Chapter 20 
Chapter 20
LATE IN THE MORNING Williams broke surface. When he heard what had happened to his ship he snapped from a muzzy semiconsciousness to a state of energetic alertness with amazing rapidity. As soon as he was dressed he hurried to the spaceport to assess the damage.
Grimes waited for him in the spacious lounge of the Lucifer Arms that now, after the cruise liner’s departure, was almost deserted. Sally Clavering found him there. She sat down, facing him over the small table with its coffee service, said. “I heard what happened, Commodore.”
“You probably heard it happen,” said Grimes, who was in a bad mood. “There was quite a crash.”
“But Ian’s such a good shiphandler.”
Grimes relented slightly. He had always found it hard to speak unkindly to really attractive women. He said, “The best of us have our off days. And, sooner or later, accidents just have to happen.”
“Do you think it was an accident?” she asked.
“Mphm,” grunted Grimes noncommitally.
She said, “I’m worried, Commodore. I’ve a feeling—it’s more than just a feeling—that Ian’s got himself into some sort of trouble. Over the past year or so he’s . . . changed. I’ve asked him, more than once, what it is, but he just laughs it off.”
“Money trouble?” asked Grimes.
She laughed. “That’s the least of our worries. I was, as you know, Sally Ann’s Purser—and now that I’m ashore, I carry on pursering. I keep the books for the hotel and all the rest of it. I hope you don’t think that I’m boasting when I say that we’re doing very nicely.”
“Income tax?”
“No. Really, Commodore, we have it made. Eblis is one of the Rim Worlds, and legally speaking is part of the Confederacy, but we, Sally Ann’s crew, were the first settlers, the only permanent settlers. How did our lawyer put it? ‘You’re of, but not in, the Confederacy.’ Sooner or later the Grand Council of the Confederacy will get around to passing laws to bring us in properly, so we have to pay taxes, and duty on everything we import. What’s holding up such legislation is the squabbling over which of the Rim Worlds shall take us under its wing—Lorn or Faraway, Ultimo or Thule. Another complicating factor, which we shall drag in if we have to, is that Sally Ann, still in commission, is under Federation registration, and all of us, Sally Ann’s original crew, are still Federation citizens.”
“Complicated,” admitted Grimes.
“Yes, isn’t it? Of course, if the Navy decides that it must have a base here there’s not much that we can do about it.” She smiled. “But we have reduced rates at the hotel for legislators. That should help.”
“You shouldn’t have told me that.”
“Everybody knows. Everybody knows, too, that a holiday here would be impossibly expensive if our profits were eaten away by taxes. Our guests from the Rim Worlds aren’t in the same financial brackets as those in the cruise liners, from the Federation’s planets. The next cruise ship in will be Macedon. While she’s still here Ian will be taking Sally Ann to Ultimo to pick up a large party of Rim Worlders. A religious convention, as a matter of fact.”
“Odd,” commented Grimes. “This is hardly the sort of world to inspire the fear of hell fire.”
“It is in parts, Commodore, make no mistake about that. But these people who’re coming don’t belong to any of the old religions. They’re members of some new cult or faith or whatever. What do they call themselves? The Gateway? Something like that.”
“All religions are gateways, I suppose, or make out that they’re gateways—gateways to . . . something.” He tried to steer the conversation back on to its original track. “With all this trade I can’t see how you or Captain Clavering have anything to worry about.”
“That’s it, Commodore. We shouldn’t have any worries. But Ian’s been . . . odd lately. Forgive me for suggesting it, but I thought that you, as a fellow shipmaster, might be able to pull him out of it. He’ll tell you things that he wouldn’t tell me.”
Is there a marriage guidance counsellor in the house? thought Grimes. He said, “Just a phase, probably. All marriages pass through them. There are times when Sonya—you must meet her some time—when Sonya and I are hardly on speaking terms. But we get over it.” Another woman? he asked himself. Or . . . ?
She read his thoughts, partially at least. She said, “It’s not another woman. He has his opportunities, running a resort like this. He may have taken an occasional opportunity. But his . . . his secrecy is worse between ships, at times like this when the hotel is empty. There’s something on his mind. He hardly slept at all last night, and when he did sleep he was muttering to himself. And it wasn’t a woman’s name, either. It was, I think, just technicalities. ‘Thrust’ came into it. And ‘breaking strain’.”
“Mphm. Just a technician’s nightmare. I get ’em myself sometimes.” He remembered the dream that Williams must have experienced when he, Grimes, tried in vain to awaken him. “So do other people. Oh, by the way, do you bottle your own mineral water?”
She looked surprised at the abrupt change of subject, then said, “Yes. As a matter of fact we do. We have a small plant on the bank of the river, the only river, running into the Bitter Sea. Its water’s not quite as rich in assorted chemicals as the Sea itself. Rather an acquired taste, actually, although it’s supposed to have all sorts of medicinal qualities. The tourists drink it religiously. We import soft drinks too—but they’re mainly for the devils, who enjoy anything as long as it’s really sweet.”
“I had some of your own mineral water last night, when I turned in. I thought it tasted a bit . . . odd.”
“It most certainly does, Commodore. I never touch it myself. But the bottling plant is one of Ian’s hobbies.” She lapsed into a short, brooding silence. “If ever a man should be happy, it’s him.”
“Men are unwise and curiously planned,” quoted Grimes.
“You can say that again, Commodore. But here comes your Commander Williams. He looks as though he has real worries. I’ll leave you to him.”
Williams dropped into the chair vacated by Sally Clavering, so heavily that Grimes feared that he would burst it. He said, “She’s had it. She’s really had it, Skipper. The inertial drive unit sheared its holding-down bolts. The Mannschenn Drive looks like one of those mobile sculptures—an’ about as much bloody use! Even the boats are in a mess—the inertial drive units again. The work boat is the least badly damaged.”
“Radio gear?”
“We can fix the NST transceiver, I think, but not the Carlotti. We haven’t the spares. But the Malemute herself . . . we have to get her sitting up properly before we can start any major repairs, an’ there’s no heavy lifting gear on the bloody planet. We could do it by using a tug—but Rim Malemute is the only tug we have in commission—had in commission—on the whole bloody Rim. Oh, yes, there’s Rim Husky, but she’s been laid up for so long that she’s just part of the Port Edgell scenery—an’ at her best she couldn’t pull a soldier off her sisters!”
“We can ask Captain Clavering to hook on to the Malemute when he takes his Sally Ann out.”
“Yes, we can, I suppose. He’s very good at towing, isn’t he? Ha, ha! An’ when’ll that be, Skipper?”
“Not until Macedon’s arrived here. Mphm. I doubt if he’ll come at it. Too much chance of damaging Macedon.”
“He didn’t mind damaging Sobraon. Although I did hear, from that young puppy in Aero-Space Control, that she got away with no worse than a few scratches an’ some dented fairing. Clavering’s on his way back down from orbit now, an’ Captain Gillings, the pride of TG Clippers, is on his way rejoicing. What a pair! What a bloody pair! He an’ Clavering. . . .”
“You weren’t too bright yourself this morning.”
Williams grinned ruefully. “No, I wasn’t, was I? Do you know what I think it was?” He obviously did not expect that his story would be believed. “I had one helluva thirst when I turned in, and all that was in the ’fridge was a half-dozen bottles of lolly-water. It tasted like it’d been drunk before, but it was cold and wet. You know, Skipper, I think it must have gone bad.”
“You could be right,” said Grimes, “although not in the way you mean.”