They, all of them, went on falling through sweet damn' all.
They swept past the Outsider's Ship, which was still dimly visible, although the derelicts in orbit about it were not. Neither was Flandry's Vindictive. The Imperial Captain complained rather bitterly that he was unable to communicate with his ship. Both Grimeses growled, simultaneously, that it was the fault of his culture for developing neither psionic communications nor the Carlotti system. Both Mrs. Grimeses were inclined to commiserate with Flandry. Relations aboard Faraway Quest II were becoming strained. Aboard Wanderer there were not the same problems. There was only one of each person, and there were no outsiders.
Out they fell, the four ships, out into the ultimate night.
Druthen and Captain Blumenfeld made an occasional attempt at evasion, which was countered with ease by the pursuers. Once Blumenfeld, using the Carlotti equipment, tried to reason with Grimes—either or both of him—and with Irene, who had been hooked into the conversation.
Blumenfeld was an older and stouter version of von Donderberg, and he was more of the politician and less of the space officer. His accent was not so heavy. He appeared in the screens of Faraway Quest II and Wanderer by himself, a fatherly-grandfatherly, almost—figure, smoking an elaborate pipe with a porcelain bowl. It was a pity that his cold, very cold, blue eyes spoiled the effect.
"Come now, Commodore," he said, "we are both reasonable men. And you, Kaiserin, are a reasonable lady. What do any of us gain by this pointless chase?"
"You gain nothing," Grimes told him. "Furthermore, you are intruding in Rim Worlds' territorial space. I order you, legally, to hand my ship and my personnel back to me, and also Dr. Druthen and his people so that they may be dealt with by our courts. . . ."
"You order, Commodore?" asked the other Grimes softly.
"Yes. I order, Commodore. Faraway Quest I is mine, and Druthen and his accomplices will be my prisoners."
"Speak up, Commodores," put in Blumenfeld jovially. "Do I detect a slight dissension in your ranks? And you, Kaiserin, do you acknowledge the right of these gentlemen to give orders? And you, Captain Sir Dominic Flandry? What is your view?"
"We'll settle our own differences after you have been disposed of," growled Irene.
"I second that," said Flandry.
Captain Blumenfeld puffed placidly at his pipe. Grimes wondered what tobacco it was that he was smoking. The man seemed to be enjoying it. At last he said, through a wreathing blue cloud, "My patience is not inexhaustible, Commodore. Or Commodores. I am addressing, however, whichever one of you it is who commanded the Faraway Quest aboard which I have placed my prize crew. The good Herr Doktor Druthen has made certain proposals to me regarding the prisoners. I was horrified, and told him so, in no uncertain terms. But . . ." There was a great exhalation of smoke. "But . . . I have thought about what he said to me. I still do not like it." He shrugged heavily.
"Nonetheless, my loyalty is to the Duchy, not to citizens of a Confederacy that the Duchy still has not recognized. It may—note that I say 'may,' Commodore, not 'will'—it may be expedient to use those prisoners as a lever to force a certain degree of compliance from you." Again he shrugged. "I shall not like doing it—assuming, that is, that I am obliged to do it. And I shall not resort to painful or . . . messy methods. Just a simple shooting, to be watched by all of you. And then, after a suitable interval, another. And then, if it is necessary, another." He smiled coldly. "But there is no real urgency. You will be given time to think it over, to talk it over. Three days' subjective time, shall we say? Call me on this frequency. Over. And out."
The screen went blank, but the other screen, that showing Wanderer's control room, stayed alive.
"Well?" demanded Irene harshly. "Well?"
"Suppose," said Grimes, "just suppose that I do knuckle under, to get my people back, my ship back. Suppose that I, as the ranking officer of the Rim Worlds Confederacy, do allow him prior rights to The Outsider. . . . What about you and you, Commodore Grimes, and you, Captain Flandry?"
"I shall abide by your decision, John," said the other Grimes.
"Speaking for the Federation," said Sonya, "I shall be with you."
"You beat me to it," said Maggie Lazenby.
"I'll have to think about it," stated Irene.
"As tour charterer," Smith told her, "I have some say. A great deal of say. I sympathize with Commodore Grimes. But it's a matter of evaluation. Are the lives of a handful of people of greater importance than the lives of the millions of oppressed men and women and children who look to GLASS for help?"
"Anybody mind if I shove in my two bits' worth?" asked Flandry. "I owe allegiance neither to the Federation nor to the Confederacy and certainly not to GLASS. I swore an oath of fealty to the Emperor." He looked at Irene's face in the screen, and added, "My Emperor. But my sympathies are with the Commodore."
"Thank you, Sir Dominic," said Grimes.
"Wait till you see the bill. Furthermore, sir, I would remind you that you have at your disposal equipment and personnel which I have not. The same applies to you, ma'am. You have your espers. Can't you make full use of them?"
"I would remind you, Sir Dominic," said Mayhew, "that my wife is among the prisoners aboard the Quest."
"All the more reason why you should pull your finger out. All of you."
You arrogant bastard, thought Grimes.
"Sir Dominic's talking sense," said Sonya. "We have the telepaths. Adler hasn't. Furthermore, one of our telepaths is aboard your Quest, John. There must be something that Clarisse can do to help herself. And the others."
"It's all we can do to get through to her," objected Mayhew. "There's too much interference from Lassie. . . ."
Sonya muttered something about a poodle's brain in aspic. Then she said, "Why don't you silence the bitch? Lassie, I mean. There's three of you here: Metzenther and Trialanne aboard Wanderer, and yourself. You told us once—remember?—that thoughts can kill."
"I . . . I couldn't, Sonya. . . ."
"Damn it all!" exploded Grimes. "Do you put that animal brain before your wife? What sort of man are you?"
"But . . . but Lassie's so . . . helpless."
"So is Clarisse, unless we do something to help her—and fast. It is essential that she be able to keep us informed as to what Druthen is thinking, and von Donderberg . . . and with that psionic interference snuffed out you should be able to keep us informed as to Captain Blumenfeld's intentions. You must do it, Ken."
"Yes," agreed the telepath slowly. "I . . . must. Metzenther and Trialanne will help. They have already told me that."
"Then go to it," ordered Grimes.
Not for the first time he thought, They're odd people. Too bloody odd. But I suppose when you live inside your pet's brain, and it lives inside yours, you feel more intensely for and about it than any normal man feels for his dog. . . . They'll be guilt involved, too. . . . You'll blame yourself for its absolute helplessness. . . .
He watched Mayhew stumbling out of the control room, his features stiff, too stiff. He saw the sympathy on the face of Grimes II, and rather more than a hint of a sneer on that of Flandry.
Grimes II looked at his watch. He said, "There's nothing much that we can do, Commodore, until your Commander Mayhew reports results. I suggest that we all adjourn for dinner."
"An army marches on its stomach," quipped Flandry. "I suppose that the same saying applies to a space navy."
"I've never known John to miss a meal," Sonya told him, "no matter what the circumstances."
Women . . . thought Grimes—both of him.
"You said it," agreed Maggie Lazenby.