First Command Read Online Free PDF Page A

inform the Flight Admiral of my movements.” He turned to Brasidus, “Sergeant, you may come with me. Leave Leading Hoplite Hector in charge.”
    Brasidus got close enough to Diomedes so that he could speak in a low, urgent whisper. “But, sir, the standing orders . . . the passes, to be signed by a member of the Council . . .”
    “And who do you think drew up those standing orders, Sergeant? I am Security.” Diomedes unlocked the gate with a key from his belt pouch. “Come with me.”
    “Your weapons,” reminded Johngrimes.
    Diomedes sighed, unbuckled his belt with its two holstered pistols, passed it to one of the men. Brasidus followed suit. The Sergeant felt naked, far more so than when stripped for the dance or for field sports. He knew that he still retained one weapon in the use of which he was, as were all members of the police branch of the Army, superbly trained—his body. But he missed those smooth, polished wooden butts that fitted so snugly into his hands. Even a despised sword or spear would have been better than nothing.
    Ahead of them, Johngrimes was walking briskly toward the open airlock door, toward the foot of the ramp. Diomedes and Brasidus followed. They could see, as they neared the vessel, that the odd excrescences on its skin were gun turrets, that from at least two of them slender barrels were trained upon them, following them, that from others heavier weapons tracked the circling airships.
    Johngrimes was taking no chances.
    Although he had been often enough on spaceport guard duties, this was the first time that Brasidus had been aboard a spaceship; usually it was only Diomedes who boarded visiting vessels. Mounting the ramp, the Sergeant eyed professionally the little group of officers waiting just inside the airlock. They all carried sidearms, and they all looked competent enough. Even so, thought Brasidus, they’ll not be able to use their pistols for fear of hitting each other. The knee to the groin, the edge of the hand to the neck . . .
    “Better not,” said Diomedes, reading his subordinate’s face.
    “Better not,” said Johngrimes, turning back to look at the pair of them. “An incident could have unfortunate—for your planet—repercussions.”
    Better not, thought Brasidus.
    Soldierlike, he approved the smartness with which the spacemen saluted their commander. And soldierlike, he did not like the feel of a deck under his feet instead of solid ground. Nonetheless, he looked about him curiously. He was disappointed. He had been expecting, vaguely, vistas of gleaming machines, all in fascinating motion, banks of fluorescing screens, assemblages of intricate instruments. But all that there was was a little metal-walled room, cubical except for the curvature of its outer side, and beyond that another little room, shaped like a wedge of pie with a bite out of its narrow end.
    But there must be more to the ship than this.
    An officer pressed a button on the far, inwardly curved wall of the inside room. A door slid aside, revealing yet another little compartment, cylindrical this time. Johngrimes motioned to his guests—or hostages? Diomedes (but he was familiar with spaceships) entered this third room without any hesitation. Apprehensively Brasidus followed him, with Johngrimes bringing up the rear.
    “Don’t worry,” said Diomedes to Brasidus. “This is only an elevator.”
    “An . . . an elevator?”
    “It elevates you. Is that correct, Lieutenant Commander?”
    “It is, Captain Diomedes.” Johngrimes turned to Brasidus. “At the moment, we are inside the axial shaft—a sort of hollow column running almost the full length of the ship. This cage that we’ve just entered will carry us up to my quarters. We never use it, of course, in free fall—only during acceleration or on a planetary surface.”
    “Do you have machines to do the work of your legs, sir?”
    “Why not, Sergeant?”
    “Isn’t that . . . decadent?”
    The spaceship commander laughed. “Men have