Galactic Courier: The John Grimes Saga III (72 page)

“But
my
company,” Grimes told her. “Far Traveler Couriers. And what Survey Service captain owns the ship that he commands or wears uniform trimmings of his own design?”

“But you still aren’t a Survey Service captain,” said his mother stubbornly.

But I am, my dearest Matilda,
he thought.
I’m Captain John Grimes, Federation Survey Service Reserve. It’s a pity that I can’t tell you.

***

Later during his stay Grimes talked with his father about the old-time privateers, trying to draw upon the old man’s fund of historical knowledge.

“Perhaps the most famous, or notorious,” said the author, “was Captain Kidd, although most people think that he was a pirate. He was tried as such, found guilty and hanged. For murder as well as piracy. During a heated altercation with his gunner, one William Moore, he broke that officer’s skull with a wooden bucket.”

“I murdered William Moore as I sailed,”
sang Grimes tunelessly.

“I murdered William Moore as I sailed,

I knocked him on the head

Till he bled the scuppers red

And I heaved him with the lead

As I sailed . . .”

“So you know something of the story,” said Grimes’ father.

“Yes. But carry on, George.”

“Kidd was commissioned as a privateer. He was authorized both to seize French vessels—at that time England was at war with France, a very common state of affairs—and to hunt down pirates. It was alleged that he joined forces with these same pirates and accumulated a huge treasure, which, to this day, has not been found . . .”

“If you can’t lick ’em, join ’em,” said Grimes.

“Not a very moral attitude, young man. But it seems possible, probable even, that Kidd was framed. There were some very dirty politics involved. The Governor of New York, then a British colony, had his reasons for wishing Kidd silenced. Permanently.”

“Mphm,” grunted Grimes. What dirty politics would he be getting mixed up in, he wondered.

“And then,” his father continued, “there was the literary buccaneer, Dampier. He was one of the first Europeans to reach Australia. He made his landings on the west coast and was impressed neither by the country nor its inhabitants. He actually started his seafaring career as a pirate but somehow acquired a veneer of respectability. He was actually appointed by the British Admiralty to command one of their ships on a voyage of exploration. After that he sailed as a privateer, making two voyages. On the second one he hit it rich . . .”

“So there was money in privateering,” said Grimes.

“Of course. Why else should a group of merchants buy a ship and fit her out and man her as what was, in effect, a privately owned man-o’-war? But the days of the privateer, on Earth’s seas, were finished by the Second Hague Conference in 1907, Old Reckoning. Then it was ruled that a warship must be a unit of a national navy.”

“You’ve been swotting this up,” accused Grimes.

“As a matter of fact, I have. I’m working on an ‘If Of History’ novel. About the Australian War of Independence, which started with the Massacre at Glenrowan, when the Kelly Gang slaughtered all the police aboard the special train. In actual history, of course, the special train was not derailed—the Glenrowan schoolteacher, Curnow, flagged it down before it got to the torn-up track—and it was the Kelly Gang that was wiped out . . .”

“I know, I know. And Ned Kelly is supposed to have been a freedom fighter. But he was a bushranger, not a privateer.”

“Let me finish, John. Among the characters in my novel is a millionaire American shipowner who’s very anti-British. And he has two of his ships fitted out as privateers to harry Pommy merchantmen.”

“Cor stone my Aunt Fanny up a gum tree!” exclaimed Grimes. “The things you come up with! I’d just hate to be a character in one of your books!”

“I still think that the Australian War of Independence was a possibility,” said the writer. “And, back in 1880, privateering was still legal. Anyhow, I got interested in the subject and carried on with more research. As far as I can gather, the 1907 Hague Conference ruling still holds good—but possibly only insofar as the Federated Worlds are concerned. It could be argued that any planet not in the Interstellar Federation can make its own rules. On the other hand, I have learned that the Federation’s Interstellar Navigation Regulations are observed by just about everybody.”

“I could have told you that,” said Grimes. “They’re taken as a model by all spacefaring races. But, getting back to the subject of privateering, there have been astronautical precedents. The notorious Black Bart, for example. He—like Captain Kidd—is widely regarded as having been a pirate. But he always maintained that he was a privateer. His planetary base was within the sphere of influence of the Duchy of Waldegren. The Duchy tolerated him, as long as he paid the taxes. They tolerated and, at times, used him. They weren’t very fussy about whom they employed—they still aren’t—any more than Black Bart was fussy about who employed him.”

