The Hard Way Up - A. Bertram Chandler [66]
Grimes released himself from his own chair, pulled himself into the one vacated by Slovotny. "Lieutenant Grimes here, Officer Commanding Courier Ship Adder."
"Captain Olaf Andersen here, Lieutenant. What can I do for you?"
"Can your engineers repair my Drive?"
"I doubt it. They couldn't change a fuse."
"What about a tow to Dhartana?"
"Out of the question, Captain. But I can take you in to my own Base, on Skandia. The repair facilities there are excellent."
Grimes weighed matters carefully before answering. Skandia, one of the small, independent kingdoms, was only just on speaking terms with the Interstellar Federation. At the very best the Skandians would charge heavily for the two, would present a fantastically heavy bill for the repair work carried out by their yard. (But he, Grimes, would not be paying it.) At the worst, Adder and her people might be interned, could become the focus of a nasty little interstellar incident, a source of acute embarrassment to the Survey Service. And so, Grimes asked himself mutinously, what? That Promotion List had made him dangerously dissatisfied with his lot, the Commissioner had strained what loyalties remained to the breaking point. The Commissioner . . .
"What exactly is going on here?" she asked coldly.
So she was getting in his hair again.
"I'm arranging a tow," Grimes told her. "The alternative is to hang here . . ." he gestured towards the viewports, to the outside blackness, to the sharp, bright, unwinking, distant stars . . . "in the middle of sweet damn all, thinking more and more seriously of cannibalism with every passing day."
"Very funny, Lieutenant." She stared at the screen. "Is that officer wearing Skandian uniform?"
"Of course, Madam," replied the Skandian Captain, who seemed to be very quick on the uptake. "Captain Olaf Andersen, at your service." He smiled happily. "And you, if I am not mistaken, are Mrs. Commissioner Dalwood, of the Federation's Board of Admiralty. According to our latest Intelligence reports you are en route to Dhartana." He smiled again. "Delete 'are.' Substitute 'were.' "
"Mr. Grimes, I forbid you to accept a tow from that vessel."
"Mrs. Dalwood, as commanding officer of this ship I must do all I can to ensure her safety, and that of her people."
"Mr. Slovotny, you will put through a call to Lindisfarne Base at once, demanding immediate assistance."
Slovotny looked appealingly at Grimes. Grimes nodded glumly. The grinning face of the Skandian faded from the screen, was replaced by a swirl of color as the pilot antenna swung away from its target. Sound came from the speaker—but it was a loud warbling note only. The radio officer worked desperately at the controls of the Carlotti transceiver. Then he looked up and announced, "They're jamming our signals; they have some very sophisticated equipment, and they're only light minutes distant."
"Are you sure you can't get through?" demanded the Commissioner.
"Quite sure," Slovotny told her definitely.
She snorted, turned to Hollister. "Mr. Hollister, I'll have to rely on you."
"What about your own chrome-plated telepath?" Grimes asked her nastily.
She glared at him. "John's transmission and reception is only relatively short range. And he can't work with an organic amplifier, as your Mr. Hollister can."
"And my organic amplifier's on the blink," said Hollister.
"What do you mean?" demanded Grimes.
The telepath explained patiently. "There has to be a . . . relationship between a psionic communications officer and his amplifier. The amplifier, of course, is a living dog's brain . . ."
"I know, I know," the Commissioner snapped. "Get on with it."
Hollister would not be hurried. "The relationship is that which exists between a kind master and a faithful dog—but deeper, much deeper. Normally we carry our own, personal amplifiers with us, from ship to ship, but mine died recently, and so I inherited Mr. Deane's. I have been working hard, ever since I joined this ship, to win its trust, its affection. I was making headway, but I was unable to give it