Upon a Sea of Stars (4 page)
Read Upon a Sea of Stars Online
Authors: A. Bertram Chandler
Chapter 6
THE SHIP
having been steadied on to her trajectory, Grimes gave the order that Sonya Verrill had suggested. All hands, with the exception of the watch-keeping officers, gathered in
Faraway Quest’s
commodious wardroom, strapping themselves into their chairs, accepting drinking bulbs from the tray that Karen Schmidt, the Catering Officer, handed around.
When everybody had been supplied with a drink the Commodore surveyed his assembled officers. He wanted to propose a toast, but had never possessed a happy knack with words. The only phrases that came to his mind were too stodgy, too platitudinous. At last he cleared his throat and said gruffly, “Well, gentlemen—and ladies, of course—you may consider that the expedition is under way, and the mainbrace is in the process of being spliced. Perhaps one of you would care to say something.”
Young Swinton sat erect in his chair—in Free Fall, of course, toasts were drunk sitting—and raised his liquor bulb. He declaimed, trying to keep the amusement from his voice, “To the wild ghost chase!”
There was a ripple of laughter through the big compartment—a subdued merriment in which, Grimes noted, Sonya Verrill did not join. He felt a strong sympathy for her. As far as she was concerned this was no matter for jest, this pushing out into the unknown, perhaps the unknowable. It was, for her, the fruition of months of scheming, persuading, wire-pulling. And yet, Grimes was obliged to admit, the play on words was a neat one. “Very well,” he responded, “to the wild ghost chase it is.”
He sipped from his bulb, watched the others doing likewise. He reflected that insofar as Rim Worlds personnel was concerned it would have been hard to have manned the ship with a better crew—for this particular enterprise. All of them, during their service in the Rim Runners’ fleet, had acquired reputations—not bad, exactly, but not good. Each of them had exhibited, from time to time, a certain . . . scattiness? Yes, scattiness. Each of them had never been really at home in a service that, in the final analysis, existed only to make the maximum profit with the minimum expense. But now—the Federation’s taxpayers had deep pockets—expense was no object. There would be no tedious inquiries into the alleged squandering of reaction mass and consumable stores in general.
Insofar as the Survey Service personnel—the Carlotti Communications System specialists—were concerned, Grimes was not so happy. They were an unknown quantity. But he relied on Sonya Verrill to be able to handle them—after all, they were her direct subordinates.
He signaled to Karen Schmidt to serve out another round of drinks, then unstrapped himself and got carefully to his feet, held to the deck by the magnetized soles of his shoes. He said, “There’s no need to hurry yourselves, but I wish to see all departmental heads in my day room in fifteen minutes.”
He walked to the axial shaft, let himself into the tubular alleyway and, ignoring the spiral staircase, pulled himself rapidly forward along the guideline. A vibration of the taut wire told him that he was being followed. He turned to see who it was, and was not surprised to see that it was Sonya Verrill.
She sat facing him across his big desk.
She said, “This is no laughing matter, John. This isn’t just one big joke.”
“The wild ghost chase, you mean? I thought that it was rather clever. Oh, I know that you’ve your own axe to grind, Sonya—but you have to admit that most of us, and that includes me, are along just for the hell of it. Your people, I suppose, are here because they have to be.”
“No. They’re volunteers.”
“Then don’t take things so bloody seriously, woman. We shall all of us do our best—my crew as well as yours. But I don’t think that anybody, apart from myself, has any clue as to your private motives.”
She smiled unhappily. “You’re right, of course, John. But . . .”
There was a sharp rap at the door. “Come in!” called Grimes.
They came in—Swinton, and the burly, redhaired Calhoun, Chief Mannschenn Drive Engineer, and scrawny, balding McHenry, Chief Reaction Drive Engineer. They were followed by the gangling, dreamy Mayhew, Psionic Radio Officer, by little, fat Petersham, the Purser, and by the yellow-haired, stocky Karen Schmidt. Then came Todhunter, the dapper little Surgeon, accompanied by Renfrew, the Survey Service Lieutenant in charge of the modified Carlotti gear.
They disposed themselves on chairs and settees, adjusted their seat straps with practiced hands.
“You may smoke,” said Grimes, filling and lighting his own battered pipe. He waited until the others’ pipes and cigars and cigarettes were under way, then said quietly, “None of you need to be told that this is not a commercial voyage.” He grinned. “It is almost like a return to the bad old days of piracy. We’re like the legendary Black Bart, Scourge of the Spaceways, just cruising along waiting for some fat prize to wander within range of our guns. Not that Black Bart ever went ghost hunting. . . .”
