Galactic Courier: The John Grimes Saga III (35 page)

Maggie laughed softly, released him.

He let her out of the day cabin, said good bye again, and good bye and thanks to Lieutenant Tamworth. The boarding party declined his offer to see them down to the airlock. Before he went up to Control he looked at the solidograph on his desk and then at the bloated corpse sprawled in his chair. He would have to get rid of it as soon as possible; the sweet stench of decay, although faint, was already evident.

The control room NST transceiver was on. He listened to the voices of Tamworth and his men as they pushed all the garbage back into
Bronson Star’s
airlock. This was not essential; as the two ships were sharing a temporal precession field transfer of mass from one to the other would have no effect. This must be, he thought, spite on the part of Commander Perkins.
Let Grimes clear up his own mess,
he must be thinking.

He looked out through the viewports at the survey ship. He could see into her control room. Maggie was not there, although Perkins was.

Perkins spoke over the NST. “You can have your ship back now, Commander.”

“Thank you for your help, Commander.”

“I’m rather surprised that you needed it, Grimes. You should be an expert on handling mutinies by now.”

The last connection between the two ships was broken and
Explorer
faded, diminished and vanished.

Chapter 35

THE FIRST TASK
that Grimes set himself was to rid the ship of all traces of the Joognaanard clones. After he had shut down the Mannschenn Drive he ejected the vegetable rubbish from the airlock, and then the body of the pseudo-Susie. The corpse, when he lugged it from his day cabin to the waiting elevator cage, seemed to be no more than a bag of skin filled with some soft jelly; it was indeed fortunate that it had not been taken aboard Explorer for an autopsy. Then he made a thorough search of the farm deck just in case any of the little pseudo-Susies remained, either alive or dead. He found nothing.

The distasteful but essential jobs completed he took a very long, very hot shower. He decided then to establish Carlotti contact with Bronsonia.
Explorer
must already have made her report to Lindisfarne Base and, even though intelligence flows very sluggishly through official channels, sooner or later the authorities on Bronsonia would learn that
Bronson Star
was on the way back to her home world.

He sent three Carlottigrams—one to Aerospace Control, one to
Bronson Star’s
owners, the third to Captain Wendover, Bronsonian Secretary of the Astronauts’ Guild. In all three messages he gave his ETA in Galactic Standard date and time, adding the promise, “Full report follows.” The signal to Wendover also contained a query as to the well-being or otherwise of
Little Sister
and a request that the Guild Secretary initiate proceedings regarding the
Bronson Star
salvage claim.

While he was awaiting the acknowledgments Grimes set about rewriting his report. In the original version Hodge and Susie had escaped from the ship in one of the lifeboats rather than face trial on Bronsonia. In the revised edition they had forced Grimes at gunpoint to deviate from trajectory on the passage from Dunlevin to Bronsonia. There had been a fight during which Hodge had been killed. Susie had promised to be a good girl but then, driven mad by the fear of what would happen to her when she was turned over to the Bronsonian police, had tried once again to seize the ship.

Luckily Grimes had switched on the lifeboat’s log-recorder when he told his story—fictitious insofar as the latter part of it was concerned—to Commander Perkins; all that he had to do was make a transcript of his side of the conversations with
Explorer
. Luckily, too, Hodge and Susie had left almost all their personal possessions on board when they disembarked on Joognaan. Should there be a really thorough investigation all the evidence would indicate that the man and the girl had been with Grimes aboard
Bronson Star
until their respective deaths. And the boarding party from the Survey Service ship had seen a female body; only Maggie knew that it was not a truly human one—and Grimes could trust her not to talk.

The acknowledgments finally came in.

Bronson Star’s
owners were laconic, telling Grimes only to take up parking orbit as instructed by Aerospace Control. Aerospace Control started off by warmly congratulating Grimes on his escape and said that the full report was eagerly awaited. Wendover, too, started with congratulations.

The message went on: “Regret inform you
lerrigan
case decided in consignees’ favor. Your
Bronson Star
salary garnisheed to pay court costs. Heavy damages still outstanding, also accumulated port dues and charges incurred by
Little Sister
. Have succeeded delaying forced sale of your vessel to date. Preliminary enquiries indicate no certainty of success
Bronson Star
salvage claim despite
San Demetrio
precedent. Guild lawyers awaiting your full report.”

