The Inheritors - A. Bertram Chandler [0]
A. Bertram Chandler
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
THE INHERITORS: Copyright ©1972 by A. Bertram Chandler
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.
A Baen EBook
Baen Publishing Enterprises
P.O. Box 1403
Riverdale, NY 10471
www.baen.com
ISBN-10: 0-4413-7062-4
ISBN-13: 978-0-4413-7062-7
First printing, June 2007
For my favorite aelurophobe
To: Flag Officer in Charge of Lindisfarne Base From: Drongo Kane
Subject: Piratical action by Lieutenant Commander John Grimes
Sir,
I regret to have to report that while my vessel was proceeding on her lawful occasions she was wantonly attacked by your Seeker, under the command of your Lieutenant Grimes. Commander Grimes not only used his armament to impede the embarkation of fare-paying passengers, subjecting them to a sleep gas barrage, but also fired upon Southerly Buster herself. Later he attempted to ram my ship after she had lifted off . . .
GRIMES IS AT IT AGAIN!
1
Grimes was on the carpet—neither for the first nor the last time.
He stood stiffly in front of the vast, highly polished desk behind which sat Admiral Buring, of the Federation's Survey Service. His prominent ears were angrily flushed but his rugged face was expressionless.
The admiral's pudgy hands played with the bulky folder that was before him. His face, smooth and heavy, was as expressionless as Grimes'. His voice was flat.
He said, "Commodore Damien warned me about you when you were transferred to my command. Not that any warning was necessary. For one so young you have achieved a considerable degree of notoriety." He paused expectantly, but Grimes said nothing. Buring continued, but now with a hint of feeling in his voice. "My masters—who, incidentally, are also yours—are far from amused at your latest antics. You know—you should know—that interference, especially by junior officers, in the internal affairs of any world whatsoever, regardless of the cultural or technological level of the planet in question, is not tolerated. I concede that there were extenuating circumstances, and that the new rulers of Sparta speak quite highly of you . . . ." The thick eyebrows, like furry, black caterpillars, arched incredulously. "Nonetheless . . . "
The silence was so thick as to be almost tangible. Grimes decided that it was incumbent upon himself to break it.
"Sir?"
"Nonetheless, Lieutenant Commander, your continued presence at Base is something of an embarrassment, especially since a party of VIPs, political VIPs at that, is due here very shortly. Some commission or other, touring the galaxy at the taxpayer's expense. I don't want you around so that politicians can ask you silly questions—to which, I have no doubt, you would give even sillier answers.
"Furthermore, this whole Spartan affair has blown up into a minor crisis in interplanetary politics. Both the Duchy of Waldegren and the Empire of Waverley are talking loudly about spheres of influence."The admiral allowed himself the suspicion of a smile. "In any sort of crisis, Grimes, there is one thing better than presence of mind . . . ."
"And that is, sir?" asked Grimes at last.
"Absence of body. Ha. So I'm doing you a good turn, sending you out in Seeker, on a Lost Colony hunt. There have been persistent rumors of one out in the Argo Sector. Go and find it—or get lost yourself. I'm easy."
"Maintenance, sir . . . " said Grimes slowly. "Repairs . . . stores . . . manning . . . ."
"They're your business, Captain. No, I'm not promoting you, merely according you the courtesy title due to the commanding officer of a ship. You look after those no doubt boring details. And"—he made a major operation of looking at his watch—"I want you off Lindisfarne by sixteen-hundred hours local time tomorrow."
Grimes looked at his own watch. He had just seventeen hours, twelve minutes and forty-three seconds in which to ensure that his