The Hard Way Up - A. Bertram Chandler [15]
"And the professional wishful thinking is even more nauseating. When do I get my half ring? When do I get my brass hat? When shall I make Admiral?"
"Ambition . . ." said Grimes.
"Ambition, shambition! And of late, of course, I wonder what Alberto's putting on for breakfast? For lunch? For dinner?"
"What is he putting on for dinner?" asked Grimes. "I've been rather wondering if our tissue culture chook could be used for Chicken Cacciatore . . ."
"I don't know."
"No, you're not a chef. As well we know, after the last time that you volunteered for galley duties."
"I mean, I don't know what the menus will be." It was Deane's turn to blush. "As a matter of fact, Captain, I have been trying to get previews. I have to watch my diet . . ."
Grimes tried not to think uncharitable thoughts. Like many painfully thin people, Deane enjoyed a voracious appetite.
He said, "You've been trying to eavesdrop?"
"Yes. But there are non-telepaths, you know, and Alberto's one of them. True non-telepaths, I mean. Most people transmit, although they can't receive. Alberto doesn't transmit."
"A useful qualification for a diplomat," said Grimes. "If he is a diplomat. But could he be using some sort of psionic jammer?"
"No. I'd know if he were."
Grimes couldn't ignore that suggestively held empty glass any longer. He supposed that Deane had earned his third gin.
The Courier broke through into normal space-time north of the plane of Doncaster's ecliptic. In those days, before the Carlotti Beacons made FTL position fixing simple, navigation was an art rather than a science—and von Tannenbaum was an artist. The little ship dropped into a trans-polar orbit about the planet and then, as soon as permission to land had been granted by Aerospace Control, descended to Port Duncannon. It was, Grimes told himself smugly, one of his better landings. And so it should have been; conditions were little short of ideal. There was no cloud, no wind, not even any clear air turbulence at any level. The ship's instruments were working perfectly, and the Inertial Drive was responding to the controls with no time lag whatsoever. It was one of those occasions on which the Captain feels that his ship is no more—and no less—than a beautifully functioning extension of his own body. Finally, it was morning Local Time, with the sun just lifting over the verdant, rolling hills to the eastward, bringing out all the color of the sprawling city a few miles from the spaceport, making it look, from the air, like a huge handful of gems spilled carelessly on a green carpet.
Grimes set the vessel down in the exact center of the triangle marked by the blinkers, so gently that, until he cut the drive, a walnut under the vaned landing gear would not have been crushed. He said quietly, "Finished with engines."
"Receive boarders, Captain?" asked Beadle.
"Yes, Number One." Grimes looked out through the viewport to the ground cars that were making their way from the Administration Block. Port Health, Immigration, Customs . . . The Harbormaster paying his respects to the Captain of a visiting Federation warship . . . And the third vehicle? He took a pair of binoculars from the rack, focused them on the flag fluttering from the bonnet of the car in the rear. It was dark blue, with a pattern of silver stars, the Federation's colors. So the High Commissioner himself had come out to see the ship berth. He wished that he and his officers had dressed more formally, but it was too late to do anything about it now. He went down to his quarters, was barely able to change the epaulettes of his shirt, with their deliberately tarnished braid, for a pair of shining new ones before the High Commissioner was at his door.
Mr. Beadle ushered in the important official with all the ceremony that he could muster at short notice. "Sir, this is the Captain, Lieutenant Grimes. Captain, may I introduce Sir William Willoughby, Federation High Commissioner on Doncaster?"
Willoughby extended a hand that, like the rest of him was plump. "Welcome aboard, Captain. Ha, ha. I hope you