THE HOLOGRAMS were all gone from the bulkheads of Captain Craven's cabin. To replace them there was just one picture—of a woman, not young, but with the facial bone structure that defies age and time. She was in uniform, and on her shoulderboards were the two and a half stripes of a Senior Purser. The shipmaster noticed Grimes' interest and said briefly and bitterly. "She was too senior for an Epsilon class ship—but she cut her leave short, just to oblige, when the regular purser went sick. She should have been back on Earth at the same time as me, though. Then we were going to get married . . . ."
Grimes said nothing. He thought, Too senior for an Epsilon class ship? Epsilon Sextans, for example? What could he say?
"And that," said Craven savagely, "was that."
"I'm sorry, sir," blurted Grimes, conscious of the inadequacy of his words. Then, foolishly, "But there are survivors, sir."
"Don't you think that I haven't got Letourneau and his opposite number checking? And have you ever seen the aftermath of a Deep Space battle, Mister? Have you ever boarded a ship that's been slashed and stabbed to death with laser beams?" He seemed to require no answer; he pulled himself into the chair by his desk, strapped himself in and motioned to Grimes to be seated. Then he pulled out from a drawer a large sheet of paper, which he unfolded. It was a cargo plan. "Current voyage," he grunted. "And we're carrying more to Lindisfarne than one brand-new ensign."
"Such as, sir?" ventured Grimes.
"Naval stores. I don't mind admitting that I'm more than a little rusty insofar as Survey Service procedure is concerned, even though I still hold my Reserve Commission. You're more familiar with fancy abbreviations than I am. Twenty cases RERAT, for example . . . ."
"Reserve rations, sir. Canned and dehydrated."
"Good. And ATREG?"
"Atmospheric regeneration units, complete."
"So if Epsilon Sextans' 'farm' has been killed we shall be able to manage?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do you think you'd be able to install an ATREG unit?"
"Of course, sir. They're very simple, as you know. Just synthetic chlorophyll and a UV source . . . . In any case, there are full instructions inside every container."
"And this? A double M, Mark XV?"
"Anti-Missile Missile."
"And ALGE?"
"Anti-Laser Gas Emitter."
"The things they do think of. I feel more at home with these AVMs—although I see that they've got as far as Mark XVII now."
"Anti-Vessel Missiles," said Grimes. A slight enthusiasm crept into his voice. "The XVII's a real honey."
"What does it do?"
"I'm sorry, sir. Even though you are a Reserve Officer, I can't tell you."
"But they're effective?"
"Yes. Very."
"And I think you're Gunnery Branch, Mr. Grimes, aren't you?"
"I am sir." He added hastily, "But I'm still quite capable of carrying out a watch officer's duties aboard this vessel should the need arise."
"The main thing is, you're familiar with naval stores and equipment. When we find and board Epsilon Sextans I shall be transshipping certain items of cargo . . . "
"RERAT and ATREG, sir?"
"Yes. And the others."
"But, sir, I can't allow it. Not unless I have authority from the Flag Officer commanding Lindisfarne Base. As soon as your Mr. Letourneau can be spared I'll get him to try and raise the station there."
"I'm afraid that's out of the question, Mr. Grimes. In view of the rather peculiar political situation, I think that the answer would be No. Even if it were 'Yes', you know as well as I how sluggishly the tide flows through official channels. Furthermore, just in case it has escaped your notice, I am the Master."
"And I, sir, represent the Survey Service. As the only commissioned officer aboard this vessel I am responsible for Survey Service cargo."
"As a Reserve Officer, Mr. Grimes, I rank you."
"Only when you have been recalled to Active Service. Sir."
Craven said, "I was rather afraid that you'd take this attitude. That's why I decided to get this interview over and done with, just so we all know where we stand." He put away the cargo plan, swiveled his chair so that he could reach out to his liquor cabinet. He pulled out two bulbs, tossed one to Grimes. "No toasts. If we drank to Law and Order we should mean different things. So just drink. And listen.
