To the Galactic Rim: The John Grimes Saga (35 page)

At last Snuffy came round, making his characteristic snuffling sound. He stared at Grimes. Grimes looked calmly back, offered him what he had come to think of as a stink-apple. Snuffy accepted it, bit into it. He belched. Grimes regretted that he was not wearing a respirator. While the humanoid was happily munching, Grimes juggled with one of the thigh bones. Snuffy finally condescended to notice what he was doing, to evince some interest. With a sharp
crack
Grimes brought his club down on the skeleton’s rib cage. Two of the ribs were broken cleanly in two.

Snuffy extended his hands toward the club. Grimes gave it to him, picking up the other one.

The native was a good pupil. Finally, without any prompting from the spaceman, he was flailing away at the skull of the dead animal, at last cracking it. Grimes looked guiltily at his watch. It was time that he was getting back to the camp to get the preparations for the evening meal under way. Still feeling guilty, he wondered how Snuffy would make it back to his own living place, what his reception would be. But he was armed now, would be able to look after himself—Grimes hoped.

And then it became obvious that the native had no intention of going home by himself. Still carrying his bone club he shambled along at Grimes’s side, uttering an occasional plaintive
eek.
He would not be chased off, and Grimes was reluctant to use the stun-gun on him. But there was a spare tent that would be used eventually for the storage of specimens. Snuffy would have to sleep there.

To Grimes’s surprise and relief the native did not seem to mind when he was taken into the plastic igloo. He accepted a bowl of water, burying his wrinkled face in it and slurping loudly. Rather dubiously he took a stick of candy, but once he had sampled it it soon disappeared. (Grimes had learned from the scientists that anything eaten by the life form of Delta Sextans IV could be handled by the human metabolism; it was logical to suppose that a native of IV could eat human food with safety.) More water, and more candy—and Snuffy looked ready to retire for the night, curling up on the floor of the tent in a fetal posture. Grimes left him to it.

He did not sleep at all well himself. He was afraid that his . . . guest? prisoner? would awake during the hours of darkness, would awaken the whole camp by howling or other anti-social conduct. Grimes was beginning to have an uneasy suspicion that the scientists would not approve of his experiments. But the night was as silent as night on Delta Sextans IV ever was, and after their usual early breakfast the scientific party flapped off on its various occasions.

Grimes went to the spare tent, opened the flap. The stench that gusted out made him retch, although Snuffy did not seem to be worried by it. The native shambled into the open on all fours, and then, rising to an approximately erect posture, went back inside for his previous club. With his free hand he patted Grimes on the arm, grimacing up at him and whining. Grimes led him to where a bucket of water was standing ready, and beside it two candy bars.

The spaceman, fighting down his nausea, cleaned up the interior of the tent. It had been bad enough washing up after the scientists—but this was too much. From now on Snuffy would have to look after himself. He had no occasion to change his mind as the aborigine followed him around while he coped with the camp chores. The humanoid displayed an uncanny genius for getting in the way.

At last, at long last, it was time to get down to the river. Grimes strode along smartly, Snuffy shuffling along beside him, swinging his club. Their arrival at the little bay coincided with that of the troop of humanoids. Snuffy did not hang back. He got to the fruit before the others did. The troop leader advanced on him menacingly. For a moment it looked as though Snuffy were going to turn and run—then he stood his ground, seeming suddenly to gain inches in stature as he did so. Clumsily he raised his club, and even more clumsily brought it crashing down. More by luck than otherwise the blow fell on the bully’s shoulder. The second blow caught him squarely on the side of the head, felling him. Grimes saw the glisten of yellow blood in the grey, matted fur.

Snuffy screamed—but it was not a scream of fear. Brandishing the club he advanced on those who had been his tormentors. They broke and ran, most of them. The two who did not hastily retreated after each had felt the weight of the primitive weapon.

Grimes laughed shakily. “That’s my boy,” he murmured. “That’s my boy . . .”

Snuffy ignored him. He was too busy stuffing himself with the pick of the ripe fruit.

