner have gone naked than worn it.

  ***

  He stood at the foot of the ramp with Hodge and Susie a little behind him. He looked along the wide avenue as the three vehicles, puffing loudly and pouring smoke and steam from their tall funnels, approached. Shafts of morning sun smote through gaps in the trees and were reflected from bright, polished brasswork, shone on glossy scarlet and emerald paintwork. One of them blew its whistle in greeting, a loud, cheerful tootle.

  The high-wheeled, canopied, gaily painted cars trundled onto the apron. They stopped. Their passengers clambered out, six of them altogether. They hopped rather than walked toward the visitors. Were it not for their rather flat faces they would have looked like black-and-white furred, bushy-tailed kangaroos.

  They came to a halt before the three humans, stood staring at them. The humans looked at the natives. Which of them was Balaarsulimaam? Grimes wondered. All the Joognaanards looked the same to him. Was Balaarsulimaam one of the party? Unless things had changed he must be; during those drinking and talking sessions aboard Adder Balaarsulimaam had divulged that he always greeted visiting space captains, had expressed doubts that his deputy, nowhere near as accomplished a linguist, would be able to cope during his absence.

  One of the natives spoke. “Greetings, Captain Grimes. Have you come to have your ears diminished after all? The offer of our services still holds good.”

  Yes, remembered Grimes, Balaarsulimaam had made that offer. He remembered, too, that there was a patch of black fur, an almost perfect six-pointed star, on the envoy’s forehead. None of those with him were similarly marked; there were black patches aplenty but all of them irregular.

  “Greetings, Balaarsulimaam,” he said.

  “Or have you come for trade, Captain Grimes? I see that it is a merchant vessel that you now command. I fear that we have little wine in our warehouses; the ship Star Romany was here only six rotations since. We have artifacts, should you desire them.”

  “You have already reminded me that you once offered your services.”

  “To give them will be our pleasure. When we have finished your ears will be as the tender petals of the wurlilaya.”

  “Thank you,” said Grimes. “But it is not my ears that I wish fixed. It is this young lady, and her companion.”

  “But they are not injured.”

  “Do you recall telling me about that purser who was badly injured? How, at her request, you remade her in the image of a female entertainer? That is what I want done—to the lady. And the man I also want changed.”

  Balaarsulimaam made the transition from old friend and shipmate to businessbeing. “How will you pay, Captain Grimes, for operations of such magnitude? What goods have you to barter? Were it merely a matter of your ears there would be no charge—but for this other I fear that there must be.”

  “We have no goods for barter,” said Grimes, “but I remember that you told me that your people will now accept money in lieu. We can pay in Federation credits.”

  “That is good. We endeavor to save an amount sufficient for the purchase of a Carlotti transmitting and receiving station. May we come aboard to discuss terms?” Then, in what was obviously an attempt at humor, “I hope that you have remembered my taste in potable spirits.”

  “I remember,” Grimes told him, “but I’m afraid that we have no whisky, Scotch or otherwise. But what we do have in the way of spirits is quite drinkable.”

  He led the way up the ramp.

  Chapter 21

  BALAARSULIMAAM was the only one of the party with any real command of standard English; the others just squatted on their haunches around the wardroom, lapping the brandy that was a fast-diminishing monument to Mortdale’s mess sergeant, noisily nibbling sweet biscuits, conversing now and again among themselves in voices that reminded Grimes of a convocation of Siamese cats.

  Balaarsulimaam himself did not talk much at first; he was interested in the brief and edited account of Grimes’ adventures since they had last seen each other. He was told of the Bacon Bay fiasco; the version given him was something of a whitewash job on Susie and Hodge. According to it they had acted under duress as much as Grimes himself had done and were anxious to escape only from the vengeance of the royalist underground rather than from the processes of Bronsonian law.

  Balaarsulimaam listened with apparent sympathy, although it was impossible for a Terran to discern any expression on that black-and-white furred face. Then he said that it would be possible for the biotechnicians to operate on Hodge and Susie and that their board and lodging until the next ship dropped in—probably in about thirty days—would present no problems. He promised to do his best to maintain the clone fiction should the visiting tramp master ask too many questions—although it had to be explained to him what a clone was.

