“It seemed a good idea at the time,” said Grimes.
Chapter 19
THE VOYAGE FROM AUSTRAL to Earth had been a short one, barely long enough for Sister Sue’s people to get to know the ship and each other. That from Earth to El Dorado occupied all of two standard months. Dislikes that had been engendered on that initial trip now had ample time to develop, to fester. Grimes did not need Mayhew’s psionic snooping to make him aware of the lack of harmony. Continually, it seemed, there was somebody at his door to complain about somebody else. The Green Hornet was a frequent visitor. According to her everybody aboard the ship was a male chauvinist pig, with the obvious exception of Magda Granadu. She was even more contemptible; she had sold out to the enemy, was a traitor to her sex. Then there were the inertial/reaction drive juniors with their never-ending whinges about the food, and the Mannschenn Drive juniors to lay complaint about the table manners, in the duty engineers’ mess, of those whom they despised as mere mechanics. There were squabbles all the time about what programs should be shown on the playmaster. Even Williams—and it took a lot to ruffle him—said his piece. He practically demanded that Kate Connellan be paid off on El Dorado.
“I’d like to do it, Billy,” said Grimes. “By all the Odd Gods of the Galaxy I’d like to do it! But she’s a Guild member, just as you and I and Mr. Venner are. Unless she does something justifying instant dismissal we’re stuck with her. Even then, I doubt if the El Doradans would allow us to turn her loose on their precious planet. They’re very fussy.”
“You’ve been there, Skipper, haven’t you?”
“Yes. Once, years ago. When I was a very junior lieutenant in the cruiser Aries. The El Doradans were polite enough but they made it quite plain that we, from the Old Man down, were no more than snotty-nosed kids from the wrong side of the tracks . . .”
That wasn’t quite true, thought Grimes, remembering. The old Duchess of Leckhampton had been kind enough to him—and the Princess Marlene von Stolzberg rather more than kind. But they had used him, nonetheless. Still, he had been told that he could return to El Dorado to become a citizen once he had made his first billion credits . . . The two main requirements for citizenship were noble ancestry and money—and of them money was by far the more important. Titles can be purchased. Grimes wondered how much Drongo Kane, Commodore Baron Kane, had paid for his . . .
“But you’re a shipowner, now, Skipper,” said Williams, “not a mere hairy-arsed spaceman.”
“But I’m not a rich shipowner, Billy . . .”
And Drongo Kane, of course, was a rich shipowner. And, being Drongo Kane, wanted to be richer still.
“What’s El Dorado like, Skipper?”
“It’s a garden world, Billy. Huge estates, with mansions and even castles. At least one of those castles was shipped, stone by stone, from Earth. Schloss Stolzberg. I was a guest there.”
“And who was your host? Some crusty old Prussian baron?”
“No. As a matter of fact it was a very charming princess.”
“And yet you say that you were treated like a snotty-nosed kid from the wrong side of the tracks?”
“No. Not treated like. After all, aristocrats have very good manners when they care to exercise them. Regarded as would be a better way of putting it. And we were welcome only because they wanted something from us. Once they got it, it was on your bicycle, spaceman!”
The telephone on Grimes’ desk buzzed sharply.
“Yes?” he demanded.
Keyed to his voice the screen came alive. Looking out from it was Magda Granadu. She was pale, her expression worried.
“Captain, can you come down to the general room? There’s trouble. A fight . . .”
“Who’s involved?”
“Mr. Venner and two of the engineers. It’s two of them, the engineers, against one . . .”
“We’ll be right down,” said Grimes.
Williams followed him out into the circular alleyway around the axial shaft. As usual, when there was any hurry, the lift cage was decks away. It came up at last—but then was reluctant to commence its descent.
The fight was over by the time that they hurried into the general room. Venner was standing there, scowling ferociously. There were the beginnings of a bruise on his right cheek. Also standing were Malleson, the Mannschenn Drive chief, and Giddings, one of his juniors. Not standing were Singh and Paulus. They were sprawled on the deck and making a mess on the carpet. Blood mingled with vomit.