When you have six people utterly engrossed in their own pursuits and a seventh person left to his own devices, it is easy for that seventh person to keep a secret. Not that Grimes even tried to do so. More than once he tried to tell the scientists about his own experiment in practical ethology, and each time he was brushed aside. Once Maggie Lazenby told him rather tartly, “You’re only our bus driver, John. Keep to your astronautics and leave real science to us.”

Then—the time of
Pathfinder’s
return from Delta Sextans V was fast approaching—Grimes was unable to spend much, if any, time on the river bank. The preliminaries to shutting up shop were well under way with specimens and records and unused stores to be packed, with the propulsion unit of the landing craft to be checked. Nonetheless, Grimes was able to check up now and again on Snuffy’s progress, noted with satisfaction that the native was making out quite well.

In all too short a time the cruiser signaled that she was establishing herself in orbit about IV, also that the Captain himself would be coming down in the pinnace to inspect the camp. Grimes worked as he had never worked before. He received little help from the others—and the scientists were such untidy people. There should have been at least six general purpose robots to cope with the mess, but there was only one. Grimes. But he coped.

When the pinnace dropped down through the grey overcast the encampment was as near to being shipshape and Bristol fashion as it ever could be. Grimes barely had time to change into a clean uniform before the boat landed. He was standing to attention and saluting smartly when Captain Tolliver strode down the ramp.

Tolliver, after acknowledging the salute, actually smiled. He said, “You run a taut shore base, Mr. Grimes. I hope that when the time comes you will run a taut ship.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Grimes accompanied the Captain on his rounds of the encampment, the senior officer grunting his approval of the tidiness, the neatly stacked items all ready to be loaded into the landing craft and the pinnace in the correct order. And the scientists—thank the Odd Gods of the Galaxy!—were no longer their usual slovenly selves. Just as the camp was a credit to Grimes, so were they. Maggie Lazenby winked at him when Captain Tolliver was looking the other way. Grimes smiled back gratefully.

Said Tolliver, “I don’t suppose that you’ve had time for any projects of your own, Mr. Grimes. Rather a pity . . .”

“But he has found time, sir,” said the Ethologist.

“Indeed, Dr. Lazenby. What was it?”

“Er . . . We were busy ourselves, sir. But we gained the impression that Mr. Grimes was engaged upon research of some kind.”

“Indeed? And what was it, Mr. Grimes?”

Grimes looked at his watch. It was almost time. He said, “I’ll show you, sir. If you will come this way. Along the river . . .”

“Lead the way, Mr. Grimes,” ordered Tolliver jovially. In his mind’s eye Grimes saw the glimmer of that half ring of gold braid that would make him a Lieutenant Commander. Promotions in the Survey Service were the result of Captain’s Reports rather than seniority.

Grimes guided Tolliver along the river bank to where the trail opened from the jungle to the little bay. “We wait here, sir,” he said. He looked at his watch again. It shouldn’t be long. And then, quite suddenly, Snuffy led the way out of the jungle. He was proudly carrying his bone club, holding it like a sceptre. He was flanked by two smaller humanoids, each carrying a crude bone-weapon, followed by two more, also armed. He went to the fruit plants, tore at them greedily, wasted more than he ate. The others looked on hungrily. One tried to get past the guards, was clubbed down viciously. Grimes gulped. In a matter of only three days his experiment was getting out of hand.

“I have studied Captain Loveil’s films of these beings,” said Tolliver in a cold voice. “Are
you
responsible for this?”

“Yes, sir. But . . .”

“You will be wise to apply for a transfer, Mr. Grimes. Should you continue in the Service, which is doubtful, I sincerely hope that you discover the legendary fountain of youth.”

“Why, sir?”

“Because it’s a bloody pity that otherwise you won’t be around to see the end results of what you started,” said Tolliver bitterly.

The Subtracter

The Federation’s Survey
Service Cruiser
Pathfinder
returned to Lindisfarne Base, and Lieutenant Grimes was one of the officers who was paid off there. He was glad to leave the ship; he had not gotten on at all well with Captain Tolliver. Yet he was far from happy. What was going to happen to him? Tolliver—who, for all his faults, was a just man—had shown Grimes part of the report that he had made on
Pathfinder’s
officers, and this part of the report was that referring to Grimes.

