The Inheritors - A. Bertram Chandler [8]
There was only one thing for Grimes to do—to pile on the Gs and the lumes, to get to Morrowvia before Danzellan. Fortunately, the merchant vessel was not fitted with a Mass Proximity Indicator—the Dog Star Line viewed new navigational aids with suspicion and never fitted them to its ships until their value was well proven. Sooner or later—sooner, Grimes hoped—Seeker would pick up Schnauzer in her screen and, shortly thereafter, would be able accurately to extrapolate her trajectory. Schnauzer would know nothing of Seeker's whereabouts or presence.
And Drongo Kane in his Southerly Buster? A coded request for information to the Bug Queen brought the news that he had lifted from Port Fortinbras, his refit completed, with a General Clearance. Such clearances were rarely issued. This one must have cost Kane plenty.
Grimes was spending more and more time in his control room. There was nothing that he could do—but he wanted to be on hand when Schnauzer was picked up. At last she was there—or something was there—an almost infinitesimal spark in the screen, at extreme range. Grimes watched, concealing his impatience, while his navigator, hunched over the big globe of utter darkness, delicately manipulated the controls set into the base of the screen. Slowly a glowing filament was extruded from the center of the sphere—Seeker' s track. And then, from that barely visible spark just within the screen's limits, another filament was extended.
"Mphm," grunted Grimes.
The display was informative. Relatively speaking, Schnauzer was on Seeker's port beam, a little ahead of the beam actually, and steering a converging course. Morrowvia was out of range of the M.P.I., but there was little doubt that both ships were headed for the same destination.
"Have you an estimate of her speed yet, Mr. Pitcher?" asked Grimes.
"Only a rough one, sir," replied the tall, thin, almost white-haired young man. "Give me an hour, and . . ."
"Extrapolate now, if you will."
"Very good, sir."
Two beads of light appeared, one on each filament. "Twenty-four hours," said Pitcher. The range had closed slightly but the relative bearing was almost unaltered."Forty-eight hours." The bearing was changing. Seventy-two hours." Schnauzer was slightly, very slightly, abaft Seeker's beam. "Ninety-six hours." There was no doubt about it. At the moment Seeker had the heels of the Dog Star ship.
Grimes was relieved. He did not want to drive his ship any faster. An almost continuous sense of déjà vu is an uncanny thing to have to live with. The temporal precession field had not yet reached a dangerous intensity, but it had been increased to a highly uncomfortable one. Already there was a certain confusion when orders were given and received. Had they been made? Had they been acted upon?
Grimes waited for Pitcher to answer his question, then realized that he had not yet asked it. "Assuming," he said, "that your first estimate of Schnauzer's speed is correct, how much time do we have on Morrowvia before she arrives?"
"Sixty hours Standard, sir. Almost exactly two Morrowvian days."
Not long, thought Grimes. Not long at all for what he had to do. And not knowing what he had to do didn't help matters. He'd just have to make up the rules as he went along.
He said, "We'll maintain a continuous watch on the M.P.I. from now on. Let me know at once if there's any change in the situation, and if any more targets appear on the screen."
"Drongo Kane?" asked Saul.
"Yes, Mr. Saul. Drongo Kane."
The first lieutenant's eyes and teeth were very white in his black face as he smiled mirthlessly. He said, his deep voice little more than a whisper, "I hope that Drongo Kane is bound for Morrowvia, Captain."
"Why, Mr. Saul?" Grimes essayed a feeble jest. "Two's company, three's a crowd."
"Racial hatreds die very hard, Captain. To my people, for many, many years, 'slaver' has been an especially dirty word. Ganda, as you know, was colonized by my people . . . . And some hundreds of them, rescued by Kane's Southerly Buster before their sun