Chapter 5
THE DETAILS OF THE SALE were ironed out with surprising ease and for a sum quite a bit lower than the original asking price. Yosarian pulled considerable Gs on his home world and even the mighty Interstellar Transport Commission listened when he talked. One of his engineers, an ex-spacer, went out to Epsilon Scorpii to make sure that the ship’s inertial drive was in proper working order, then acted as engine room chief while Grimes, assisted by Bill Williams, brought the vessel down to the spaceport. (During this operation Ms. Connellan made it quite clear that she was employed as a shipkeeping officer only and was not required to lend a hand with any maneuvers.)
So Grimes had his “new” ship sitting on the apron, handy to the spaceport workshops whose facilities he was using. The obnoxious Ms. Connellan was no longer on board; she had left, with her baggage, as soon as the ramp was down. It was now up to Pinnett and the Commission to find for her suitable employment.
The next four weeks were busy ones. Grimes and Williams went through the ship from stem to stern with the Lloyd’s and Interstellar Federal surveyors, pointing out the things that needed doing while Pinnett, who had reluctantly agreed that the Commission would bear the cost of making the vessel spaceworthy, tried to argue that many of the proposed repairs were only of a cosmetic nature. The trouble was that the Federation surveyor tended to side with him, saying more than once to Grimes, “You aren’t in the Survey Service now, Captain. This isn’t a warship, you know.”
Grimes got his way (he usually did) but it was costing him much more than he had anticipated. For example, he had been obliged to foot the bill for making the auxiliary reaction drive fully operational, such an additional means of propulsion being no longer mandatory for merchant vessels. The charge for the work involved was not a small one.
He had been temporarily rich but he was no longer so; what money had been left after the purchase of Epsilon Scorpii was fast being whittled away. If his luck ran out again he would be back where he started—only instead of having a golden white elephant on his hands it would be one constructed of more conventional and far less valuable materials.
Nonetheless he felt an upsurge of pride when she was renamed. To have the new nomenclature fabricated in golden letters was a needless extravagance but one that pleased him. It was a tribute to Big Sister, the almost too human computer-pilot of The Far Traveler. It was also a sort of memento of Little Sister. As for the second half of the name, it was just there because it went naturally with the first, Grimes told himself—although the lady so commemorated was part of what he was already thinking of as the Little Sister period of his life and about the only one from whom he had not broken off in acrimonious circumstances.
SISTER SUE . . .
He stood on the apron looking up at his ship, at the golden name on the grey hull gleaming brightly in the afternoon sunlight. Williams joined him there.
“Very pretty, Skipper,” he commented. Then, “Who was Sue?”
“Just a girl,” said Grimes.
“She must have been somebody special to get a ship named after her . . .” Williams shuffled his big feet, then went on, “I’m afraid I’ve bad news for you, Skipper.”
“What now?” demanded Grimes. “What now?”
This was too much, he thought. He now had, not without a struggle, a spaceworfhy ship, a sturdy workhorse, and all that he needed was a little bit of luck to make a go of things.
What had happened to his famous luck?
“It’s the manning, Skipper,” Williams said. “We’re all right for engineers. We’ve old Crumley lined up; he’s a bit senile but he’s qualified, a double-headed Chief’s ticket, inertial drive and reaction drive. For the Mannschenn Drive there’s Professor Malleson. He passed for Mannschenn Chief before he came ashore to go teaching. As I told you before, he’s taking his sabbatical leave from the university. Also from the university there’ll be a couple of bright young Ph.D.s to act as his juniors. And we’ve a Sparks, another old-timer, retired years ago but wanting to get back into space . . .”
“So what’s the trouble?”
“In the control room, Skipper. According to the Manning Scale we should have three control-room watchkeeping officers—although we can lift with only two as long as we get a permit. Well, you’ve got me, as mate. You should have got old Captain Binns—he used to be in the Dog Star Line—as second mate. But he got mashed in a ground-car accident last night. At his age it’ll be at least six months before he’s grown a new left arm and right leg.”
“There are times,” said Grimes, “when I strongly suspect that the Odd Gods of the Galaxy don’t like me. So Binns is out. Is there nobody on this benighted planet to fill the gap?”
“Well, er, yes. There is.”
“So what’s all this talk of bad news?”
“The Green Hornet,” said Williams, “has let it be known that she’s had the Interstellar Transport Commission in a big way.”
“The Green Hornet?”
“Kate Connellan. ‘Green Hornet’ is her company nickname. Anyhow, she had a knock-down-and-drag-’em-out row with Pinnett. She resigned—about a microsecond before Pinnett could fire her. And, as far as we’re concerned, she’s qualified and she’s available.”
“Oh,” said Grimes. “Oh.”
Could he possibly afford to wait until somebody more suitable turned up? He could not, he decided. He had been lucky enough to have a consignment of government cargo offered to him, but if he could not lift it by the specified date somebody else would be found to do the job.
“She has a master’s ticket,” said Williams.
“But she’s still an eleven-trip officer,” said Grimes.
“Eleven trips, Skipper? How do you make that out?”
“One out and one home,” Grimes told him.