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Chapter 17




GRIMES RETURNED TO PORT WOOMERA; Billy Williams had telephoned to say that Rear Admiral Damien required his presence aboard Sister Sue. Grimes’ father overheard some of the conversation.

He asked, a little suspiciously, “Why should an admiral be wanting you, John? You’re a civilian shipmaster, aren’t you?”

Grimes thought hard and fast, then said, “At the moment the ship is berthed in the Survey Service area of the spaceport. I will have to shift her to one of the commercial berths to load my outward cargo.” (He probably would have to do just that but it would not be for a few days yet.)

He made his booking. His parents came to the airport to see him off.

“Look after yourself, John,” his mother told him. “And try not to make it so long between visits.”

“I’ll try,” he promised.

“And try to stay inside the law,” said his father.

How much did the old man suspect? The author, Grimes well knew, at times had telepathic flashes and, more than once, while Grimes was still a schoolboy, had seemed to be able almost to read his mind. And there were others possessing psychic talents. Magda Granadu was one such.

She came to see Grimes as soon as he was back in his quarters aboard Sister Sue.

“Captain,” she demanded, “what is happening?”

“We shall be carrying a cargo of luxury goods to El Dorado. That’s common knowledge.”

“But I feel uneasy. It’s not the first time that I’ve had such premonitions.”

“It must be the time of the month,” said Grimes.

She flushed angrily and snapped, “It is not!”

“Sorry.”

“I’ve brought the book,” she said. “And the coins.”

“Oh, all right,” said Grimes. It would do no harm to humor the woman.

He took from her the three metal discs, shook them in his cupped hands, let them drop to the deck of his day cabin.

Two heads and a tail . . . Yang. Then another yang. And another. Then two tails and a head . . . Yin. Yang again, then a final yin.

“Well?” he demanded.

She consulted the book.

“Hsu,” she murmured. “Biding one’s time. Sincerity will lead to brilliant success. Firmness will bring good fortune. It will be advantageous to cross the great water.”

“And what the hell’s wrong with that?” asked Grimes.

“I haven’t finished yet, Captain. Here’s the commentary. Peril lies ahead, but despite the urge toward activity which is shown, he will not allow himself to be involved in a dangerous situation. Firm persistence in a right course of action will ensure great success. But strength and determination are needed to make the most of the progressive trends now operating. It is an auspicious time to commence a major undertaking. The strong man’s inclination when faced with danger is to advance on it and combat it without delay; but here one would be wise to wait until success is assured.”

Grimes laughed. “And what’s wrong with that for a prognostication?” he asked. “It’s an excellent weather forecast before the start of a voyage.”

“But it counsels caution. It talks of danger.”

“If we were afraid of danger, Ms. Granadu, we should not be spacers.”

“My own reading,” she said, “was much more ominous. It was Po. It will not be advantageous for me to make a move in any direction. The forces operating against me will be too great for me to prevail against them. I have to wait for a change for the better.”

“And do you want to wait here, on Earth? I can pay you off, you know, although you should have given me more notice. But I don’t want to lose you; you’re a good catering officer and a very good shipmate.”

“And I don’t want to leave this ship, Captain. We shall just have to heed the warnings and be very, very careful.”

You can say that again, thought Grimes. If all went as planned, he would find himself dealing with Drongo Kane—and he who sups with the devil needs a long spoon.

His door buzzer sounded.

“Come in,” he called.

Damien was there, in uniform, and with him were two youngish men in civilian shirts and slacks. One of them was short, stocky, with close-cropped sandy hair over a broad, craggy face, with little, very pale blue eyes under almost nonexistent brows. The other was tall, weedy almost, with fair hair that was more than a little too long, with sensitive features just short of being effeminate and eyes that seemed to vary in color.

“Here is your new third officer, Captain Grimes,” said Damien. “Mr. Venner.”

The short man bowed slightly and then took the hand that Grimes extended to him. His grip was firm and, Grimes knew, would have been painful had full strength been exerted.

“And this is Mr. Mayhew, an old friend of mine . . .” Like hell I am! the words formed themselves in Grimes’ mind. He looked at Mayhew suspiciously. “He asked me if I could arrange passage for him to El Dorado and beyond. He’s spending his Long Service Leave traveling . . .”

“And what’s your line of business, Mr. Mayhew?” asked Grimes, genuinely curious as to what the cover story would be.

“Senior clerk, Captain, with Pargeter and Crummins, Importers. You may have heard of them.”

Grimes hadn’t—yet this Mayhew was suddenly looking like a senior clerk, like a man who had spent all his working life at a desk. Nobody would take him for a spaceman—nobody, that is, who was seeing the telepath as he wished to be seen.

“Magda,” said Grimes, “will you see to it that the third officer’s cabin is ready? And one of the spare rooms for Mr. Mayhew.”

“Very good, sir.”

She left.

When the door had closed after her, Mayhew’s appearance underwent another subtle transformation. Now he looked like what he, in actuality, was—a Survey Service officer in one of that organization’s specialist branches, a typical commissioned teacup reader . . .

“I have often wished,” said Mayhew, “that I could meet the man who first called us that.”

“Probably an engineer,” said Grimes.

“But you thought it, Captain. Just now.”

“Don’t bother to say that you’re sorry, Captain Grimes,” said Damien. “He’ll know that you’re lying.”

“If he does,” Grimes said, “he’ll be doing so in gross contravention of the Rhine Institute’s code of ethics.”

Mayhew smiled. It was a likeable smile. He said, “There are some minds, Captain Grimes, into which I would no sooner probe than dive into a cesspit. Yours, sir, is not one of them.”

“Thank you,” said Grimes. “But I’ll be greatly obliged if you don’t make a habit of invading my mental privacy.”

“Mr. Mayhew will be doing his job, Captain,” said Damien. “I have no doubt that you will find his services extremely valuable. And Mr. Venner’s. But I’ll give you fair warning. Don’t ever play cards with him.”

This appeared to be some kind of private joke.

Grimes asked, “Does he cheat? Or is he just abnormally lucky?”

Venner grinned while Damien said, “Neither. You’re the one who’s notorious for having luck.” He laughed. “Just stay that way.”

“I hope I do,” said Grimes. “But some famous privateers, such as Captain Kidd, weren’t so lucky.”

“Captain Morgan was,” said Damien.

“Sir Henry Morgan,” Grimes said, “wasn’t a privateer. He was a pirate.”

“What’s the difference?” asked Damien.

Grimes sighed. It was all very well for the Rear Admiral to adopt such a could-hardly-care-less attitude. If things should go badly wrong it would not be he who would be left holding the baby.








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