The Big Black Mark - A. Bertram Chandler [44]
"Have them brought up here," he said to the major.
He assumed that they would be allowed to dress, but he did not give any orders to that effect, thinking that such would be unnecessary. He should have known better. Vinegar Nell, in a flaming temper, was splendid in her nudity. Tangye, with his unsightly little potbelly, was not. Tangye was thoroughly cowed. Vinegar Nell was not.
"I demand an explanation, Captain!" she flared. "And an apology. "Was it you who ordered these"—she gestured with a slim, freckled arm toward the armored Marines—"enlisted men to attack me?"
"To save you," said Grimes coldly, "from the consequences of your own stupidity." He grinned without humor. "Your job is to provide meals for the personnel of this vessel, not for whatever carnivores are lurking in the lake."
"Ha!" she snorted. "Ha!" She brushed past Grimes to stand at the viewport. "What carnivores?"
The surface of the water was placid again. But there had been something there.
"Sir!" called the officer of the watch suddenly, "I have a target on the radar. Bearing 047. Range thirty kilometers. Bearing steady, range closing."
"Sound the recall," ordered Grimes. He went to the intercom. "Captain here. Mr. Flannery to the control room. At once."
Chapter 18
Flannery came into the control room, trailing a cloud of whiskey fumes, as Vinegar Nell and Tangye were hastily leaving. He guffawed, "An' what's goin' on, Captain? An orgy, no less!"
"Out of my way, you drunken bum!" snarled the paymaster, pushing past him.
Grimes ignored this. Vinegar Nell and Tangye would keep until later, as could the junior engineers who had followed their bad example. Looking out through the ports he saw that the last members of the shore parties were almost at the foot of the ramp, with Sergeant Washington and his Marines chivying them like sheepdogs. But the end of one hose had been placed in the lake; there was no reason why the pump should not be started. He told the officer of the watch to pass the order down to the engine room.
"Ye wished for me, Captain?" the telepath was asking.
"Yes, Mr. Flannery. Something, some kind of flying machine, is approaching."
"Bearing 047. Range twenty. Closing," reported the OOW.
"It must be an aircraft," went on Grimes. "The mountains cut off our line of sight to the sea. Could you get inside the minds of the crew? Are their intentions hostile?"
"I'll do me best, Captain. But as I've told ye an' told ye—these people must be the lousiest telepathic transmitters in the entoire universe!"
"All hands on board, sir," reported Brabham, coming into the control room. "Shall we reel in the hoses?"
"No. I've already told the engineers to start pumping. If I want to get upstairs in a hurry I shall be using the rockets, and I'll want plenty of reaction mass. But you can retract the ramp and close the after airlock door." Tangye—clothed,' sheepish—made a reappearance. "Pilot, put the engines—inertial drive and reaction drive—on standby. Warn the chief that I may be wanting them at any second."
"Range fifteen. Closing."
Grimes raised his glasses to his eyes and looked along the 047 bearing. Yes, there it was in the sky, a black spot against a backdrop of towering, snowy cumulus. An aircraft, all right—but what sort of aircraft? Friendly or hostile? And how armed?
"All possible weaponry trained on target, sir," reported Swinton.
"Thank you, Major. What do you have to report, Mr. Flannery?"
"I'm tryin', Captain, indeed I'm tryin'. T'is like lookin' for truth at the bottom of a well full o' mud. The odd thought comes