"To begin with, Epsilon Sextans doesn't know where she is. But Letourneau is one of the rare telepaths with the direction finding talent, and as soon as he's able to get lined up we shall alter course to home on the wreck. That's what he's trying to do now.
"When we find her, we shall synchronize and board, of course. The first thing will be medical aid to the survivors. Then we patch the ship up. And then we arm her. And then, with a prize crew under myself, we put ourselves on the trajectory for Waverley—hoping that those Waldegrenese frigates come back for another nibble."
"They'd never dare, sir."
"Wouldn't they? The original piracy they'll try to laugh off by saying that it was by real pirates— no, that's not quite right, but you know what I mean—wearing Waldegren colors. The second piracy—they'll make sure that there are no survivors."
"But I still can't see how they can hope to get away with it. It's always been an accepted fact that the main weapon against piracy has been psionic radio."
"And so it was—until some genius developed a jamming technique. Epsilon Sextans wasn't able to get any messages out until her crazy random precession pulled her well clear."
"And you hope, sir, that they do attack you?"
"I do, Mr. Grimes. I had hoped, that I should have a good gunnery officer under me, but"—he shrugged his massive shoulders—"I think that I shall be able to manage."
"And you hope that you'll have your weapons," persisted Grimes.
"I see no reason why I should not, Ensign."
"There is one very good reason, sir. That is that I, a commissioned officer of the Survey Service, am aboard your vessel. I insist that you leave the tracking down and destruction of the pirates to the proper authorities. I insist, too, that no Survey Service stores be discharged from this ship without my written authority."
For the first time the hint of a smile relieved the somberness of Craven's face. "And to think that I believed that Jane Pentecost could recruit you," he murmured. Then, in a louder voice, "And what if I just go ahead without your written authority, Ensign?"
Grimes had the answer ready. "Then, sir, I shall be obliged to order your officers not to obey your unlawful commands. If necessary, I shall call upon the male passengers to assist me in any action that is necessary."
Craven's bushy eyebrows went up and stayed up. "Mr. Grimes," he said in a gritty voice, "it is indeed lucky for you that I have firsthand experience of the typical Survey Service mentality. Some Masters I know would, in these circumstances, send you out on a spacewalk without a suit. But, before I take drastic action, I'll give you one more chance to cooperate." His tone softened. "You noticed the portrait I've put up instead of all the temporary popsies. Every man, no matter how much he plays around, has one woman who is the woman. Gillian was the woman as far as I was concerned—as far as I am concerned. I've a chance to bring her murderers under my guns—and, by God, I'm taking that chance, no matter what it means either to my career or to the somewhat odd foreign policy of the Federation. I used to be annoyed by Jane Pentecost's outbursts on that subject—but now I see that she's right. And she's right, too, when it comes to the Survey Service's reluctance to take action against Waldegren.
"So I, Mr. Grimes, am taking action."
"Sir, I forbid you . . ."
"You forbid me? Ensign, you forget yourself. Perhaps this will help you remember."
This was a Minetti automatic that had appeared suddenly in the Captain's hand. In his hairy fist the little, glittering weapon looked no more than a toy—but Grimes knew his firearms, knew that at the slightest pressure of Craven's finger the needle-like projectiles would stitch him from crown to crotch.
"I'm sorry about this, Mr. Grimes." As he spoke, Craven pressed a button set in his desk with his free hand. "I'm sorry about this. But I realize that I was expecting rather too much of you. After all, you have your career to consider . . . . Time was," he went on, "when a naval officer could put his telescope to his blind eye as an excuse for ignoring orders—and get away with it. But the politicians had less power in those days. We've come a long way—and a wrong way—since Nelson."
Grimes heard the door behind him slide open. He didn't bother to look around, not even when hard hands were laid on his shoulders.
"Mr. Kennedy," said Craven, "things turned out as I feared that they would. Will you and Mr. Ludovic take the Ensign along to the Detention Cell?"
"I'll see you on trial for piracy, Captain!" flared Grimes.
"An interesting legal point, Ensign—especially since you are being entered in my Official Log as a mutineer."