  It was then that Grimes began
to have serious doubts about Joognaan biological expertise—after all, the level of technology on the planet was not high; at this moment of time the proud apex of mechanical evolution was still the steam engine. And yet he had believed, when he had been told it, the story of the injured purser of the star tramp who had not only been healed but remodeled to her own specifications.

  Balaarsulimaam named the price.

  It was high—but nowhere nearly as high as a body-sculpture job on Earth would have been.

  Grimes looked at Susie; she knew to the last Federation Credit how much folding money had been brought aboard at Porlock by General Mortdale. Susie looked back at Grimes. She nodded.

  “All right,” said Grimes.

  “You will be pleased by what we shall do,” said Balaarsulimaam.

  “I hope so. I bloody well hope so, for that money,” growled Hodge.

  Susie glared at him.

  “Then, tomorrow in the morning, I will call for you. You, Miss Susie, and you, Mr. Hodge, will bring with you representations of what you wish that your new appearances will be. Flat pictures will do, although if you have—what do you call them?”

  “Solidographs,” supplied Grimes.

  “Yes. They will be better.”

  “Where would I get a solidograph from?” demanded Hodge.

  “I’ll find something for you,” said Susie.

  ***

  After the Joognaanards had left, Grimes and Susie went for a stroll in the forest. This was definitely an Earth-type—a very Earth-type apart from the dominant species—planet, a fine example of parallel evolution. To Grimes—who was no botanist—the trees were just trees, the bushes just bushes, the flowers just flowers. There were flying insects—great, gaudy butterflies, other things like tiny, arthropodal bats. An animal that scurried rapidly up a tree at their approach could have been a Terran squirrel, had it not been for its long, rabbit-like ears.

  They came to a pool in a clearing; the water looked very inviting. Grimes remembered that Balaarsulimaam had told him that Joognaan possessed no dangerous carnivores, no predators that would attack animals larger than themselves—and the indigenous humanoids were the biggest life form. Did that sweeping statement apply to aquatic fauna?

  While he was pondering Susie stripped.

  She entered the pool with a loud splash, called, “Come on in! The water’s fine!”

  She struck out for the opposite bank; her pale body gleaming enticingly under the clear water. Grimes threw off his shirt, stepped out of his shorts and underwear, kicked off his sandals and followed her.

  Yes, he thought, the water was fine. And this natural exercise, after the artificial calisthenics aboard the ship, was good. He met Susie in mid-pool. They clung to each other, kissed as they went under. They broke apart, surfaced. She made for a bank where sunlight struck down through the surrounding trees, brightly illumining an area of smooth, brightly green grass. She clambered out, fell to her knees and then rolled over on to her back, legs wide spread.

  Grimes joined her, dropped beside her, kissed her again. She was ready, he knew, as he was ready. He mounted her, his chest pillowed on her ample breasts. Her legs came up and over to imprison the lower portion of his body. The sun was warm on his back, her skin was hot below his.

  ***

  She said sleepily, “This was the best . . .” And almost the last time, thought Grimes. Even if he stayed on Joognaan for a few days after the body-change Susie would no longer be Susie. Even her personality would be changing—slowly or not so slowly. Minds may—may?—be supreme but they are, inevitably, conditioned by the bodies that they inhabit.

  She said, “I know what you’re thinking, John.”

  “What?” he asked almost guiltily.

  “That this is almost the last time for us. But it needn’t be. Why shouldn’t you change your physical identity too? You can lift Bronson Star from where she is now, land her again somewhere where she won’t be seen by any incoming spaceships. She’ll be a treasure house of metals and machinery for these people. And you . . . You just sit tight with Hodge and myself, just another phoney clone, waiting for the next star tramp to drop in.”

  Grimes said, “I have to stay me. I have to earn a living the only way that I know how. If I change my identity the Master Astronaut’s certificate, issued to John Grimes, is no longer valid . . .”

  She told him, “There’ll be plenty of money left—even after we’ve paid for the body change and our board and lodging here and our passages to wherever . . .”

  Grimes said, “But I have my responsibilities, Susie.”

  “To the cheese-paring owners of that rustbucket you were baby-sitting? Forget about them. They’ll do well enough out of the insurance.”

  They probably would, thought Grimes. After a suitable lapse of time somebody in far-away London would toll the Lutine bell and Lloyd’s, admitting that Bronson Star was Missing, Presumed Lost, would pay out. And Little Sister would be sold to somebody not worthy of her, somebody who, in all probability, would regard her as marketable precious metal rather than a ship.