“He would have done, sir,” put in Swinton, “if there’d been money in it.”
“There’s money in anything if you can figure the angle,” contributed McHenry.
This was too much for Sonya Verrill. “I’d have you gentlemen know,” she said coldly, “that the question of money doesn’t enter into it. This expedition is classed as pure scientific research.”
“Is it, Commander Verrill?” Grimes’ heavy eyebrows lifted sardonically. “I don’t think that we should have had the backing either of your Government or of ours unless some farsighted politicians had glimpsed the possibility of future profits. After all, trade between the Alternative Universes could well be advantageous to all concerned.”
“If there
are
Alternative Universes,” put in Calhoun.
“What do you mean, Commander? I specified that the personnel of this ship was to be made up of those who have actually sighted Rim Ghosts.”
“That is so, sir. But we should bear in mind the possibility—or the probability—that the Rim Ghosts
are
ghosts—ghosts, that is, in the old-fashioned sense of the word.”
“We shall bear it in mind, Commander,” snapped Grimes. “And if it is so, then we shall, at least have made a small contribution to the sum total of human knowledge.” He drew deeply from his pipe, exhaled a cloud of blue smoke that drifted lazily towards the nearest exhaust vent. “Meanwhile, gentlemen, we shall proceed, as I have already said, as though we were a pirate ship out of the bad old days. All of you will impress upon your juniors the necessity for absolute alertness at all times. For example, Commander Swinton, the practice of passing a boring watch by playing three-dimensional noughts and crosses in the plotting tank will cease forthwith.” Swinton blushed. This had been the habit of his that had aroused the ire of the Master and the Chief Officer of
Rim Mastodon
. “And, Commander Calhoun, we shall both of us be most unhappy if the log desk in the Mannschenn Drive Room is found to be well stocked with light reading matter and girlie magazines.” It was Calhoun’s turn to look embarrassed. “Oh, Commander McHenry, the Reaction Drive was in first class condition when we blasted off from Port Forlorn. A few hours’ work should suffice to restore it to that condition. I shall not expect to find the Reaction Drive Engine Room littered with bits and pieces that will eventually be reassembled five seconds before planetfall.” The Surgeon, the Purser and the Catering Officer looked at each other apprehensively, but the Commodore pounced next on the Psionic Radio Officer. “Mr. Mayhew, I know that it is the standard practice for you people to gossip with your opposite number all over the Galaxy, but on this voyage, unless I order otherwise, a strict listening watch only is to be kept. Is that understood?”
“You’re the boss,” replied Mayhew dreamily and then, realizing what he had said, “Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Very good, sir.”
Grimes let his glance wander over Todhunter, Petershamm and Schmidt, sighed regretfully. He said, “I think that is all. Have you anything to add, Commander Verrill?”
“You seem to have cleared up all the salient points insofar as your own officers are concerned,” said the girl. “And I am sure that Mr. Renfrew is capable of carrying out the orders that he has already been given.”
“Which are, Commander?”
“As you already know, sir, to maintain his equipment in a state of constant, manned readiness, and to endeavour to lock on to a Rim Ghost as soon as one is sighted.”
“Good. In that case we all seem to know what’s expected. We stand on, and stand on, until . . .”
“I still think, sir,” said Calhoun, “that we should be carrying a Chaplain—one qualified to carry out exorcism.”
“To exorcise the Rim Ghosts,” Sonya Verrill told him, “is the very last thing that we want to do.”
Chapter 7
THEY STOOD ON . . .
And on.
Second by second, minute by minute, hour by hour the time was ticked away by the ship’s master chronometer; watch succeeded watch, day succeeded day. There was normal Deep Space routine to keep the hands occupied, there were the frequent drills—at first carried out at set times and then, as every officer learned what was expected of him, at random intervals—to break the monotony. But nothing was sighted, nothing was seen outside the viewports but the distorted lens of the Galaxy, the faint, far, convoluted nebulosities that were the sparse Rim stars.
Grimes discussed matters with Sonya Verrill.
He said, “I’ve been through all the records, and I still can’t discover a pattern.”
“But there is a pattern,” she told him. “On every occasion at least one member of the group to sight a Rim Ghost has seen his own alternative self.”
“Yes, yes. I know that. But what physical conditions must be established before a sighting? What initial velocity, for example? What temporal precession rate? As far as I can gather, such things have had no bearing on the sightings whatsoever.”
“Then they haven’t.”
“But there must be some specific combination of circumstances, Sonya.”
“Yes. But it could well be something outside the ship from which the ghost is sighted, some conditions peculiar to the region of Space that she is traversing.”
