Galactic Courier: The John Grimes Saga III

by A Bertram Chandler

  Any and all profits accruing from ventures engaged upon were to be divided between the corporation and the chartered vessel—sixty percent to the charterer and forty percent to the ship. The cost of stores, services and the salary of the El Doradan representative aboard would, however, be deducted from the charteree’s percentage. The monies remaining were to be divided among the crew according to the provisions of Lloyd’s Salvage Agreement, the higher the rank, the bigger the share. All parties agreed to accept the rulings of the Prize Court which would be set up on El Dorado.

  And so on, and so on.

  “And now, Commodore,” said Kane, “I shall take you ashore, to my office, to introduce you to your captains. You’ve already met them, I know, but you have not done so yet officially.”

  “As you please, Commodore,” said Grimes.

  He put one copy of the Charter Party into his safe while Kane picked up the others from the desk. He took his cap from the hook on which it was hanging, looked at it, at the badge, before putting it on. At least, he thought, there was nothing in the charter party that required him to wear El Doradan uniform.

  “Oh, one small thing, Grimes,” said Kane.

  “Yes?”

  “That passenger of yours. You can’t leave an outworlder here, you know. And if you have a civilian aboard what will be, essentially, a warship you’re liable to run into all sorts of complications. Legally speaking he could be classed as a pirate, you know.”

  “I’ll put him on my Articles,” said Grimes. “Assistant Purser or something.”

  “Do that.”

  Kane led the way out of Grimes’ day cabin.

  Chapter 35

  THEY WERE GATHERED in a lounge in the main dome of the spaceport administration complex, standing in two groups. There were the three tramp captains; there were four young people, three men and a woman, in the purple and gold uniform of the El Doradan Navy. Grimes looked at these latter curiously and, he was obliged to admit, apprehensively. Which of them was the Graf von Stolzberg, his . . . son? He had half expected to see a mirror image of himself, but . . . There had been more genes than his involved.

  The young man was blond haired, like his mother, and blue eyed. He was much taller than Grimes and with more than the mere suggestion of a paunch. With less fat to smooth them over his features might have been craggy. Yes, the likeness was there. Grimes hated himself for remembering the old saying: Our relations are chosen for us, but thank God we can choose our friends.

  “Good morning, gentlebeings,” said Kane jovially. “I’d like to introduce you to your leader, Commodore Grimes, master of the good ship Saucy Sue.”

  “Sister Sue,” growled Grimes.

  “Sorry, Commodore. So Sister Sue isn’t saucy.”

  “Get on with it, man,” muttered Captain MacWhirter.

  Kane shot a nasty look in the Scot’s direction, then continued. “You’ve already met your captains, Commodore Grimes. But here, with them, are our own liaison officers. The Honorable Claude Ponsonby, attached to Pride of Erin . . .”

  “Glad to have you aboard, Commodore,” said the tall, weedy, young man, extending his right hand. Grimes, thinking sourly that he, as the senior officer, should have made the first move, shook it. It was limp, almost boneless, in his.

  “Count Vishinsky, of Spaceways Princess . . .”

  The stocky El Doradan lieutenant, as heavily bearded as MacWhirter, although his whiskers were glossily black, committed the same solecism as Ponsonby although his grip was much firmer. Obviously, thought Grimes, in the opinion of these space puppies an El Doradan aristocrat outranked an outworld commodore.

  “The Graf Ferdinand von Stolzberg, of Agatha’s Ark . . .”

  The Graf looked down disdainfully on the man whom he did not know was his father, clicked his heels and bowed stiffly. Grimes bowed back, repressing the urge to murmur, “Ah, so . . .”

  “And now, Commodore, your own pet. The Countess of Walshingham.”

  The Countess was a tall, slim blonde with, as revealed by the miniskirt of her uniform, excellent legs. Her jacket bulged in the right places. Her face was strong, with high cheekbones, a square, dimpled chin, a wide, full-lipped mouth, a short, straight nose. Her grey eyes looked at Grimes, who had extended his hand, disdainfully.

  “Go on, Wally,” urged Kane. “Shake paws with the commodore!”