Things might be worse, thought Grimes.
Little Sister
was not yet sold—but would he, could he ever get her back?
If
he got the salvage award before the financial situation became too desperate all would be well.

If . . .

Meanwhile, the only people who looked like they were coming well out of the mess were Susie and Hodge, with their changes of identity and with the money that should have gone to finance the counterrevolution on Dunlevin. If he’d had any sense, thought Grimes, he’d have insisted on taking his share of it.

It was too late now for that.

He would just have to play the cards the way that they fell.

Chapter 36

BRONSON STAR
was once again in orbit about Bronsonia.

As before, she was hanging almost directly over that chain of islands that looked like a sea serpent swimming from east to west. But Grimes would not be aboard to admire the view for much longer. The shuttle was here with his relief and the hydroponics technician who would be making good the damage done in the farm deck allegedly by a demented Susie but actually by Grimes himself.

He handled the airlock controls from the control room, waited there for old Captain Pinner who had been the ship-keeper before Grimes got the job.

Pinner, still spacesuited but with his faceplate open and with his gauntlets tucked into his belt, pulled himself through the hatch.

“Welcome aboard, Captain,” said Grimes.

“Can’t say that I’m glad to be here, Captain,” grumbled Pinner. “But they want you down in New Syrtis as soon as possible if not before, and I was the only one they could find at short notice to take over.”

The two men shook hands.

Pinner went on, “I wish we had time for a proper talk, Captain. I’d like to hear your story about all that’s been happening . . .”

“I’ve left you a copy of my report,” Grimes told him.

A voice came from the NST transceiver, that of the shuttle’s captain. “Are you ready to transfer, Captain Grimes?”

“I’ll be with you in five minutes,” Grimes told him.

He went down to his quarters accompanied by Pinner. His bag was already packed but he had a quick look around to make sure that he had missed nothing. The old man helped him on with his spacesuit then said, with a chuckle, “You can find your own way to the airlock I think, Captain. I’ll get back up to Control. The best of luck to you—with the salvage claim and everything else.”

“Thank you,” said Grimes. “Be good.”

He made his way aft, using the spiral staircase. He paused briefly at the farm deck, watched the hydroponics technician, who had discarded his spacesuit, working among the tanks, planting the new seedlings that he had brought up from Bronsonia. He was unaware of Grimes’ presence and Grimes did not disturb him at his work.

He continued aft. He was not sure if he was glad or sorry to be leaving this old ship. Not all his memories of her would be bad and, if all went well, she might prove to be his financial salvation.

Outside the airlock’s inner door he sealed his faceplate, pulled on his gauntlets. He told Pinner and the shuttle captain that he was about to let himself out, asked Pinner to close the outer door after him. Pinner replied rather testily that he had been a spaceman long enough to know his airlock drill and the shuttle captain growled, “I thought that I was going to have to come aboard to get you, the time you’ve taken! A bloody long five minutes!”

Even this airlock chamber held memories, Grimes thought. Maggie had passed through it. (And would he ever see her again?) He recalled the body of the pseudo-Susie when he had placed it there prior to ejection. At the finish, the very finish, it could almost have been that of the original woman and Grimes had felt like a murderer disposing of the evidence of his crime.

Pressure dropped rapidly as the air was pumped into the main body of the ship. The outer door opened. The shuttle hung there, a mere twenty meters distant, a dark torpedo shape in the shadow of the ship, her own open airlock door a glowing green circle in the blackness.

Grimes positioned himself carefully, jumped.

He fell slowly through nothingness, jerked himself around so that he would make a feet-first landing. His aim was good and he did not have to use his suit-propulsion unit. As soon as he was in the chamber the outer door closed and he felt rather than heard the vibration as the shuttle’s inertial drive started up.

***

The shuttle captain was an overly plump, surly young man.

