The Inheritors - A. Bertram Chandler [42]
They were busily marshaling about two hundred Morrowvians into an orderly column. Even from above it was obvious that they were all women. To one side of the plaza a half dozen light handcarts had been loaded with possessions—cushions, pieces of pottery, longbows and quivers of arrows. One of Kane's men went to inspect the cart that was loaded with weapons, called a woman to him and was obviously telling her that these would have to be left. Then whoever was in charge of the boat got a long-range microphone working.
"I'm sorry, Peggy. These will have to be left behind."
"But the girls must have them, Bill. What will they do for sport on Caribbea if they have no bows?"
Caribbea? wondered Grimes. Probably it was the most glamorous world depicted in the brochures that Kane had distributed—but Essen would be a more likely destination for this shipment of female slaves.
"You can't use bows and arrows underwater," explained the man Bill patiently. "In the seas of Caribbea they use spear guns."
"But we don't like water. None of us likes water. Nobody will make us go into the water, will they?"
There's not much water on Essen, thought Grimes. Only enough for washing and drinking—not that those Waldegren miners wash much, and they don't believe in diluting their schnapps . . . .
"Nobody will make you do anything," lied Bill.
His companion called to him, "Dump that junk, and we'll get the show on the road!"
"Our ETA, Mr. Pitcher?" asked Grimes.
"We're doing the best we can, sir, but we can't make it before nineteen-hundred Local—another four and a half hours."
"Mr. Saul, do you read me?"
"Sir?"
"Lay a barrage of sleep gas on the bank of the river as soon as that column from Oxford gets under way."
"Very good, sir."
"And be careful."
"Of course, sir." Saul's voice was hurt.
"Let me know as soon as you open fire, and give me a picture if you can."
"Very good sir." Grimes could almost read the first lieutenant's thoughts: Get off my back, Whitey!
It is not only the black races who hate slavery, thought Grimes, and it is not only the black races who've been enslaved. But what the hell is Kane playing at? Pressing ahead with his blackbirding under the very nose of a Survey Service ship . . . He's always prided himself on being able to keep just on the right side of the law.
He said, "Get me Mr. Hayakawa, please."
"Yes, Captain?" asked the psionicist at last. His picture did not appear on the screen; that was being reserved for the transmissions from the lookout boat. "Yes, Captain?"
"Mr. Hayakawa, I know that your opposite number aboard the Buster is maintaining a block, but have you been able to pick up anything?"
"Yes, Captain. A few minutes ago there were stray thoughts from the mate of Southerly Buster. They ran like this, 'And the beauty of it is that the stupid Space Scouts can't touch us!' "
"That remains to be seen, Mr. Hayakawa," said Grimes. "That remains to be seen."
21
The trouble with radio as a means of communication is that anybody can listen. Grimes, in his later conversations with his ship, had employed a scrambler. He did not know whether or not Southerly Buster ran to a descrambling device. Apparently she did not. Dreebly appeared to be proceeding with his embarkation procedure as planned.
In an orderly march the two hundred young women streamed out of Oxford, a score of spearmen at the head of the column, another twenty male warriors bringing up the rear, behind the carts laden with small possessions. Kane's two men were in the lead. Grimes, remembering the general layout of the country, knew that once the van of the procession passed a low, tree-crowned hill it would be in the field of fire of Seeker's guns. With an effort he restrained himself from taking over the fire control from Saul. He knew that a direct hit from a nonlethal gas shell can kill just as surely—and messily—as one from a high explosive projectile. But Saul was on the spot, and he was not. All he could do was to watch the