  “Don’t call me Wally!” she snapped. “The correct title, Baron, is Countess.”

  Nonetheless she touched hands briefly with Grimes.

  “And now,” said Kane, motioning the others toward the round table.

  They seated themselves—Grimes on Kane’s right, the three tramp captains on the right of him, then the El Doradan officers. A robot steward brought in a tray with a huge coffeepot, mugs, a bowl of brown sugar crystals, a jug of cream. There was a pause in conversation while the drinking vessels were filled.

  “And now,” said Kane again. “You have all heard of your commodore. He was quite famous while he was an officer in the Federation Survey Service. Or should I have said ‘notorious’? As an owner-master—although only recently of a real ship—he has maintained his Survey Service reputation. For a short while he was captain of the spaceyacht owned by my wife, the Baroness Michelle. She speaks highly of him. You may rest assured, ladies and gentlemen, that I would have never trusted command of our enterprise to anybody less capable than Commodore Grimes . . .”

  “When do I get my medal?” Grimes asked sardonically.

  “You’re in this for money,” Kane told him. “Not for honor and glory. But, before we go any further, does anybody not approve of the commodore’s appointment?”

  MacWhirter muttered, “I’m no historian, Commodore Kane, but didn’t the old time pirates, on Earth’s seas, elect their commanders?”

  “You are not pirates, Captain MacWhirter. At the moment you’re not anything. You’re just shipmasters whose vessels have been fitted with defensive armament. Once the Letters of Marque have been issued you will be privateers.”

  “You never used to be so fussy about legalities, Commodore,” Grimes could not resist saying.

  “In the old days, Commodore,” said Kane, “I was not a naval officer. I am now. But didn’t you, when you were in the Survey Service, bend the law now and again? But enough of this. Kalla had been blockaded, although so far no large force has been dispatched to deal with the rebels. Our agents on the planet have informed us that the Kallan government will be happy to issue Letters of Marque so as to leave their own navy free for planetary defense. Work will begin on mounting your armament tomorrow, Commodore Grimes. I suggest that you and your officers avail themselves of the battle simulators, and that your Mannschenn Drive chief acquaint himself with the temporal precession synchronizer . . .”

  “I have already raised that point with Mr. Malleson,” Grimes said. “He tells me that he was among those involved in the development of the device.”

  “Good. Well, ladies and gentlemen, I shall want you off planet, on your way to Kalla, as soon as your commodore is ready. Meanwhile—as most of you know already—all the facilities of Port Kane are open to you and your crews.” He smiled expansively. “Enjoy, enjoy!”

  The meeting was over.

  ***

  Grimes walked back to his ship in the company of the other tramp captains. He was pleased to see that discharge was well under way, was going fast and smoothly with busy stowbots stacking crates and cases and cartons into trucks that carried them into one of the domes.

  “Yon’s The Happy Kangaroo,” said MacWhirter, pointing. “The liquor was runnin’ a mite low. Would there be Scotch in your cargo, Commodore?”

  “Yes,” said Grimes.

  “An’ haggis, maybe?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Ah, weel. A man canna have everything . . .”

  “As long as there’re willing popsies. Mack,” said Captain O’Leary, “why worry?” He turned to Grimes. “But that’ll not be worryin’ you, Commodore, will
it now? I saw your Catering Officer—a bit of all right as long as you like red hair. An’ a green-skinned wench—a New Donegalan, would she be? An’ now you’re gettin’ the Countess . . . Whoever said that rank has its privileges wasn’t far off the mark!”

  “I consider this conversation quite disgusting, Captain O’Leary,” said Captain Prinn. “I am sure that Commodore Grimes would never consider a liaison with one of his female officers.”

  “One of them might consider a liaison with him, Aggie,” said O’Leary.

  “I do not think that Commodore Grimes is that sort of man,” said Captain Prinn.

  Evidently, Grimes thought, she had taken a shine to him. He wondered if she would take a shine to the Graf von Stolzberg.

  The others left him at the foot of his ramp. He looked up at the gantry that was being erected to one side of the ship, presumably for the installation of the armament. He was joined there by Williams.

