The Shaara derelict was a good place for a meeting. The ship was in good order and condition; her interior lighting glowed brightly; her humming fans kept the clean, untainted air in circulation. How long had they been doing so? Not for too long. The mosslike growth in the hydroponics tanks that the Shaara used for atmospheric regeneration was neither running wild nor withering for lack of the organic wastes that were its food. But of her crew: of the Queen-Captain, the Princess-Officers, the Drones, the Workers, there was no sign—not even so much as a dry exoskeleton. The logbook was still on its ledge in the control room; but no human could hope to read that straggling script.
She was a latter day Mary Celeste. She was one of several Mary Celestes in orbit about The Outsider.
Boats from the three ships had rendezvoused at the airlock of the derelict. Grimes himself had piloted Faraway Quest's pinnace. With him he had Sonya and Mayhew. Irene had brought with her Trialanne and Stanley Smith, the man from GLASS. Flandry was accompanied only by a simian young officer, almost as broad as he was tall, whom he introduced as Ensign Bugolsky.
This, of course, was when they were all assembled in the Shaara ship's control room, standing among the equipment and instruments, some familiar (although modified to suit arthropodal claws instead of human hands) and some weirdly alien. There were cradles of flimsy-looking webbing but no seats. As the vessel was in free fall, to stand was no hardship.
Flandry, resplendent in his black and gold space armor, removed his helmet. The others removed theirs. Grimes didn't like the way that the man looked at Irene and Trialanne. He most certainly didn't like the way that the man looked at Sonya. And he disapproved most strongly of the way in which the three women looked at Flandry. Mental undressing can be a two-way process.
"And now," announced Flandry with a wide grin, "I declare this meeting open."
"Not so fast, Captain," Grimes told him. "As the senior officer present I feel that that should be my privilege."
"Senior officer? But I represent the Imperium."
"What Imperium?" demanded Irene nastily.
"Commodore!" Mayhew's usually soft voice was sharp with urgency. "Commodore! Sir!"
Grimes waved him aside. "Later, Commander Mayhew—unless my ship's in danger. She's not? Good. Then let's get this business settled first." He turned to the others. "I'm not overly rank conscious, and I'm insisting on my seniority only because Rim Worlds' sovereignty is involved. To begin with—we are in Rim Confederacy's territorial space. Secondly, I outrank everybody present in this control room. . . ."
"In a pig's arse you do!" flared Irene.
"But I do, madam. I concede that you were an empress, but you're not now. Legally speaking you're only the chief officer of Wanderer. . . ."
"And the owner of Wanderer, Grimes! Which is more than you can say regarding yourself and your precious rustbucket!"
"And I still claim," stated Flandry, "that Wanderer and Faraway Quest are no better than pirates, attempting to steal Imperial property."
"It's a great pity that GLASS is not operative in your universe," said Smith in a flat voice. "But since we are discussing legalities, I feel that I, as the charterer of Mrs. Trafford's vessel, should have some voice in the matter."
"Irene!" Trialanne was trying to gain the attention of the ex-Empress. "Irene!"
"Pipe down, damn you! Can't you see I'm busy?"
"Obviously," said Sonya coldly, "it would be pointless to put it to the vote who should be chairman of this meeting. Everybody is quite convinced that he has a more valid claim than anybody else. I could say—and, come to that, I do say—that I represent the Federation, but I have no desire to be yet another complication. . . ."
"But a very charming one," murmured Flandry, flashing that dazzling grin.
"Thank you, Sir Dominic."
"Very charming, and, I feel, highly competent. For the record, I do not recognize the Interstellar Federation. Nonetheless, I feel that Mrs. Grimes—or, if you prefer it, Commander Verrill—should preside over this meeting. She appears, in spite of her marriage . . ." he made it sound as though he meant "disastrous marriage" . . . "to be the nearest thing we have to a neutral. Will you, then, take charge, Commander Verrill?"
She smiled at him. "Thank you, Sir Dominic. I will." She raised her voice slightly. "To begin with, all of you, this situation calls for straight thinking. We are met together in what is, to all of us, an alien ship. We represent, between us, three different cultures, at least four different governments. But we are all—and I include you, Trialanne—human. . . ."
"So you say," growled Irene.
Sonya ignored this, went on. "As an aid to straight thinking, recapitulation will be in order. We are all of us here, all of us now—that much is obvious. But it should be obvious, too, that The Outsider, the Outsiders' Ship, warps normal space time. It exists simultaneously in our universe, and in yours, Sir Dominic, and in yours, Irene—and yet it is from outside all our universes. . . ."
Somebody was grabbing Grimes' arm, the pressure evident even through the thick sleeve of his suit. It was Mayhew. The telepath was pointing to the hatch which gave access to the control room from the body of the ship. Through it a helmeted head was rising slowly.
"I—we—were trying to tell you!" muttered Mayhew.
"Tell me what?" growled Grimes.
In reply the other shrugged—no easy feat in a space suit—infuriatingly. Bloody prima donna! thought Grimes. But it can't be all that important. Probably somebody from one of the ships with some trivial message.
"It could be," Sonya was continuing, in a schoolmistress' voice, "that we are all of us here on sufferance. . . ."
The shoulders of the new arrival were now visible, but the faceplate of his helmet was almost opaque. Grimes stared at those armored shoulders. They carried the broad gold stripe of a commodore, the winged wheel of the Rim Worlds Navy. Who the hell could it be? Lannigan? DuBois? Why should either of them be sent out here to interfere with him, Grimes? And this interloping commodore had somebody with him, wearing commander's badges of rank, and the stylized star cluster of the Federation. . . .
Sonya's voice trailed off into silence. She had seen the newcomers at last. So had all the others.
The stranger put gloved hands to his helmet, twisted, lifted. He stared at Grimes—and Grimes stared at him. It was long seconds before Grimes recognized him. One is used to seeing one's own face in a mirror, but one spends very little (if any) time studying solidographs of oneself. Dimly, Grimes was aware that the other stranger, standing to one side and a little behind the commodore, had removed her helmet. He didn't really notice her until she spoke.
"This is a surprise, John," said Maggie Lazenby.
Flandry laughed. "Getting back to our original argument—just which of you two gentlemen is the senior?"