“Captain!” Malleson stepped forward. “That man is dangerous! He should be put under arrest!”
Magda Granadu came back into the general room, overheard what Malleson was saying.
“It was two against one!” she cried. “It was self-defense!”
“But Mr. Venner was fighting to hurt, to kill,” stated Malleson.
Venner said, “Why else should one fight?” He turned to Grimes. “I was watching the playmaster, sir. As a matter of fact I had it hooked up to the computer so that I could learn something about El Dorado. Mr. Malleson was watching it too. Mr. Giddings was reading. Then Mr. Singh and Mr. Paulus came in. Mr. Paulus said, ‘Who the hell wants this? What about one of those good sex spools we got at Port Woomera?’ He switched off the playmaster. I made to switch it back on. Then he struck me.”
“Is that true, Mr. Malleson?” asked Grimes.
“Yes, Captain. But it still doesn’t justify the savagery of Mr. Venner’s counterattack. He used his feet, and the edges of his hands . . .”
“And why not?” asked Venner. “I do have certain skills. Why should I not use them?”
“A fist fight is a fair fight,” insisted Malleson.
“When it’s two against one?” asked Venner. “You saw how Singh was taking a swipe at me before I’d finished with Paulus. And what’s all this rubbish about fist fighting being somehow manly, even noble? The noble art of self-defense? Why don’t you grow up?”
“Mr. Venner!” snapped Grimes.
“Sorry, Captain. But I just don’t like being mauled by drunks while I’m quietly minding my own business.”
“Were Mr. Singh and Mr. Paulus drunk?” Grimes asked.
“They may have been drinking,” admitted Malleson.
Meanwhile Magda, carrying a first-aid box, had come back into the general room, was wiping clean the faces of the two half-conscious engineers, and spraying their cuts and bruises with antiseptic syntheskin.
She said, “I’d like to get these two to the dispensary so that I can look at them properly.”
“Will you give me a hand, Mr. Giddings?” asked Williams.
He and the Mannschenn Drive engineer got Paulus to his feet, supported him as he staggered out into the alleyway. After a short while they returned for Singh. Him they had to carry.
“I’ll see you in my day cabin,” Grimes said to Venner.
“And do you want me, Captain?” asked Malleson. “I was a witness.”
“I may want to see you later,” Grimes said. Then, to Venner, “Come with me.”
***
“You realize, Mr. Venner,” said Grimes, “that I shall have to make an entry in the Official Log.”
“Of course, sir.”
“You realize, too, that this could blow up into an inter-union dispute. Mr. Paulus and Mr. Singh are members of the Institute of Interstellar Engineers. They were required to join before they signed Articles at Port Southern. I shan’t be at all surprised if they send a Carlottigram to the Institute as soon as they’re recovered.”
“You seem to be remarkably well versed in industrial matters. Sir.”
The man wasn’t quite insolent although he was not far from it.
“I’ve been reading through the industrial files left by my predecessors on this ship,” said Grimes. “They had their worries.”
“The sort of worries, sir, that need not concern us. We’re Survey Service, not civilians.”
“As far as this ship is concerned, Mr. Venner, we are civilians. We must comport ourselve
s as such. I am asking you—no, ordering you—to apologize to the engineers. I know that they asked for trouble, and got it, but I don’t want to get involved in any legal/industrial hassles after we’ve set down on El Dorado.”
Venner scowled. “All right,” he said at last. “I’ll apologize. Under protest.”
“Just say that you’re sorry,” advised Grimes, “for having used overmuch force to protect yourself. After all, you did not strike the first blow.”
Somebody was hammering on the door. The Green Hornet, thought Grimes. She would be coming off watch now—and she, for some reason, hated to use the buzzer.
“Come in,” he called.
She came in. She looked at Grimes coldly, glared at Venner.
“Captain,” she almost shouted, “there are times when the Guild must stand by the Institute and this is one of them. I have heard how this man beat up Mr. Singh and Mr. Paulus. I demand that you do something about it.”
