The Road to the Rim - A. Bertram Chandler [46]
He pushed the button—and from the nozzles in the shell plating poured the reflective vapor, the protective screen that glowed ruddily as Adler's lasers slashed out at it.
From the speaker of the dead transceiver, the transceiver that should have been dead, roared the voice of the Survey Service Admiral. "Adler! Cease fire! Cease fire, damn you!" There was a pause, then: "You've asked for it!"
She had asked for it—and now she got it. Suddenly the blip on Grimes' screen that represented the Waldegren frigate became two smaller blips, and then four. The rolling fog outside Epsilon Sextans' viewports lost its luminosity, faded suddenly to drab grayness. The voice from the transceiver said coldly, "And now you, whoever you are, had better identify yourself. And fast."
Craven switched on the communications equipment. He spoke quietly into the microphone. "Interstellar Transport Commission's Epsilon Sextans. Bound Waverly, with general cargo . . ."
"Bound Waverley? Then what the hell are you doing here? And what's that armament you're mounting?"
"Plastic," replied the Captain. "Plastic dummies."
"And I suppose your ALGE is plastic, too. Come off it, Jerry. We've already boarded your old ship, and although your ex-Mate was most reluctant to talk we got a story of sorts from him."
"I thought I recognized your voice, Bill. May I congratulate you upon your belated efforts to stamp out piracy?"
"And may I deplore your determination to take the law into your own hands? Stand by for the boarding party."
Grimes looked at Craven, who was slumped in his seat. The Master's full beard effectively masked his expression. "Sir," asked the Ensign. "What can they do? What will they do?"
"You're the space lawyer, Grimes. You're the expert on Survey Service rules and regulations. What will it be, do you think? A medal—or a firing squad? Praise or blame?"
"You know the Admiral, sir?"
"Yes. I know the Admiral. We're old shipmates."
"Then you should be safe."
"Safe? I suppose so. Safe from the firing squad—but not safe from my employers. I'm a merchant captain, Grimes, and merchant captains aren't supposed to range the spacelanes looking for trouble. I don't think they'll dare fire me—but I know that I can never expect command of anything better than Delta class ships, on the drearier runs." Grimes saw that Craven was smiling. "But there're still the Rim Worlds. There's still the Sundowner Line, and the chance of high rank in the Rim Worlds Navy when and if there is such a service."
"You have . . . inducements, sir?"
"Yes. There are . . . inducements. Now."
"I thought, once," said Grimes, "that I could say the same. But not now. Not any longer. Even so . . . I'm Survey Service, sir, and I should be proud of my service. But in this ship, this merchant vessel, with her makeshift armament, we fought against heavy odds, and won. And, just now, we saved ourselves. It wasn't the Survey Service that saved us."
"Don't be disloyal," admonished Craven.
"I'm not being disloyal, sir. But . . . or, shall we say, I'm being loyal. You're the first captain under whom I served under fire. If you're going out to the Rim Worlds I'd like to come with you."
"Your commission, Grimes. You know that you must put in ten years' service before resignation is possible."
"But I'm dead."
"Dead!"
"Yes. Don't you remember? I was snooping around in the Mannschenn Drive room and I got caught in the temporal precession field. My body still awaits burial; it's in a sealed metal box in the deep freeze. It can never be identified."
Craven laughed. "I'll say this for you. You're ingenious. But how do we account for the absence of the late Mr. Wolverton? And your presence aboard this ship?"
"I can hide, sir, and . . ."
"And while you're hiding you'll concoct some story that will explain everything. Oh Grimes, Grimes—you're an officer I wish I could