The Inheritors - A. Bertram Chandler [9]
"As I said before," Grimes told him, "they weren't sold. They entered the duke's service as indentured labor."
"Even so, sir, I would like to meet Captain Drongo Kane."
"It's just as well," said Grimes, "that he's not a reincarnation of Oliver Cromwell—if he were, Mr. Connery would be after his blood too . . . ."
He regarded his first lieutenant dubiously. He was a good man, a good officer, and Grimes liked him personally. But if Southerly Buster made a landing on Morrowvia he would have to be watched carefully. And—who would watch the watchman? Grimes knew that if he wished to reach flag rank in the Service he would have to curb his propensity for taking sides.
"Mphm," he grunted. Then, "I'll leave Control in your capable hands, Mr. Saul. And keep a watchful eye on the M.P.I., Mr. Pitcher. I'm going down to have a few words with Hayakawa."
* * *
Lieutenant Hayakawa was on watch—but a psionic communications officer, as any one such will tell you, is always on watch. He was not, however, wearing the rig of the day. His grossly obese body was inadequately covered by a short kimono, gray silk with an embroidered design of improbable looking flowers. Scrolls, beautifully inscribed with Japanese ideographs, hung on the bulkheads, although space had been left for a single hologram, a picture of a strikingly symmetrical snow-capped mountain sharp against a blue sky. The deck was covered with a synthetic straw matting. In the air was the faint, sweet pungency of a burning joss stick.
Hayakawa got slowly and ponderously to his feet. "Captain san . . ." he murmured.
"Sit down, Mr. Hayakawa," ordered Grimes. The acceleration—now more than two Gs—was bad enough for him; it would be far, far worse for one of the telepath's build. He lowered himself to a pile of silk cushions. Not for the first time he regretted that Hayakawa had been allowed to break the regulations governing the furnishing of officers' cabins—but PCOs, trading upon their rarity, are privileged persons aboard any ship.
He settled down into a position approximating comfort—and then had to get up and shift the cushions and himself to another site. From the first one he had far too good a view of Hayakawa's psionic amplifier, the disembodied dog's brain suspended in its globe of cloudy nutrient fluid. The view of Mount Fujiyama was much more preferable.
He said, "We have Schnauzer on the M.P.I. now."
"I know, Captain."
"You would," remarked Grimes, but without rancor. "And you still haven't picked up any further . . . emanations from her?"
"No. Her PCO is Delwyn Hume. I have met him. He is a good man. What you called my judo technique worked just once with him. It will never work again." Then Hayakawa smiled fatly and sweetly. "But I have other news for you."
"Tell."
"Southerly Buster, Captain. Myra Bracegirdle is the CPO. She is good—but, of course, we are all good. Her screen is as tight as that maintained by Hume or myself. But . . .
"She is emotional. During moments of stress her own thoughts seep through. She hates the Buster's mate. His name is Aloysius Dreebly. Now and again—often, in fact—he tries to force his attentions on her."
"Interesting," commented Grimes. He thought, This is building up to one of those situations where everybody hates everybody. Mr. Saul hates Captain Kane, although he's never met him personally. Myra hates Aloysius. The way Maggie's been carrying on lately I'm beginning to think that she hates me. And I doubt very much if Captain Danzellan feels any great affection for Mr. Francis Delamere . . . . He grinned. But Frankie loves Tabbie . . . .
He said, "And is Southerly Buster bound for Morrowvia?"
"I cannot say, Captain. But she is around. And just before you came in I 'heard' Myra Bracegirdle think, "Thank the gods there're only seven more days to go before we arrive!' "
And that, Grimes told himself, means that she gets there at the same time as us . . . .
He clambered laboriously to his feet, went to Hayakawa's telephone. He punched, first of all, for Lieutenant