“Mr. Venner is a member of the Guild,” pointed out Grimes mildly. “As Mr. Williams is. As I am. Mr. Williams feels, as I feel, that Mr. Venner was merely defending himself from an unprovoked assault.”
“There must be a proper inquiry,” said Kate Connellan. “There must be punishment, a heavy fine at the very least.”
“Yes,” Grimes said thoughtfully, “I suppose that I could fine Mr. Paulus for his unprovoked assault on Mr. Venner . . . Although, possibly, he has been punished enough.”
“Are you mad?” she demanded. “It is Venner who should be punished.”
“Mr. Venner,” Grimes corrected her.
“There must be an inquiry,” she insisted, “with proper entries in the Official Log.”
“There will be log entries,” said Grimes at last. He had better make such, he supposed, just to clear his own yardarm, if nobody else’s. Neither the Guild nor the Institute would have representation on El Dorado but Sister Sue, as a merchant ship, would in the future be visiting worlds on which the Astronautical unions maintained officials. “Get back up to the control room, Ms. Connellan, to relieve Mr. Williams for a few minutes. I shall want him to countersign what I put down.”
“But why the mate? I can write, Captain.”
“You were not a witness to any of what happened. Mr. Williams was.”
“Then I insist that I be allowed to read the entry.”
Grimes sighed. “You, Ms. Connellan, as second officer of this vessel, as part of your duties, make all the routine log entries—arrivals, departures, drills, inspections. The log is, therefore, accessible to you at any time. Relieve Mr. Williams, please.”
“Aye, aye, Captain, sir!” she replied sardonically and was gone.
Grimes used his telephone to call Malleson, the main witness, and old Crumley, who was the department superior of the two injured junior engineers. He called Magda Granadu, who told him that Mr. Singh had been fit enough to go on watch and that Mr. Paulus was also fit for duty. Grimes asked her to come up with the two senior engineers.
Williams came down from control. He seemed to be amused about something. Malleson, Crumley and Magda arrived shortly afterward. The engineers took seats as far away from the scowling Venner as possible.
Grimes said, “I am making a log entry on these lines. I shall say that in my opinion, Mr. Venner overreacted to the threat against his person. He is prepared to apologize to Mr. Paulus and Mr. Singh for this overreaction. I am stating that Mr. Paulus struck Mr. Venner after a slight argument over the playmaster programing, that Mr. Venner acted in self-defense. Mr. Singh came to the assistance of his friend and was also dealt with by Mr. Venner.
“Is that a fair statement of the facts?”
“Yes, sir,” said Venner.
“Two of my engineers were badly injured, Captain,” complained Crumley.
“They’re fit for duty, aren’t they?” demanded Magda.
“Mr. Malleson?” asked Grimes.
“It is, I suppose, a statement of the facts,” admitted the Mannschenn Drive chief grudgingly. “But it takes no account of the . . . the . . .”
“Poetic justice of it all,” supplied Williams.
“No. The unwarranted savagery exercised by Mr. Venner.”
“I have training in the martial arts, Chief,” said Venner. “I possess skills—and I use them. My intention was to punish, not to incapacitate.”
“That will do, Mr. Venner,” said Grimes sharply.
He made the entry in the official log, signed, with a flourish, John Grimes, Master. Venner, the engineers and the catering officer left the day cabin. Grimes looked at Williams and asked, “Just why should our female chauvinist bitch be getting her knickers in a twist over the well-deserved misfortunes of mere males, engineers at that?”
Williams grinned.
“Don’t you know, sir?”
“I’m only the captain,” said Grimes. “Nobody tells me anything.”
“Our Green Hornet is a woman. Mr. Paulus is a man. Personally, Skipper, I regard an affair between a control-room officer and an engineer as miscegenation. Early in the trip dear Kate tried to indicate to me that she was ready and willing. I wasn’t interested . . .”
“Why not?” asked Grimes interestedly.
Williams flushed, then said, “I’d have thought that that would have been obvious. I’ve known Magda for a long time. Well, she tried it on with me, then with Mr. Venner. Once again, no dice.”
“Oh. One day,” said Grimes, “somebody will make a regulation requiring ships with mixed crews to maintain an even balance of the sexes.”
