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Chapter 27

GRIMES MANAGED to have a few words in private with Clavering before his departure for Ultimo. It was natural enough that he should wish to have a look over Sally Ann, and that vessel’s master could not very well refuse his request.

When they were in the old liner’s control room Grimes said seriously, “I’m warning you, Captain.”

“What about, Commodore?” Clavering’s voice was altogether too innocent.

“You know.”

“All right. So I know. So what?”

“Try to get out of this mess that you’ve gotten into, man. Tell whoever’s behind the racket that he’ll have to find some other way of bringing the stuff in. The risk, for you, just isn’t worth it. You’ve built up a very nice little business here—a not so little business, rather. How long will it last if the Confederacy gets really hostile?”

Clavering said stiffly, “For your information I am pulling out.” His face worked strangely. “Also for your information—I knew Inga Telfer. I . . . I knew her well. I don’t need to tell you, Commodore Grimes, that the owner and manager of a holiday resort has even better opportunities than a passenger ship officer. Did you see any of Inga’s work? There’s a lot of Eblis in it; she was always saying that this planet is a painter’s paradise. Eblis and dreamy weed, and all splashed down on canvas. When I heard of her death I was . . . shocked. I want nothing more to do with the traffic that killed her. Satisfied?”

“Mphm. What about the consignment that’s on the way?”

“What consignment?” countered Clavering.

“I just assumed that there would be one,” said Grimes. He could not say more for fear of blowing Denise Dalgety’s cover.

“Assume all you like,” said Clavering.

And then his chief officer—not Larwood, who would be staying behind to run things in his captain’s absence—came in to report that he had completed the pre-lift-off inspection.

“Thank you, Mr. Tilden,” said Clavering. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, Commodore, I have to start thinking about getting this old lady upstairs. Mr. Tilden will show you to the after airlock.”

“This way, sir,” said the mate.

“A pleasant voyage, Captain,” said Grimes.

“Thank you. Enjoy your stay on Eblis, Commodore.”

“I’ll do just that,” promised Grimes.


Not so very long later, he stood with Billinghurst and Williams, a little apart from Macedon’s passengers, and watched Sally Ann lifting off. The big ship climbed slowly and, it seemed, laboriously—although this impression may have been due to the way in which the irregular hammering of her inertial drive was echoed back from the red basalt cliffs of the canyon walls. Slowly she climbed, clambering up towards the strip of darkling yellow sky far overhead, her far from inconsiderable bulk dwarfed by the towering monolith of the Devil’s Phallus. Slowly she climbed at first, then faster and faster, hurrying to get clear of the atmosphere during the sunset lull.

Abruptly Billinghurst asked, “Did you find anything out, Commodore?”

“Eh? What?”

“I asked,” repeated the fat man patiently, “if you found anything out?”

“I don’t wear ear clips,” said Grimes.

“Ha, ha. Very funny. But, talking of electronic gadgetry, it’s a bloody pity you haven’t got your Carlotti receiver repaired yet.”

“Why?”

“Do I have to spell it out? Because then we could monitor all incoming and outgoing signals.”

“Not necessarily,” Grimes told him. “This mysterious SB Three could be sending on a very tight beam, aimed directly at the bottling plant. I didn’t get a look at the transceiver there myself, but probably it’s designed for tight beam transmission.”

“Not that it makes any difference,” said Billinghurst, “since you can’t do anything about it, anyhow.”

I’ve got Clavering’s word that he’s pulling out, thought Grimes. For what it’s worth . . . How many times have men engaged in illegal activities said, “Just one more time?” Too many. Far too many. And was Clavering already using his ship’s Carlotti equipment to establish communication with SB Three? All too likely.

“I don’t suppose anything will happen until Clavering gets back,” said Billinghurst.

“If then,” said Grimes.

“Are you helping me or not, Commodore?”

“I was merely expressing an opinion. For your information, Mr. Billinghurst, as you should have gathered from the conversation your Miss Dalgety recorded, everybody on this planet knows who you are and what you’re here for, and they suspect that my story about the projected naval base is just a blind. The way in which Ditmar’s been held up at Port Last stinks to high heaven. It’s obvious, as Larwood said, that the heat’s on.”

“When the heat is on, Commodore, people get panicky and make silly mistakes.”

“Some people do, but not all.”

“These ones will,” said Billinghurst flatly, and waddled off.

“The old bastard really loves you, Skipper,” commented Williams.

“Doesn’t he? Damn it all, Commander, I rather envy him. To be in a job where there’s no question of rights or wrongs or personal freedoms, just what’s legal and what’s illegal. . . .”

“Remember Pleshoff and Fellini and Inga Telfer.”

“Pleshoff’s a young idiot, and unlucky to boot. Fellini and the girl were killed by H.E., not by dreamy weed. Too, we’re just assuming that the charge in the drop container was detonated deliberately. Don’t forget that it was under fire from laser and projectile weapons.”

“If you were takin’ a more active part, Skipper, you’d be far happier. You wouldn’t be carryin’ on as if yer name was Hamlet, not Grimes.”

“Perhaps you’re right. If only we had the Malemute in running order. . . .”

“But we haven’t. But we still have the work boat, and that transponder is still stuck to Captain Clavering’s pet atmosphere flier.”

“For all the good it is,” said Grimes.


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