his teeth still, he'd be after bitin' you. It's the uniform, ye see, an' the way ye're wearin' it. He remembers the cowardly troopers what did for the Ned who's his blessed namesake."
"Not to mention the jolly swagman," growled Grimes. "But that's all nonsense, Mr. Flannery. You can't tell me that that's the brain of a dingo who was around when the Kelly Gang was brought to book!"
Flannery chuckled. "What d'ye take me for, Captain? I don't believe that, an' I'm not expectin' you to. But he's a dog, an' all dogs have this race memory, goin' back to the Dream Time, an' farther back still. And now, Captain, witt ye, with all due respect, be gettin' out of here? Ye've got Ned all upset, ye have."
Grimes departed in a rather bad temper, leaving Flannery communing with the whiskey bottle and his weird pet.
Chapter 5
Six hours before liftoff time Grimes received Brandt, the only scientific officer who was making the voyage, in his day cabin. From the very start they clashed. This Dr. Brandt—he soon made it clear that he did not wish to be addressed as "Commander" and that he considered his Survey Service rank and uniform childish absurdities—was, Grimes decided, a typical case of small-man-itis. He did not need to be a telepath to know what Brandt thought about him. He was no more than a bus driver whose job it was to take the learned gentleman to wherever he wished to go.
And then Brandt endeared himself to Grimes still further by putting his thoughts into words. "It's a high time, Captain," said the little, fat, bald black-bearded man, "that contacts with Lost Colonies were taken out of the clumsy hands of you military types. You do irreparable damage with your interferences. I should have been on hand to make a thorough and detailed study of the New Spartan culture before you ruined it by aiding and abetting revolution."
"Mphm," grunted Grimes.
"And you did the same sort of thing on Morrowvia."
"Did I? I was trying to save the Morrowvians from Drongo Kane—who, in case you don't know, is a slave trader—and from the Dog Star Line, who wanted to turn the whole damn planet into a millionaires' holiday camp."
"Which it is now well on the way to becoming, I hear."
"The Morrowvians will do very nicely out of it. In any case, on neither occasion was I without scientific advice."
"Dr. Lazenby, I suppose you mean. Or Commander Lazenby, as she no doubt prefers to be called. Pah!"
"Wipe the spit off your beard, Doctor," admonished Grimes, his prominent ears flushing angrily. "And, as far as Commander Lazenby is concerned, the advice she gave me was consistently, good."
" You would think so. An ignorant spaceman led up the garden path by a flashily attractive woman."
Luckily Brabham came in just then on some business or other, and Grimes was able to pass Brandt on to the first lieutenant. He sat down at his littered desk and thought, That cocky little bastard is all I need. He remembered a captain under whom he had served years ago, who used to exclaim when things went wrong, "I am surrounded by rogues and imbeciles!"
And how many rogues and imbeciles was he, Grimes, surrounded by? He began to make calculations on a scrap of paper.
Control room officers—six.
Electronic communications officers—two.
Psionic communications officer—one (and that was more than ample!).
Supply branch officers—two.
Engineer officers—six.
Medical officer—one.
Marine officer—one.
Scientific officer—one.
That made twenty, in the commissioned ranks alone.
Cooks—four.
Stewards—two.
Stewardesses—four.
That made thirty.
Marines, including the sergeant and corporal—twenty-two.
Fifty-two was now the score.
Petty officers—four.
General purpose ratings—twenty.
Total, seventy-six. Seventy-six people who must have ridden to their parents' weddings on bicycles.
Grimes had done his figuring as a joke, but suddenly it was no longer funny. Normally he enjoyed the essential
"Not to mention the jolly swagman," growled Grimes. "But that's all nonsense, Mr. Flannery. You can't tell me that that's the brain of a dingo who was around when the Kelly Gang was brought to book!"
Flannery chuckled. "What d'ye take me for, Captain? I don't believe that, an' I'm not expectin' you to. But he's a dog, an' all dogs have this race memory, goin' back to the Dream Time, an' farther back still. And now, Captain, witt ye, with all due respect, be gettin' out of here? Ye've got Ned all upset, ye have."
Grimes departed in a rather bad temper, leaving Flannery communing with the whiskey bottle and his weird pet.
Chapter 5
Six hours before liftoff time Grimes received Brandt, the only scientific officer who was making the voyage, in his day cabin. From the very start they clashed. This Dr. Brandt—he soon made it clear that he did not wish to be addressed as "Commander" and that he considered his Survey Service rank and uniform childish absurdities—was, Grimes decided, a typical case of small-man-itis. He did not need to be a telepath to know what Brandt thought about him. He was no more than a bus driver whose job it was to take the learned gentleman to wherever he wished to go.
And then Brandt endeared himself to Grimes still further by putting his thoughts into words. "It's a high time, Captain," said the little, fat, bald black-bearded man, "that contacts with Lost Colonies were taken out of the clumsy hands of you military types. You do irreparable damage with your interferences. I should have been on hand to make a thorough and detailed study of the New Spartan culture before you ruined it by aiding and abetting revolution."
"Mphm," grunted Grimes.
"And you did the same sort of thing on Morrowvia."
"Did I? I was trying to save the Morrowvians from Drongo Kane—who, in case you don't know, is a slave trader—and from the Dog Star Line, who wanted to turn the whole damn planet into a millionaires' holiday camp."
"Which it is now well on the way to becoming, I hear."
"The Morrowvians will do very nicely out of it. In any case, on neither occasion was I without scientific advice."
"Dr. Lazenby, I suppose you mean. Or Commander Lazenby, as she no doubt prefers to be called. Pah!"
"Wipe the spit off your beard, Doctor," admonished Grimes, his prominent ears flushing angrily. "And, as far as Commander Lazenby is concerned, the advice she gave me was consistently, good."
" You would think so. An ignorant spaceman led up the garden path by a flashily attractive woman."
Luckily Brabham came in just then on some business or other, and Grimes was able to pass Brandt on to the first lieutenant. He sat down at his littered desk and thought, That cocky little bastard is all I need. He remembered a captain under whom he had served years ago, who used to exclaim when things went wrong, "I am surrounded by rogues and imbeciles!"
And how many rogues and imbeciles was he, Grimes, surrounded by? He began to make calculations on a scrap of paper.
Control room officers—six.
Electronic communications officers—two.
Psionic communications officer—one (and that was more than ample!).
Supply branch officers—two.
Engineer officers—six.
Medical officer—one.
Marine officer—one.
Scientific officer—one.
That made twenty, in the commissioned ranks alone.
Cooks—four.
Stewards—two.
Stewardesses—four.
That made thirty.
Marines, including the sergeant and corporal—twenty-two.
Fifty-two was now the score.
Petty officers—four.
General purpose ratings—twenty.
Total, seventy-six. Seventy-six people who must have ridden to their parents' weddings on bicycles.
Grimes had done his figuring as a joke, but suddenly it was no longer funny. Normally he enjoyed the essential
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