“It still wouldn’t work,” said Williams. “Apart from anything else there’re all the in-betweens . . . Like the old joke. The male sex, the female sex, the insex and the Middlesex.”
“It’s time you got back on watch. But sign the log before you go.” Leaving a generous space he printed, in capitals, the word MATE under his own signature. He turned the book around, pushed it toward the chief officer.
Williams signed.
William Moore Williams instead of his more usual W. M. Williams.
But he should have known, thought Grimes. He had sighted Williams’ Certificate of Competency when Articles had been opened at Port Southern. On it the mate’s name was given in full, and had been entered in full in the Articles by the Shipping Master. On the crew list, however, it was Williams, W. M. And Mayhew had seen the crew list but not the Articles.
I murdered William Moore as I sailed . . .
“What’s wrong, Skipper?” asked Williams concernedly. “Somebody walking over your grave?”
“No,” Grimes said.
Not mine, he thought.
But what about the flash of prevision when he had seen himself, much older, with a much older Williams, the pair of them obvious shipmates?
He went on, “These aboard-ship squabbles always upset me.”
“You aren’t as upset as those two pig-iron polishers!” Williams laughed.
He went up to the control room to resume his watch.
Chapter 20
VENNER’S JUSTIFIABLE beating up of Paulus and Singh was not the only outbreak of physical violence on the ship before her arrival at El Dorado, although it was the most serious one. There was the fight between Paulus and Trantor, no more than an undignified exhibition of inexpert fisticuffs. The reason for it, Grimes discovered, was the transferal of Ms. Connellan’s affections from one engineering department to the other. He lectured all those concerned, telling them sternly that even while he did not subscribe to archaic moral codes he was still a strong believer in the old standards of shipboard discipline and good conduct.
Paulus muttered something about Survey Service bullshit.
Grimes said coldly, “I’m inviting you to say that again. Louder, Mr. Paulus—and warning you that if you do I’ll throw the book at you. Insolent and contemptuous behavior toward a superior officer will do for a start—and that carries a fine of one hundred credits.”
The engineer lapsed into surly silence.
&nbs
p; Grimes dismissed the bruised combatants and the glowering Green Hornet. Williams remained with him.
“Billy,” asked Grimes, “what am I going to do with that bitch?”
“You could have her fitted with a chastity belt, Skipper,” suggested the mate.
“Yes. And a scold’s bridle. But would the engineers make them?” He laughed. “Old Mr. Crumley might. I think that he’s past it as far as women are concerned.”
Williams laughed too. “Could be. But suppose he does make a belt . . . Who’s going to fit it about dear Katie’s female form divine? The fat . . . And that sweaty, greasy, green skin of hers . . .” He glanced at the bulkhead clock. “But I must ask you to excuse me, Skipper. I promised Magda that I’d lend her a hand thinning out the lettuces on the farm deck.”
Grimes felt a stab of envy. The engineers—or some of them—were getting theirs. Williams was getting his. And what did he have? A solidograph of a naked woman on one shelf, an animated golden statuette of another naked woman on a ledge on the opposite bulkhead. And both ladies were light-years distant . . .
He said, “All right, Mr. Williams. Go and do your gardening. The Green Hornet for Second Mate . . . Mr. Greenfingers for Mate . . .”
And the Captain green with envy?
Williams said, “Magda’s promised us that Vietnamese dish for dinner, Skipper. You know. The one where you scoop up the pieces of meat, fish and whatever with lettuce leaves.”
“I can hardly wait,” said Grimes a little sourly although the meal was one of his favorites. He, in fact, had told the Catering Officer how to prepare, cook and serve it. “Off you go, then.”
He buzzed Mayhew, who was in his cabin, asked him to come up for a drink and a talk.
***
“Well, Mr. Mayhew,” asked Grimes after glasses had been filled and sipped, “what do you think of this shipload of malcontents? Will they be any good as the crew of a privateer?”
“You told me, sir, that I was not to snoop.”
Galactic Courier: The John Grimes Saga III Page 58
