John Maddox Roberts - Spacer: Window of Mind (5 page)

"An Admiral of the Gold," Torwald said. He was im-pressed. "They've never had one of those in peacetime. Think there's a war on?"

"It's got to be Nagamitsu," said the skipper. "They must have called him out of retirement." Even Kiril knew that name. Nagamitsu had been the most illustrious commander of the War. Toward the end he had been appointed Grand Admiral of Allied Fleets, the only man ever so honored.

"What
is
this?" asked Michelle, of nobody in particular.

"We're about to find out," the skipper said.

"Maybe there will be fighting!" K'Stin said eagerly. Bert had told Kiril that the Viver race was so obsessed with survival, both personal and racial, that they usually avoided other peoples' fights. These two, however, were in their testing period, an unspecified number of years when young Vivers wandered, seeking adventures and wars to take part in, to prove themselves fit to propagate their species.

A face appeared on the ship-to-ship screen, accompanied by a voice. Face and voice belonged to a middle-aged woman wearing a navy uniform. At her collar was the insignia of the Security Corps.

"Freighter
Space Angel:
You will dock in the main bay of the Task Force Command Ship
Sic Semper Tyrannis.
You will attempt no communication with any personnel except those wearing Special Security tabs." She touched her own; a disk attached to the collar of her uniform.

"By authority of Grand Admiral Nagamitsu, acting in direct subordination to the Security Council under the State Emergency Military Bypass Act."

Torwald gave a low whistle. "The government's cut out the whole military superstructure." He added with satisfaction: "We were right about Nagamitsu."

"Please place your ship's controls on remote," said the navy woman. "Docking Authority will guide your ship to its berth." Despite her dry, official tone, the woman managed to give a slightly ironic twist to the word "ship."

"Sic Semper Tyrannis,"
mused the skipper, lighting one of her noxious cigars. "I served in that old bucket when I was a cadet. We called her the
Sick Tyrant
in those days."

"Are we actually going inside that thing?" asked Kiril. "It can't be that big!"

"One of those bays will hold six ships the size of the
Angel,"
said the skipper. "A TFCS is really a free-roving space station." The bay entrance loomed ever larger in the screen. "Look at that bay." she continued. "Completely empty. I can't believe they're staging all this for us. Come on. let's go to the gangway and see what this is all about."

"This is most exciting," said Homer. "I foresee fine epic materia! in the offing." Kiril patted his shell. The crustacean had been teaching her a variety of subjects. In spite of, or perhaps because of, his alien appearance, she found it much easier to trust Homer than to trust the humans. They were now fast friends.

"Just what I need,"" Kiril said ruefully, "a role in a talking crab's poem."

Kiril stood nervously between Nancy and Lafayette. Her life aboard ship had been agreeably simple and comfortable, and now all was uncertain and insecure again. This situation seemed to overwhelm even her shipmates, and that disturbed her.

"Now, keep in mind," Lafayette urged in a whisper, "you'll get a lot of nasty looks from navy people. Just remember you're a free freighter and pretend they're too low for you to even notice. The line people will be even worse, but pay them no attention." The animosity between the free freighters and the lines was deep and ancient. There was only slightly less hostility toward the navy. Most of the older members of the
Angel's
crew had at one time served in the navy, but only as wartime duty. Independent freighters were an unruly breed, and hated the regimentation that prevailed in navy and line ships.

When the signal came, the skipper cycled the hatch open. Outside, on the vast deck, was an honor guard of Spacer Marines. The marines were drawn up in a double line facing each other, beam rifles at present arms. They were powerful men in shiny boots and white gloves, and wearing gleaming, black helmets. Of all the services, only Spacer Marines were permitted to handle energy small arms aboard a ship in space. At the far end of the double rank was an officer in full-dress uniform, complete with cape and ceremonial sword.

"They only wear those silly outfits on diplomatic assign-merits," Torwald muttered.

"Shut up, Tor," said the skipper. "All right, crew, let's show 'em who we are."

The
Space Angel's
crew set off down the ramp in no particular order, vests and shirts unbuttoned, caps pushed back or shoved forward or canted to one side, deliberately exaggerating their slouch and sloppiness to spite the spit-and-polish marines. Homer was burbling one of his alien poems happily, delighted at the odd habits of humans. The towering Vivers eyed the marines with openly contemptuous amusement. A few of the marines, while perfectly motionless, could be seen to sweat.

The officer, while remaining quite correct, grew red about the ears. "Captain HaLevy?" he asked, saluting smartly.

"That's right, sonny," she said. "What's up?"

"You shall be informed in good time. I am Major Martinaux." He was obviously too young to be a major, but by ancient custom, marine captains received the courtesy rank of major while serving aboard ship. There was only one captain in a naval vessel in space. "If you will come this way, please?"

"Do we have any choice?" asked the skipper.

The young officer allowed himself the minutest smile of satisfaction. "None at all." The marines performed a precise facing movement, and the
Angel's
crew tramped off between the two files. The skipper immediately stepped up next to the officer, on his right side. He looked distinctly nettled.

"The superior officer stands on the right," whispered Lafayette to Kiril. She nodded, beginning to enjoy this games-playing. It confirmed her long-held opinion that all spacers, military or civilian, had the minds of ten-year-olds, but she was determined not to let the team down. She looked at the intimidating marines with the same feigned, amused contempt as the others.

They left the immense landing bay and entered an elevator as large as the
Angel's
hold. They got off at a landing marked with a complicated blue-and-white insignia. "Diplomatic Corps," said Torwald, in an I-told-you-so tone of voice. From the landing they trooped down a long corridor that was as high-ceilinged as a cathedral. Bay, elevator, and hall were military spare. All was plain, functional, Spartan. The marine guard came to a stomping halt before a huge double door. The officer presented himself to a small sensor plate set in one of the doors. There was a musical beep and the portals swung wide. They entered, leaving the honor guard outside.