“Yes, yes. But what?”
“That, John, is one of the things we’re supposed to find out.”
Grimes said, “You know, Sonya, I think that perhaps we are on the wrong track, We’re trying to do the job with technicians and machinery . . .”
“So?”
“How shall I put it? This way, perhaps. It could be that the best machine to employ would be the human mind. Or brain.”
“What do you mean?”
“That Calhoun may have something after all. It will not surprise you to learn that I have, on microfilm, a complete dossier on every Rim Worlds’ officer in this ship. I’ve been through these dossiers, hoping to establish some sort of pattern. As you know, every Rim Worlder in this ship has at least one Rim Ghost sighting to his name. Now, our Mr. Calhoun, or Commander Calhoun if you like—you recall his remarks at our first conference, just after we’d lined up for the Mellise sun?”
“I do. He was saying that the Rim Ghosts might be
real
—or should one say
unreal?
—ghosts.”
“Yes. Anyhow, Calhoun was born on the Rim. On Ultimo, to be exact. But his parents were migrants. From Dunglass.”
“Yes. . . .”
“You know Dunglass?”
“I was there once. An odd world. Ruled by a theocracy . . . Or is ‘theocracy’ the right word? But the United Reformed Spiritualist Church runs the show, after a fashion.”
“Probably as well as any other government on any other world. Anyhow, the U.R.S.C., as no doubt you know, has its share of heretics. Calhoun’s parents were such. Apparently the house in which they lived was haunted, and they employed a bootleg exorcist to lay the ghost. This was frowned upon by the authorities, so much so that the Calhouns decided to emigrate. Now, one can be a heretic without being either an atheist or an agnostic. The Calhouns still
believe
, although reserving the right to believe in their own way. Their only son was brought up in their religion.”
“And so what?”
“So—ignoring telepathy, telekinesis, teleportation and the like—what proportion of psychic phenomena is due to the activities of the dear departed, and what proportion is due to a . . . leakage—from one Universe through to another?”
“H’m. I must confess that this was a line of approach that never occurred to me. I don’t pretend to be an expert on so-called psychic matters, but if we did hold a seance, shouldn’t we require a medium?”
“We have one—Mr. Mayhew.”
“Yes. But as you know, all these Rhine Institute graduates insist that there’s nothing supernatural about their psionic talents. Furthermore, one can be telepathic without being clairvoyant.”
“Can one, Sonya? I’m not so sure. There are quite a few recorded cases of clairvoyance, and many of them can be explained by telepathy. Even the premonitory ones can be accounted for by assuming the reception of a telepathic broadcast from a Universe with a slightly different Time Scale. There is no need to assume that the Rim Ghosts are a supernatural phenomenon. If we do pay lip service to one of the supernatural religions it will only be to create the right conditions for our own experiments.”
She said, “You rank me, John, and you’re in command of this ship and this expedition. But I still don’t like it.”
“You think that we’re selling out, as it were, to the supernaturalists?”
“Frankly, yes.”
“I don’t see it that way. What is natural, and what is supernatural? Can you draw a dividing line?
I
can’t.”
“All right.” She unstrapped herself and got to her feet, the slight effort pushing her up and clear from the chair. She hung there, motionless, until the feeble gravitational field of her shoe soles pulled her back to the deck. Then, contact having been made with solidity, she flung her hands out in an appealing gesture. “Do what you can, John, any way you like. But do it. You’ve guessed how hard it was for me to persuade our top brass to pour time and money into what your Commander Swinton called a wild ghost chase. Unless we get results, there’ll never be another one. And you know that I want results. And you know the sort of results I want.” Her hands fell to her sides. “Only—only I’ve stood on my own flat feet for so long that it rather hurts to have to call in outside assistance.”
“It won’t be outside assistance, Sonya. We shall be working with and through our own people, aboard our own ship. All that we shall be trying to do will be the creation of conditions favorable to a leakage from one Universe to another.”
“As you say. As you say.” She laughed briefly. “After all, men and women have been in the habit of selling their souls to the Devil from the very beginnings of human history. Or mythology.” She paused. “No, history is the better word.”
He said, exasperated, “But we won’t be selling our souls to the Devil. If it makes Calhoun any happier to think that he’s gained a few converts to the odd faith of his parents, what does it matter?” He reached out for his telephone, pressed a numbered stud. “Mr. Mayhew? Commodore here. Can you spare me a moment?” He pressed another stud. “Commander Calhoun? Commodore here. Would you mind stepping up to my quarters?”
