Chapter 41
THE PRIVATEER FLEET came to Kalla.
Grimes was relieved to discover that the Hegemony had not yet established a blockade of the rebel planet. Without doubt they would be attempting to do so eventually—but the Hallicheki, he knew from past experience of the avian race, were apt to run around in circles squawking like wet hens before they actually got around to Doing Something. When they did take action, however, it would be with a cold-blooded viciousness.
Kalla is an Earth-type world, although with a somewhat denser atmosphere. It has the usual seas, continents, islands, rivers, mountain ranges, deserts, fertile plains, forests, polar ice caps and all the rest of it. There is agriculture and there are industries, although there is little automation. The main means of freight transport is by towed balloon, the more or less streamlined gas bags being dragged through the atmosphere by teams of winged workers. Before the revolution these were caponized males. After the revolution it was the hens who had to do the heavy work.
Sister Sue established first contact with Kalla Aerospace Control, by Carlotti radio, while still seven standard days out. Four days out she was challenged by a vessel of the Insurrectionary Navy. This warship made a close approach and attempted to synchronize precession rates with the privateers’ flagship. Had she attempted to do so with Pride of Erin she would almost certainly have been successful. Grimes’ Mannschenn Drive engineer, Malleson, knew all about the synchronizer, its uses and abuses. Although the blob of light representing the guard ship was bright enough in the screen of the mass proximity indicator not so much as the faintest ghost of her was ever seen through the viewports.
Then she did what she should have done at first, calling Sister Sue on the Carlotti radio.
A squawking voice issued from the speaker. “Karkoran to leader of squadron. Karkoran to leader of squadron. Come in. Come in.”
The screen came alive and from it looked out the face of a great, gaudy bird—hooked beak, fierce yellow eyes, a golden crest over green and scarlet plumage.
“Sister Sue here,” said Grimes. “Company Commodore Grimes commanding. Identify yourself, please.”
“Flight Leader Kaskonta, Commander of the Inner Starways. I am to escort you and your squadron to Kalla.”
“I am obliged to you, Flight Leader.”
“I shall be obliged to you, Commodore, if you will allow me to synchronize.”
Grimes hesitated briefly. He told Williams and Venner, both of whom were in the control room, to stand by the ship’s fire control. He did not expect any trouble—there were never any male avians aboard the warships of the Hegemony—but it would cost nothing to be prepared. He called Malleson, who was in the Mannschenn Drive room.
“All right, Chief. She’s one of ours. I hope. Let her synchronize. But stay handy.”
There was a brief, very brief period of disorientation. Outside the viewports the stars were still pulsating nebulosities—but against their backdrop, big and solid, was the Kalla ship. It was strange, Grimes thought not for the first time, how spaceship design varied from race to race. The insectoid Shaara, for example, with their vessels that could have been modeled on old-fashioned beehives . . . The Hallicheki, whose ships looked like metal eggs sitting in latticework eggcups—
This was one such.
Probably she had started life as a merchantman but she was far more heavily armed than any of the privateers, a real cruiser rather than an auxiliary cruiser. Her fighting capabilities, however, would depend as much upon the quality of her crew as upon that of her armament. Grimes, who tended at times to be a male chauvinist, thought that she would be able to take on a comparable warship of the Hegemony with a fair chance of success. He did wonder, though, how and where these fighting cocks had received the necessary training. Probably this had been financed, for some promised consideration, by the El Dorado Corporation.
All officers were now in the control room.
“Put out a call to Pride of Erin, Spaceways Princess and Agatha’s Ark, Mr. Stewart,” ordered Grimes. “Tell them that we are proceeding to Kalla under escort. Tell them, too, that the authority still rests with myself.”