He grumbled, “Up and down, up and down, like a bleeding yo-yo. Two trips when one shoulda done. I told them that. Lemme wait, I said, until the gardener’s done his planting. Make just one round trip of it. But no. Not them.
They
want you in some sort of a bleeding hurry . . .”

“Who are
they?
” asked Grimes mildly.

“Marston—he’s manager of the Corporation. The police. Oh—just about every bastard . . .”

“I suppose,” said Grimes, “that Mr. Marston’s glad to get his ship back . . .”

The shuttle captain laughed sardonically. “Pleased? Take it from me, Captain, that pleased he is not. He’d sooner have the insurance than the ship . . . But excuse me. I want to get this spaceborne junk heap down to New Syrtis in one piece . . .”

Grimes tried to relax in the co-pilot’s chair. (The shuttle carried no co-pilot; in fact her captain was her only crew.) He never felt happy as a passenger. His companion’s handling of the controls, he thought, reminded him of that mythical monkey who, walloping the keyboard of a typewriter for an infinitude of time, would finish up writing all the plays of William Shakespeare. He transferred his attention to the viewports. New Syrtis was in view now—white spires and domes set amid green parks with the spaceport itself a few kilometers to the north. He borrowed the control cab binoculars, made out a spark of bright gold glowing in the morning sun on the dark grey of the spaceport apron.

Little Sister . . .

“Looking for your ship, Captain? I wouldn’t mind buying her myself, if I had the money . . . But Marston’s been sniffing around her. In fact he was counting on the
Bronson Star
insurance money to buy her . . .”

The shuttle was losing altitude fast, driving down in what was practically a controlled drive.
Little Sister
and the other ships in port—an Epsilon Class tramp, decided Grimes, and something a little larger—were now visible to the naked eye.

“One thing for sure,” said the shuttle captain, “Marston would sooner see you shot than getting a medal . . .”

“Mphm.”

“Mind you, he’s not broke. He can afford better legal eagles than the Guild can. He’ll fight your salvage claim tooth and nail . . .”

“Mphm.”

“You’da done better for everybody if you’d taken that decrepit old bitch out to the Rim or some place and changed her name . . .”

“Not very legal,” said Grimes.

“Being legal’ll get you no place,” said the shuttle captain. “Stand by for the bump. We’re almost there . . .”

The shuttle sat down in the corner of the spaceport reserved for small craft of her kind with a bone-shaking crash.

“Thanks for the ride,” said Grimes.

“It’s what I’m paid for,” said the shuttle captain sourly.

Chapter 37

THERE WAS A RECEPTION
committee awaiting Grimes.

Marston was there—a skinny, sour-faced beanpole of a man who looked down at Grimes with an expression of great distaste. There was the New Syrtis Port Captain who, with Captain Wendover, seemed inclined to accord Grimes a hero’s welcome. There was a high-ranking police officer. There were men and women hung around with all manner of recording equipment, obviously representatives of the media.

“Captain Grimes,” called one of them, a rather fat and unattractive girl, “welcome back to Bronsonia! Do you have any message for us?”

“Captain Grimes,” said Wendover firmly, “will be saying nothing to anybody until he has conferred with the Guild’s lawyers.”

The news hen transferred her attention to Marston. “Mr. Marston, aren’t you pleased to have your ship back?”

Marston tried to ignore her.

“Mr. Marston, wouldn’t you rather have had the insurance money?”

Marston turned to the police officer. “Chief Constable, are you to permit me to be harried?”

“Mr. Marston,” said the policeman, “these ladies and gentlemen are taxpayers, just as you are supposed to be.” He turned to Grimes. “I have a copy of your report, Captain. I understand that you have urgent personal business to discuss with Captain Wendover and so I will defer my own interrogation until later. You understand, of course, that you will not be allowed to leave this planet until such time as the Police Department has completed its inquiries.”

“Captain Grimes,” called the fat girl, “say something to us!”

“Can I?” Grimes asked Wendover.

“Captain Grimes!” One of the other girls was aiming her recorder at him. “What happened to Prince Paul?”

Wendover had a firm hold on Grimes’ arm, was obviously preparing to hustle him off. He whispered, “Tell them something—just to keep them quiet! But be careful.”