“Why all this interest in privateering, John?” asked his father.

“Oh, well, I guess that it’s an interesting topic.”

“You aren’t thinking of going privateering?” asked the old man sharply.

“Who?
Me?
” countered Grimes.

“I wouldn’t put it past you. But if you do, don’t let your mother know. It’s bad enough that you never got to be a four-ring captain in the Survey Service, but if you become a privateer she’d tell you never to darken her door again.”

And what if I became both?
Grimes asked himself.

But he said nothing.

Chapter 17

GRIMES RETURNED TO PORT WOOMERA;
Billy Williams had telephoned to say that Rear Admiral Damien required his presence aboard
Sister Sue
. Grimes’ father overheard some of the conversation.

He asked, a little suspiciously, “Why should an admiral be wanting you, John? You’re a civilian shipmaster, aren’t you?”

Grimes thought hard and fast, then said, “At the moment the ship is berthed in the Survey Service area of the spaceport. I will have to shift her to one of the commercial berths to load my outward cargo.” (He probably would have to do just that but it would not be for a few days yet.)

He made his booking. His parents came to the airport to see him off.

“Look after yourself, John,” his mother told him. “And try not to make it so long between visits.”

“I’ll try,” he promised.

“And try to stay inside the law,” said his father.

How much did the old man suspect? The author, Grimes well knew, at times had telepathic flashes and, more than once, while Grimes was still a schoolboy, had seemed to be able almost to read his mind. And there were others possessing psychic talents. Magda Granadu was one such.

She came to see Grimes as soon as he was back in his quarters aboard
Sister Sue
.

“Captain,” she demanded, “what is happening?”

“We shall be carrying a cargo of luxury goods to El Dorado. That’s common knowledge.”

“But I feel uneasy. It’s not the first time that I’ve had such premonitions.”

“It must be the time of the month,” said Grimes.

She flushed angrily and snapped, “It is not!”

“Sorry.”

“I’ve brought the book,” she said. “And the coins.”

“Oh, all right,” said Grimes. It would do no harm to humor the woman.

He took from her the three metal discs, shook them in his cupped hands, let them drop to the deck of his day cabin.

Two heads and a tail . . .
Yang
. Then another
yang
. And another. Then two tails and a head . . .
Yin
.
Yang
again, then a final
yin
.

“Well?” he demanded.

She consulted the book.

“Hsu,” she murmured. “Biding one’s time. Sincerity will lead to brilliant success. Firmness will bring good fortune. It will be advantageous to cross the great water.”

“And what the hell’s wrong with that?” asked Grimes.

“I haven’t finished yet, Captain. Here’s the commentary. Peril lies ahead, but despite the urge toward activity which is shown, he will not allow himself to be involved in a dangerous situation. Firm persistence in a right course of action will ensure great success. But strength and determination are needed to make the most of the progressive trends now operating. It is an auspicious time to commence a major undertaking. The strong man’s inclination when faced with danger is to advance on it and combat it without delay; but here one would be wise to wait until success is assured.”

Grimes laughed. “And what’s wrong with that for a prognostication?” he asked. “It’s an excellent weather forecast before the start of a voyage.”

“But it counsels caution. It talks of danger.”

“If we were afraid of danger, Ms. Granadu, we should not be spacers.”

“My own reading,” she said, “was much more ominous. It was
Po
. It will not be advantageous for me to make a move in any direction. The forces operating against me will be too great for me to prevail against them. I have to wait for a change for the better.”

“And do you want to wait here, on Earth? I can pay you off, you know, although you should have given me more notice. But I don’t want to lose you; you’re a good catering officer and a very good shipmate.”

“And I don’t want to leave this ship, Captain. We shall just have to heed the warnings and be very, very careful.”

You can say that again,
thought Grimes. If all went as planned, he would find himself dealing with Drongo Kane—and he who sups with the devil needs a long spoon.

His door buzzer sounded.

“Come in,” he called.