Sonya Verrill pulled herself back into her chair, buckled herself in and she and Grimes sat back to wait.
Mayhew was first to arrive in Grimes’ day cabin. He was untidy as always, his uniform shirt sloppily buttoned, one shoulderboard hanging adrift, his wispy gray hair rumpled, his eyes vague and unfocused. He stifled a yawn. “Yes, sir?”
“Take a seat, please, Mr. Mayhew.” There was a sharp rap at the door. “Come in!”
Calhoun entered, somewhat ostentatiously wiping his hands on a piece of waste. He, too, was told to be seated.
“Commander Calhoun,” said Grimes, “I believe that you were brought up in the beliefs of the United Reformed Spiritualist Church?”
“No, sir.” The engineer’s reply was a stressed negative. “No, sir. I was brought up in the beliefs of the United Primitive Spiritualist Church.” He seemed to realize that his answer had caused a certain confusion in Grimes’ mind, so went on, “You will know something of Dunglass, sir. You will know that there were people, my parents among them, who advocated a return to the old beliefs, the old, the only true faith. The right to exorcise, for example . . .”
“Yes, Commander. I understand. But you believe in the existence of the Rim Ghosts?”
“Of course, sir—although it has yet to be determined if they are good or evil manifestations. If they are evil, then exorcism should be practiced.”
“Yes, of course. As you are well aware, most of us in this ship do not hold the same views as yourself regarding the phenomena of the Rim Ghosts. But you will agree that it is desirable that contact be made with one or more of the apparitions—after all, this is the purpose of this expedition. And if such contact is made . . .” Grimes paused. “If such contact is made, it might well be to the advantage of your church.”
“That is so, sir.”
“Perhaps you might help us to make such a contact.”
“How, sir? I do not think that tampering with the Drive controls will achieve any useful result.”
“That was not in my mind. But it had occurred to me, Commander, that there are certain rites practiced by your Church . . .”
“A seance, you mean, Commodore? But I have no mediumistic talents. If such had been the case I should not be here now; I should have entered our priesthood.”
“But you know the drill?”
“Yes, sir. I am conversant with the rites and ceremonies. But without a medium they are valueless.”
“Here is our medium,” said Grimes, nodding towards the almost asleep Mayhew.
The Psionic Radio Officer jerked awake. “Come off it!” he ejaculated. “I’m a technician, not a cheap fortune teller!” Then, “I beg your pardon, sir. What I meant to say is that the Rhine Institute has always been opposed to superstition.”
“Religion is not superstition, you half-witted teacup reader!” shouted Calhoun.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen . . .” soothed Grimes. “Need I remind you that we are under Naval discipline, and that I could order you, Commander Calhoun, to organize a seance, and you Mr. Mayhew, to officiate as medium?”
“Even in the Navy,
sir
,” said Calhoun, his freckles standing out sharply against the suddenly white skin of his face, “there are lawful and unlawful commands.”
“And,” Grimes told him coldly, “bearing in mind the peculiar purpose of this expedition, such a command made by myself would be construed as lawful by the Board of Admiralty. But many centuries ago, back in the days when navies were made up of wooden ships sailing Earth’s seas, there used to be a saying: ‘One volunteer is worth ten pressed men.’ Surely, Commander, you will not hesitate to volunteer to play your part in an experiment that, when made public, could well result in a flood of converts to your faith?”
“If you put it that way, sir, But . . .”
“And surely, Mr. Mayhew, you will not hesitate to play your part? After all, it could well lead to a Fellowship of your Institute. . . .”
“But, sir, the superstition . . .”
“If you dare to use that word again, Mayhew . . .” threatened Calhoun.
“Commander! Please remember where you are. And Mr. Mayhew, I am asking you to respect Commander Calhoun’s beliefs. If that is ineffective I shall order you to do so—with the usual penalties if the order is willfully disobeyed.”
The pair of them lapsed into a sulky silence.
Grimes went on, “I shall leave matters in your hands, Commander. You are the only person in the ship qualified to carry out the necessary organization. And you, Mr. Mayhew, will co-operate fully with Commander Calhoun.” He smiled briefly. “And now, gentlemen, perhaps a little refreshment before you engage yourself upon what are, after all, somewhat unusual duties. . . .”
When they were gone, mellowed by the alcohol, almost friendly towards each other, Sonya Verrill said, “The big stick and the carrot . . . I hope the combination gets results.”
“I hope it gets the results we want,” replied Grimes. “We don’t want to raise any ghosts of the wrong sort.”
“No,” whispered Sonya, her face suddenly pale and strained.
“No.”