Within the doors, it seemed like another ship. Here, all was luxury. They were in a suite furnished with exotic woods, leathers, furs, marbles, and metals, the finest materials of many far-flung worlds. Each fitting, furnishing, and decoration was a priceless work of art. Kiril gaped about her. To her, the frugal environs of the
Space Angel
had seemed the height of luxury. This was staggering. Nancy elbowed her in the ribs and she resumed her air of disdain.

"Nice place you got here," said the skipper, knocking an ash into a priceless tray carved from Spica ruby. "1 don't think this suite was in this tub when I served in her. Let's see, that would've been about the time you were being toilet-trained, Major." Her pronunciation of his rank left no doubt as to her opinion of its validity.

"If you will wait here, Captain, you shall be met presently by persons authorized to discuss the situation." The officer whirled and stalked off in a furious huff, his back ramrod stiff.

"No action these days to knock the starch out of 'em," the skipper mused.

They flopped on the couches and hassocks and made themselves comfortable while awaiting the attentions of the powers-that-be. Homer began humming a Bach string quartet, which his multitudinous vocal chords could reproduce with astonishing fidelity.

Kiril sat in a chaise longue, feeling its softness yield perfectly to every angle of her still-bony body. The effect was unsettling, but she was sure that she could get to like it, given continued proximity.

A door opened and a man in civilian clothes bearing the badge of the Diplomatic Corps entered. He was short, fat, and gray-haired, and he smiled benignly as he offered his hand to the skipper.

"Ah, Captain HaLevy, welcome. I do apologize for the abrupt summons and the peremptory manner in which it was phrased. It was, however, a matter of state security. Ah, here is the admiral." Through another door came a taller man, broad and blocky, but carrying no surplus flesh. He wore a navy dress uniform, much plainer than the marine variety, with three silver comets blazing from each epaulet.

"I'm Nagamitsu," he said without preamble. "You people will be the officers and crew of
Space Angel?"
He glanced quickly over them. "Of course you are. Your pictures were everywhere a while back. And I've seen this remarkable being ii i number of scientific functions." He smiled down at Homer.

"Honored to make your acquaintance. Admiral," said the kipper, sounding as if she meant it.

"Let's get down to business," said the admiral. "This gentleman is the honorable Winston Pierce of the Diplomatic Corps. Mr. Pierce, perhaps you had better begin."

"Well, ah, it seems that we are in for exciting times. First, a short while back the
Space Angel
returned from her unprecedented voyage to the center of the galaxy, in the process of which was proven once and for all that other intelligent life exists within our galaxy. Now, it seems, other Earth spacers have arrived at a similar discovery independently."

Everyone sat up straighter. Their own voyage had been involuntary; accomplished under the control of an unimaginably powerful being that took them far beyond the areas explored by humans. Intelligent aliens had never before been encountered in human-occupied space.

"Last year a merchant vessel, scouting new areas for exploitation, encountered an alien settlement. It was inhabited by a large colony of intelligent creatures. In accordance with Rule One, passed more than a century ago, he did not attempt communication, but restricted himself to taking images and readings, and refrained from any action which might be misinterpreted as hostile. Upon his return to Earth, the captain of the ship very wisely bound his crew to secrecy and informed only the superiors of his line whom he knew to have top security clearances. These, in turn, informed the Security Council."

"That's news of a high order, all right," said the skipper. "But just where do our humble selves come into all this?"

"The Council has decided that, as the only humans with any extensive dealings with intelligent alien beings in the past, your services in an advisory capacity might be of considerable value."

"And the rate of pay?" she asked.

"It shall be substantial. You will bear in mind, of course, that you will be serving the government."

"That government hasn't done much for us lately," said the skipper. "After our 'epochal journey,' as it was called, the government confiscated our whole cargo "

"For further study, of course. I might add that your cooperation in this matter could greatly facilitate the release of those items."

"Put that in writing and you have a ship," said the skipper. "Assuming, of course, that the rest of my crew agrees." She looked around. The rest gave reluctant nods. Kiril was a little puzzled at their attitude, but she left the question for later.

"Now," said the admiral, "let's show these people what little we know so far." He punched a button in the arm of his chair, and a man promptly appeared through a door. He appeared to be around thirty years old and he wore the uniform of the Satsuma Line, with the collar insignia of a captain in the Expeditionary Branch.

"This," said Nagamitsu, "is Mr. Ng, master of the
Hideyoshi.
It was his ship that discovered the aliens." Ng inclined his head slightly toward the
Angel's
spacers. Behind him an entire half of the large room filled with pale green light. It was an immense holographic tank. Ng began his monologue in a dry tone which indicated that he had delivered it frequently of late.

"My ship was on an assignment to check out the system around D6835, a G-type in the Pleiades Sector. It was a standard system: four gas giants, six ice-and-rock balls, and two Earth-types, one of them so marginal as to exclude colonization short of finding really valuable and exploitable materials. Naturally, I turned my attention to the better Earth-type.

"I established orbit and instituted a scan. Immediately my instruments picked up a signal on a band not commonly used. I suspected a smuggler or pirate base and look suitable precautions to avoid being detected myself. My computer could make nothing of the signal after extended analysis, so I determined to make a reconnaissance."

"Kind of risky, wasn't it?" said Torwald.

"My ship is equipped with the armament customary for a line explorer," said Ng, with a touch of superiority, "and any such base could represent a threat to any ships of my line that might follow.