Damien was there, in uniform, and with him were two youngish men in civilian shirts and slacks. One of them was short, stocky, with close-cropped sandy hair over a broad, craggy face, with little, very pale blue eyes under almost nonexistent brows. The other was tall, weedy almost, with fair hair that was more than a little too long, with sensitive features just short of being effeminate and eyes that seemed to vary in color.

“Here is your new third officer, Captain Grimes,” said Damien. “Mr. Venner.”

The short man bowed slightly and then took the hand that Grimes extended to him. His grip was firm and, Grimes knew, would have been painful had full strength been exerted.

“And this is Mr. Mayhew, an old friend of mine . . .”
Like hell I am!
the words formed themselves in Grimes’ mind. He looked at Mayhew suspiciously. “He asked me if I could arrange passage for him to El Dorado and beyond. He’s spending his Long Service Leave traveling . . .”

“And what’s your line of business, Mr. Mayhew?” asked Grimes, genuinely curious as to what the cover story would be.

“Senior clerk, Captain, with Pargeter and Crummins, Importers. You may have heard of them.”

Grimes hadn’t—yet this Mayhew was suddenly looking like a senior clerk, like a man who had spent all his working life at a desk. Nobody would take him for a spaceman—nobody, that is, who was seeing the telepath as he wished to be seen.

“Magda,” said Grimes, “will you see to it that the third officer’s cabin is ready? And one of the spare rooms for Mr. Mayhew.”

“Very good, sir.”

She left.

When the door had closed after her, Mayhew’s appearance underwent another subtle transformation. Now he looked like what he, in actuality, was—a Survey Service officer in one of that organization’s specialist branches, a typical commissioned teacup reader . . .

“I have often wished,” said Mayhew, “that I could meet the man who first called us that.”

“Probably an engineer,” said Grimes.

“But
you
thought it, Captain. Just now.”

“Don’t bother to say that you’re sorry, Captain Grimes,” said Damien. “He’ll know that you’re lying.”

“If he does,” Grimes said, “he’ll be doing so in gross contravention of the Rhine Institute’s code of ethics.”

Mayhew smiled. It was a likeable smile. He said, “There are some minds, Captain Grimes, into which I would no sooner probe than dive into a cesspit. Yours, sir, is not one of them.”

“Thank you,” said Grimes. “But I’ll be greatly obliged if you don’t make a habit of invading my mental privacy.”

“Mr. Mayhew will be doing his job, Captain,” said Damien. “I have no doubt that you will find his services extremely valuable. And Mr. Venner’s. But I’ll give you fair warning. Don’t ever play cards with him.”

This appeared to be some kind of private joke.

Grimes asked, “Does he cheat? Or is he just abnormally lucky?”

Venner grinned while Damien said, “Neither. You’re the one who’s notorious for having luck.” He laughed. “Just stay that way.”

“I hope I do,” said Grimes. “But some famous privateers, such as Captain Kidd, weren’t so lucky.”

“Captain Morgan was,” said Damien.

“Sir Henry Morgan,” Grimes said, “wasn’t a privateer. He was a pirate.”

“What’s the difference?” asked Damien.

Grimes sighed. It was all very well for the Rear Admiral to adopt such a could-hardly-care-less attitude. If things should go badly wrong it would not be he who would be left holding the baby.

Chapter 18

SISTER SUE
lifted from Port Woomera.

She had a full loading of commodities that even on their planet of origin were expensive, some of them hellishly so. Freight charges would make them even more costly. Beluga caviar, champagne, truffles, pate de foié gras . . . Guiness Stout from Ireland, cheeses from Holland, France, Switzerland and Italy . . . Whiskies from Scotland, Ireland, North America and Japan . . . Salami sausages—Italian, Polish and Hungarian . . . Smoked salmon, vintage sardines, anchovies, olives . . .

To sit on top of such a cargo for a voyage of weeks’ duration, thought Grimes, would be to suffer the tortures of Tantalus. (He had not been nicknamed Gutsy Grimes for nothing.) In a ship with an uninspired catering officer and an ailing autochef the temptation to pilfer cargo would have been well nigh irresistible. Luckily
Sister Sue
was not in that class.

The lift-off was uneventful.