  “How did it go, Skipper?” asked the mate. “Everybody happy in the Service?” He did not wait for an answer. “The boys are happier now. Most of the engineers are already across at The Happy Kangaroo. Their chiefs let them go. Mr. Malleson and old Mr. Stewart are playing with some newfangled gadgetry in the Mannschenn Drive room—a synchronizer or some such. The Green Hornet’s sulking hard because I wouldn’t let her go ashore with her boyfriends. I let Vic off, though. He’s gone to brush up his gunnery in the battle simulator they have here. I shouldn’t mind a bit of a refresher course myself . . .”

  “Off you go, then, Mr. Williams. I shall be staying on board. Ms. Connellan can look after the discharge.”

  “That’s what she’s doing now. The stowbots here are so good that she’ll not be able to do any damage.”

  Grimes went up to his quarters, where he was joined by Mayhew.

  “I suppose, Captain—or should I say Commodore—that you’ll be wanting a rundown on this morning’s meeting,” said the telepath.

  “Yes.”

  “All right. First, Captain O’Leary. He rather resents having you placed in authority over him; he thought that he’d be able to roar through space on his ownsome, seeking whom he might devour. But he realizes that an experienced naval officer in charge will be to everybody’s benefit. He will do what he’s told—but more often than not will argue about it first.

  “Captain MacWhirter. His general attitude is very similar to O’Leary’s, although he’s less of a romantic and far more of a real mercenary. And, unlike O’Leary, he has a great respect for titles of nobility. That comes of his being a citizen of the Empire of Waverley. If only you had a title, preferably a Scottish one, he’d follow you into a black hole.

  “Captain Prinn. For all her appearance and manner another romantic. And she, too, has that absurd respect for titles. She’s thrilled to be having a real Graf, the son of a real Princess, as a junior officer aboard her ship. He will be pampered. I wonder what she would think if she knew who the Graf’s father is . . .”

  ‘That will do, Mr. Mayhew.”

  “Sorry, Commodore. And would you like my analysis of the El Doradans?”

  “Please.”

  “First, the Honorable Claude Ponsonby. Don’t be fooled by his appearance and manner. He’s tough, and could be vicious. His god is money and he’s determined that the operation will be a success, no matter who suffers. He, like the other liaison officers, will receive a substantial percentage of the profits.

  “Now, Vishinsky. For all the dissimilarity in appearance and manner a man cast in the same mold as Ponsonby. He’ll see to it that Captain MacWhirter toes the line.

  “The Graf von Stolzberg? He’s an El Doradan, of course, despite his ancestry . . .” Grimes winced. “But, because of his ancestry, he’s also something of a romantic. He hides that side of his character beneath his stiff manner. I think that he will get along very well with Captain Prinn—she, too, is a repressed romantic . . .”

  “The prince and the pirate queen,” sneered Grimes. “I hope that they will be very happy.”

  “Come, come, sir,” chided Mayhew. “You may be commodore—but that doesn’t give you droit du seigneur over your subordinates, especially those who’re captains of their own ships. Do you wish me to continue?”

  “Yes. Go on.”

  “There is little more than I can say about the Graf von Stolzberg. He’s young and romantic and an affair with an older woman, such as Captain Agatha Prinn, will do him far more good than harm. Out of uniform and with hardly more than a hint of cosmetics she will be a very attractive woman.”

  “Stop harping on it, Mr. Mayhew.”

  “Very good, sir. Now, the Countess of Walshingham . . . I’ll describe her this way. If she and our own Green Hornet could swap bodies and accents you’d never know that there had been an exchange. The other three El Doradans are, in their ways, loyal to their planet. She is loyal only to herself. Furthermore she is a man-hater.”

  “Another female chauvinist bitch,” said Grimes.

  “It was Commodore Kane’s idea of a joke to appoint her to your ship,” Mayhew said.

  “That bastard!”

  “Just so, sir. Just so. I, like yourself, am firmly of the opinion that he must have ridden to his parents’ wedding ceremony on a bicycle. Anything more, Commodore?”