  He said, “I’m sorry. Really sorry. But I have to adhere to my original plan.”

  She smiled in a rather odd manner.

  She whispered, “We’ll see about that.”

  ***

  He expected that she would sleep with him again that night and exert all her charm upon him to try to make him change his mind.

  But she did not.

  Chapter 22

  BAARSULIMAAM called for them quite early the next morning. Grimes was awakened by the alarm that Hodge had set up to give warning of anybody or anything approaching the ship. He hurried up to the control room, looked out and down and saw the steam car standing there and a native getting out from the driver’s seat. He opened inner and outer doors by remote control then took the elevator down to the stern. He reached the head of the ramp just as Baarsulimaam was coming up it.

  “A good morning to you, Captain Grimes. Forgive my early coming but there was something that I should have told you yesterday. Your friends must not break their fast before the operation.”

  “Susie won’t like that,” said Grimes. “But come aboard, Baarsulimaam. Perhaps you will join me in coffee and toast after I have awakened her and Hodge.”

  “It will be my pleasure.”

  Baarsulimaam waited in Grimes’ day cabin while he called Susie and Hodge. The girl was not at all pleased with the instructions that Grimes passed on to her, said. “I suppose that you’ll want to stuff yourself as usual. Well, you can cook your own bloody breakfast.”

  “I’ll do just that,” Grimes told her.

  Hodge, when he was awakened and told the news, growled, “I suppose I’m allowed to go to the crapper . . .”

  “That, I should imagine,” said Grimes, “will be not only allowable but essential.”

  He went back to his own quarters, made a hasty toilet, dressed and then took the native down to the wardroom. He made coffee and a big tray of toast, found jams and savory spreads—more legacies from the ill-fated royalist expeditionary force. He and Baarsulimaam quite enjoyed the makeshift meal, even when, at the finish of it, they were being watched sulkily by Susie.

  The four of them went down to the waiting steam car. Grimes felt a little guilty about leaving the ship unattended but, with the outer airlock door closed and set to open only if the correct code were pushed on the Watchman, as the special button was called, she was safe enough. Susie and Hodge clambered into the back seats of the vehicle, tried to adjust themselves comfortably on a bench that had not been designed for human bodies. Grimes got in beside Balaarsulimaam in the front. It was not the first time that he had ridden in one of these steam cars but, as on that long ago past occasion, he was impressed by the simplicity of the controls. Steam gauge, water gauge, oil fuel gauge . . . Three wheel valves, one of which radiated heat in spite of the insulation around it . . . A steering wheel . . . A lanyard for the whistle . . . A reversing lever . . .


  The native fed steam into the reciprocating engine, which started at once. He threw the gear lever, which had been in neutral, into reverse, backed away from the ship, turning. Once headed in the right direction he started off along the avenue, soon reaching a good speed.

  It was a pleasant enough drive. The sun was just up and bright shafts of light, made visible by the lingering nocturnal mistiness, were striking through the tall, firlike trees. Once or twice small animals scurried across the road ahead of the car, too fast for the humans to get a good look at them—not that Susie or Hodge were in a mood to be interested in the local zoology. They were both unfed and apprehensive, sitting in glum silence.

  Beyond the forest were the fields and beyond the fields was the city. The low shrubs, with their dark-blue foliage, each laden with ripening yellow fruit, stood ranged in military precision, row after row of them. In comparison—not that comparison was necessary—the city was a jumble, a scattering on the outskirts, a huddle toward the center, of what Grimes had thought of when he first saw them as red-brick igloos. He still thought of them that way. Very few of them were higher than one story; the Joognaanards used ramps rather than staircases and a very large structure is needed to accommodate such a means of ascent from level to level.

  Trees and bushes grew in profusion between the domes and even on the domes themselves although the roads were kept well cleared of encroaching vegetation. There was little traffic abroad—the Joognaanards are not early risers—but such few pedestrians as were about, such few drivers and passengers of steam cars who were already going about their various businesses, looked curiously at the three Terrans in Balaarsulimaam’s vehicle—but not ill-manneredly so.

  They came at last to a large dome almost in the center of the city, one of those standing around a wide, circular plaza. Glistening white letters, looking like the trail left by a drunken snail, shone above its arched doorway.