***
The squadron, with Karkoran still in watchful attendance, established itself in synchronous orbit about Kalla. Grimes had been told that none of the ships would be allowed to land but that he could make the descent in one of his boats for an audience with the Lord of the Roost. He talked with Captain Prinn by NST radio, told her that until his return she would be in charge of the little fleet. This did not go down at all well with Captain O’Leary. And Williams, left in command of Sister Sue during Grimes’ absence, was not pleased either. “You mean that she’s the commodore now, Skipper?”
“I appointed her vice-commodore at the beginning of the trip, Mr. Williams.”
“I thought that it was rear commodore, sir. And rear is junior to vice. Of course, I’m only a Dog Star Line man, not used to all these naval titles . . .”
“Don’t try to be a space lawyer too, Billy. Captain Prinn, in my opinion, is the person most suitable to be my deputy. I called her the rear commodore because hers is the sternmost ship of the squadron.”
“But I thought, sir, that during the commodore’s absence his second-in-command would be in charge.”
“You’re in temporary command of Sister Sue, and that’s all. And that’s plenty. Should you want to get in touch with me, my wrist transceiver will be within effective range of the ship.”
He went down to his cabin to pick up his best uniform cap, the one with the scrambled egg on the peak still untarnished, with the especially large horse-and-rider badge. Apart from that he was making no attempt at ceremonial dress. He was not in the Survey Service any longer—apart from that Reserve Commission which was a secret to all save Mayhew and Venner—and did not have in his wardrobe such finery as an epauleted frock coat, with sword belt and sword, or a gold-trimmed fore-and-aft hat. His shipboard shorts and shirt would have to do. He had made inquiries and learned that Port Kwakaar, near which the Lord of the Roost had his palace, was well within Kalla’s tropics.
Williams accompanied him to the boat bay. Mayhew, wearing a uniform that looked as though he had slept in it, was awaiting him there. So was the Countess of Walshingham. Her shirt and shorts could have been tailored by one of the big Paris houses. Her cat—that evil beast!—was with her.
Grimes said, “We are not taking that down with us, Ms. Walshingham.”
“Why not, Commodore?”
“Because I say so. In case you don’t know, the Hallicheki are an avian people. There’s a strong possibility that they may not like your pet, and an equally strong one that your pet will not like them. It is vitally important that we do not annoy the planetary ruler. I have to get the Letters of Marque from him for a start. And I want to get permission for the ships to land to take aboard such stores as are necessary.”
“Birdseed?” she sneered. “Or nice, fat worms?”
He said, “If Commodore Kane had not requested that I take you with me you would be staying aboard. Commodore Kane said nothing about the cat.”
“Go to my cabin,” she told the . . . animal? “Go to my cabin and wait for me.”
It made a noise that was more growl than mew, stalked out of the boat bay. Sulkily the Countess clambered into the fat torpedo hull of the boat. Mayhew followed her. Grimes, after saying, “She’s all yours, Mr. Williams. Don’t start any wars in my absence!” went in last. He found that the fourth officer was already seated forward, at the controls. He resisted the urge to tell her to get aft, with the telepath. After all, she was a qualified spaceperson. And he was a captain—no, a commodore—and as such should not be doing his own chauffeuring.
The Countess seemed to be capable enough.
She sealed the little spacecraft and made the necessary checks. She reported readiness to depart to the control room.
“Shove off when ready,” came Venner’s voice from the transceiver. The little inertial drive unit grumbled, then snarled. Ahead of the boat the door in the shell plating opened, exposing the chamber, from which the air had already been evacuated, to space, to a view of black, starry sky and the curved, luminous limb of the planet, glowing greenly.
The inertial drive almost screamed as the Countess made a needlessly abrupt departure from Sister Sue, the sudden acceleration forcing Grimes and Mayhew back in their seats.
“We are not a guided missile, Ms. Walshingham,” said Grimes sternly when he had recovered his breath.
“Time, Commodore, is money,” she said. “As soon as we get those Letters of Marque we shall be able to start making a profit.”
Probably, thought Grimes, she was a shareholder in the El Dorado Corporation—and as money hungry as the rest of them.