  “That’s enough to be going on with, I think. Oh, you might see if Ms. Granadu has any shipboard uniforms, shorts and shirts, in the slop chest your size. She’s a fairish needlewoman and should be able to knock up a pair of assistant purser’s shoulderboards for you.”

  “Some get promoted,” said Mayhew with a grin, “and others demoted. But as one of your officers I shall be entitled to my share of the spoils.”

  “If any,” said Grimes.

  “If any. Aren’t you just a little sorry that you accepted that commission in the Reserve?”

  “Just a little,” admitted Grimes. (It is useless trying to lie to a telepath.) “Oh, and when you see Miss Granadu ask her to come up and see me.”

  “And I’ll tell her to bring the coins and the book,” Mayhew said.

  ***

  Grimes shook the three antique coins in his cupped hands, let them fall to the deck. Two tails and a head. Seven. Two heads and a tail. Eight. Three heads. Nine. Another three heads, another nine. Then eight, and again eight for the final throw.

  Kou. Sudden encounters. A bold, strong woman appears on the scene. One should not contract a marriage with such a woman . . .

  Nine in the third place. He proceeds with difficulty, like one who has been flayed. His position is fraught with danger, but despite this he will commit no great error . . .

  “Well,” said Grimes, “that, at least, is comforting.”

  “There’s more—and worse—to come, Captain,” said Magda.

  She continued reading.

  Nine is the fourth place. The inferior men have escaped from restraint, like fish from a bag. This will give rise to evil . . .

  “Didn’t we have this once before?” asked Grimes.

  “Yes. But that time the lines were not so ominous.”

  “And that time,” said Grimes thoughtfully, “there was only one strong woman to worry about. Now there are two.”

  Chapter 36

  THE FEW DAYS AT PORT KANE were busy ones for Grimes. Personally he oversaw the installation of Sister Sue’s armament—the laser cannon, the quick-firing projectile gun and the missile projector. There was the fire-control console to be fitted in the control room; instrumentation required for normal, peacetime purposes had to be relocated to make room for it. Malleson, too, was busy. The operation of the precession synchronizer would be his concern. He assured Grimes that he had been one of those involved in the original development of this device and that he was looking forward to seeing it in operation.

  When he could spare the time Grimes played around with the battle simulator, pitting his wits and skills against the computer representing an enemy commander unless, as sometimes happened, one of the other captains was on
hand to play that part. When he was matched against O’Leary or MacWhirter, maneuvering the blob of light that represented his ship in the tank, every simulated battle was for him a walkover. With his one vessel against both of theirs he invariably won; the tramp masters seemed to be quite incapable of deploying all their armament simultaneously. There was always the time lag when they switched from laser to quick-firer to guided missile. But whoever came up against Captain Agatha Prinn, he conceded, would have to be good. She took to naval gunnery like a duck to water.

  Now and again his captains would be accompanied by their El Doradan officers who, having affixed their signatures to the privateers’ Articles, signing on as fourth mates, were now wearing the uniforms of their putative employers. The Honorable Claude looked faintly absurd in the Pride of Erin’s green, although his outfit was far better cut and of greatly superior quality to Captain O’Leary’s. The Spaceways Princess rig of tunic and kilt suited Vishinsky, especially since his robot tailor had succeeded in imparting a cossack quality to the upper garment. In Agatha’s Ark’s severe grey business suit with the touch of gold on the shoulders the Graf von Stolzberg looked more like a diplomat than a spaceman. Perhaps, thought Grimes, watching the young man as he played the attentive squire to his captain, a diplomat was what he should have been. He was rather ruefully amused. He wished that he were able to advise his son. But then, what would he, could he say? Beware of older women? Beware of all women? And who was he, Grimes, to dish out such advice? Don’t do as I do, my boy, do as I say . . .

  Williams and Venner were frequent visitors to the dome housing the battle simulator, as were the control-room officers from the other ships. Now and again the Green Hornet condescended to try her hand, usually in the company of the Countess of Walshingham. The Countess was still wearing her El Doradan uniform and had yet to sign Sister Sue’s Articles.