The Big Black Mark - A. Bertram Chandler [28]
Discovery did not stay long on New Maine, which meant that her crew did not enjoy the shore leave that they had been expecting. It meant too that all hands, the senior officers especially, were obliged to dedigitate. Brabham, of whom it had been said that he had only two speeds, Dead Slow and Stop, was resentful. MacMorris, who had been looking forward to an orgy of taking apart and putting together, was resentful. Brandt, who had been given the run of the extensive library of the University of New Maine, was resentful. Vinegar Nell was resentful for more reasons than the short stay at the sub-Base.
"Commander Grimes," complained Brandt, "even though you are doing nothing to turn up possible leads, I, in the little time that I shall be given, am sifting through years of records."
But Grimes kept Davinas' information to himself. He knew what would happen if it leaked, just as Davinas himself had known. There would be an urgent Carlottigram from New Maine—where the empire maintained a trade commissioner—to Waverley, and long before Discovery arrived off those Lost Colonies some Imperial cruiser would have planted the thistle flag.
Brabham sulked, MacMorris sulked, Brandt sulked, Swinton snarled, and Vinegar Nell was positively vicious. "I suppose you know what you're doing, Captain."
"I hope you realize the consequences if the algae tanks go bad on us, Captain."
"I suppose you know that it's practically impossible to replenish the beef tissue culture in the time you've given me, Captain."
"I'm afraid that I just can't accept responsibility if things go wrong in my department, Captain."
At least, Grimes consoled himself, he had one satisfied customer. That was Denny. The elderly commander clearly did not approve of the flurry of activity into which his normally sleepy Base had been plunged. He knew that this flurry would continue as long as Discovery was sitting on the apron. He knew, too—Mrs. Denny made sure that he knew—that the outsiders were interfering with the local ecology. They had attached hoses to his hydrants and washed down the entire spaceport area. They had rigged a wire fence with a carefully calculated low voltage trickling through it on a wide perimeter about their vessel. When Denny had objected, Grimes had told him that his crew did not like working in a latrine and that, furthermore, the materials used for the fence came from ship's stores, and the current in the wires from the ship's generators.
"I shall report this to Lindisfarne Base, Commander Grimes," said Denny stiffly.
"I shall be making my report too," Grimes told him. "And so will my medical officer. Meanwhile, my chief engineer tells me that he's not getting much help from your workshops."
"I'll see that he gets all the help he wants," promised Denny. His manner suddenly softened. "You're not married, Commander, but you will be. Then you'll find out what it's like, especially if your wife has a weird taste in pets."
"One man's pets are another man's pests," cracked Grimes.
"One woman's pets are, strictly between ourselves, her husband's pests. Rest assured that I shall get your rustbucket off my Base as soon as is humanly possible. Anything for a quiet life."
And so the activity continued, with work around the clock.
"There's hardly been any shore leave, sir," complained Brabham.
"Growl you may, but go you must," countered Grimes cheerfully.
"But what's the hurry, sir?"
"There is a valid reason for it, Number One," Grimes told him.
"More sealed orders, I suppose," said Brabham, with as near to a sneer as he dared.
"Maybe, maybe not," replied Grimes, with what he knew must be infuriating smugness. There were times when he did not quite like himself, and this was one of them—but his officers