“Lieutenant Grimes shows initiative,” Tolliver had written, “and has been known to be zealous. Unfortunately his initiative and zeal are invariably misdirected.”

Grimes had decided not to make any protest. There had been occasions, he knew very well, when his initiative and zeal had not been misdirected—but never under Tolliver’s command. But the Captain, as was his right—his duty—was reporting on Grimes as
he
had found him. His report was only one of many. Nonetheless Grimes was not a little worried, was wondering what his next appointment would be, what his future career in the Survey Service (if any) would be like.

Dr. Margaret Lazenby had also paid off
Pathfinder,
at the same time as Grimes. (Her Service rank was Lieutenant Commander, but she preferred the civilian title.) As old shipmates, with shared experiences, she and Grimes tended to knock about in each other’s company whilst they were on Lindisfarne. In any case, the Lieutenant liked the handsome red-haired ethologist, and was pleased that she liked him. With a little bit of luck the situation would develop favorably, he thought. Meanwhile, she was very good company, even though she would permit nothing more than the briefest goodnight kiss.

One night, after a drink too many in the almost deserted B.O.Q. wardroom, he confided his troubles to her. He said, “I don’t like it, Maggie . . .”

“What don’t you like, John?”

“All this time here, and no word of an appointment. I told you that I’d seen Tolliver’s report on me . . .”

“At least six times. But what of it?”

“It’s all right for you, Maggie. For all your two and a half rings you’re not a space woman.
You
don’t have to worry about such sordid details as promotion. I do. I’m just a common working stiff of a spaceman, a trade school boy. Space is all I know.”

“And I’m sure you know it well, duckie.” She laughed. “But not to worry. Everything will come right in the end. Just take Auntie Maggie’s word for it.”

“Thank you for trying to cheer me up,” he said. “But I can’t help worrying. After all, it’s
my
career.”

She grinned at him, looking very attractive as she did so. “All right. I’ll tell you. Your precious Captain Tolliver wasn’t the only one to put in a report on your capabilities. Don’t forget that the Delta Sextans IV survey was carried out by the Scientific Branch. You, as the spaceman, were officially in command, but actually it was
our
show. Dr. Kortsoff—or Commander Kortsoff if you’d rather call him that—was the real head of our little expedition.
He
reported on you too.”

“I can imagine it,” said Grimes. “I can just imagine it. ‘This officer, with no scientific training whatsoever, took it upon himself to initiate a private experiment which, inevitably, will disastrously affect the ecology, ethology, zoology and biology of the planet.’ Have I missed any ‘ologies’ out?”

“We all liked you,” said the girl. “I still like you, come to that. Just between ourselves, we all had a good laugh over your ‘private experiment.’ You might have given your friend Snuffy and his people a slight nudge on to the upward path—but no more than a slight nudge. Sooner or later—sooner rather than later, I think—they’d have discovered weapons by themselves. It was bound to happen.

“Do you want to know what Dr. Kortsoff said about you?”

“It can’t be worse than what Captain Tolliver said.”

“‘This officer,’” quoted Maggie Lazenby, “‘is very definitely command material.’”

“You’re not kidding?” demanded Grimes.

“Most certainly not, John.”

“Mphm. You’ve made me feel a little happier:”

“I’m glad,” she said.

And so Grimes, although he did not get promotion, got command. The Survey Service’s Couriers, with their small crews, were invariably captained by two ringers, mere lieutenants. However, as the twentieth century poet Gertrude Stein might have said, “a captain is a captain is a captain . . .” The command course which Grimes went through prior to his appointment made this quite clear.

There was one fly in the ointment, a big one. His name was Damien, his rank was Commodore, his function was Officer Commanding Couriers. He knew all about Grimes; he made this quite clear at the first interview. Grimes suspected that he knew more about Grimes than he, Grimes, did himself.

He had said, toying with the bulky folder on the desk before him, “There are so many conflicting reports about you, Lieutenant. Some of your commanding officers are of the opinion that you’ll finish up as the youngest Admiral ever in the Service, others have said that you aren’t fit to be Third Mate in Rim Runners. And then we have the reports from high-ranking specialist officers, most of whom speak well of you. But these gentlemen are not spacemen.