The Big Black Mark by A. Bertram Chandler
Authors: A. Bertram Chandler
Tags: Science-Fiction
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minimal standards of smartness aboard the ship, and that the scientist, Dr. Brandt, regarded him as a barely necessary evil. He refused to admit that in taking command of Discovery he had bitten off more than he could chew, but he was coming to realize, more and more, that his predecessor had taken the easy way out, had made arrangements for his own comfort , and then allowed the vessel to run herself in her own bumbling, inefficient way.
Meanwhile, as the ship steadily narrowed the distance between herself and the first of the two possible stars, Flannery, with all his faults, was pulling his weight. Straining his telepathic faculties, he had begun to pick up what could be construed as indications of intelligent life on one of the worlds in orbit about that sun.
"The skipper of Sundowner was right, Captain," he said. "There's somethin' there, all right. Or, even, somebody. There's—there's a sort o' murmur. Ye can't hear it, of course, but Ned's hearin' it, an' I'm hearin' it." He grinned. "T'is a real Irish parliament. Everybody talkin', an' nobody listenin'."
"Except you," said Grimes.
"Exceptin' me—an' Ned," agreed the PCO.
"Human?" asked Grimes.
"That I couldn't be sayin', Captain. T'is too early yet. But humanoid, for sure. Somethin' with warm blood an' breathin' oxygen."
"Or its equivalent," suggested Grimes doubtfully. "After all, the essential physiology of chlorine breathers is very similar to our own."
"A bridge we'll cross when we come to it, Captain. But even if they, whoever they might be when they're up an' dressed, ain't human, ye'll still have discovered a new world for the Federation—may all the Saints preserve it—an' that'll be a feather in yer cap!"
"I suppose so." Somehow the prospect did not cheer Grimes, as it should have done. "I suppose so."
He got up to return to his own quarters, where he was to preside over a meeting of his senior officers and petty officers.
* * *
He sat behind his desk, facing the others.
Brandt was there, sitting by himself, a compact ball of hostility. Brabham, Swinton, and Vinegar Nell shared a settee—sullen bloodhound, belligerent terrier, and spiteful cat. Dr. Rath was wrapped in his own private cloud of funereal gloom. MacMorris, too, was keeping himself to himself, obviously begrudging the time that he was being obliged to spend away from his precious engines. Longer, the bos'n, and Washington, the sergeant of Marines, formed a two-man conspiracy in a corner, ostentatiously holding themselves aloof from the commissioned officers.
"Gentlemen," began Grimes. "And Miss Russell," he added. "Mphm." He answered their not very friendly stares with one of his own. "Mr. Flannery assures me that there is life, intelligent life, very probably our sort of life, on one of the worlds of Ballchin 1717, the star that we are now approaching."
"So your luck is holding, sir," said Brabham.
"What exactly do your mean, Number One?"
"Even you, sir, would have found it hard to justify this deviation from the original plan if you'd found nothing."
"We have only the word of a drunken telepath that anything has been found," huffed Brandt. "And it still might not be a Lost Colony."
"Even if it is," grumbled MacMorris, "I doubt if there'll be any machine shops. I'm still far from happy about my innies."
"You never are," remarked Brabham.
"We didn't have enough time on New Maine to get anything fixed up properly," complained Vinegar Nell, favoring Grimes with a hostile glare.
"At least," stated Swinton, " my men, as always are ready for anything."
"There probably will be some civilians for you to massacre," murmured Vinegar Nell sweetly.
Swinton flushed hotly and Grimes spoke up before a quarrel could start. "Gentlemen. Miss Russell. If you wish to squabble, kindly do so elsewhere than in my quarters. I have called you here to discuss our course of action."
"To begin with," said Brandt, "there must be the minimal interference with whatever
Meanwhile, as the ship steadily narrowed the distance between herself and the first of the two possible stars, Flannery, with all his faults, was pulling his weight. Straining his telepathic faculties, he had begun to pick up what could be construed as indications of intelligent life on one of the worlds in orbit about that sun.
"The skipper of Sundowner was right, Captain," he said. "There's somethin' there, all right. Or, even, somebody. There's—there's a sort o' murmur. Ye can't hear it, of course, but Ned's hearin' it, an' I'm hearin' it." He grinned. "T'is a real Irish parliament. Everybody talkin', an' nobody listenin'."
"Except you," said Grimes.
"Exceptin' me—an' Ned," agreed the PCO.
"Human?" asked Grimes.
"That I couldn't be sayin', Captain. T'is too early yet. But humanoid, for sure. Somethin' with warm blood an' breathin' oxygen."
"Or its equivalent," suggested Grimes doubtfully. "After all, the essential physiology of chlorine breathers is very similar to our own."
"A bridge we'll cross when we come to it, Captain. But even if they, whoever they might be when they're up an' dressed, ain't human, ye'll still have discovered a new world for the Federation—may all the Saints preserve it—an' that'll be a feather in yer cap!"
"I suppose so." Somehow the prospect did not cheer Grimes, as it should have done. "I suppose so."
He got up to return to his own quarters, where he was to preside over a meeting of his senior officers and petty officers.
* * *
He sat behind his desk, facing the others.
Brandt was there, sitting by himself, a compact ball of hostility. Brabham, Swinton, and Vinegar Nell shared a settee—sullen bloodhound, belligerent terrier, and spiteful cat. Dr. Rath was wrapped in his own private cloud of funereal gloom. MacMorris, too, was keeping himself to himself, obviously begrudging the time that he was being obliged to spend away from his precious engines. Longer, the bos'n, and Washington, the sergeant of Marines, formed a two-man conspiracy in a corner, ostentatiously holding themselves aloof from the commissioned officers.
"Gentlemen," began Grimes. "And Miss Russell," he added. "Mphm." He answered their not very friendly stares with one of his own. "Mr. Flannery assures me that there is life, intelligent life, very probably our sort of life, on one of the worlds of Ballchin 1717, the star that we are now approaching."
"So your luck is holding, sir," said Brabham.
"What exactly do your mean, Number One?"
"Even you, sir, would have found it hard to justify this deviation from the original plan if you'd found nothing."
"We have only the word of a drunken telepath that anything has been found," huffed Brandt. "And it still might not be a Lost Colony."
"Even if it is," grumbled MacMorris, "I doubt if there'll be any machine shops. I'm still far from happy about my innies."
"You never are," remarked Brabham.
"We didn't have enough time on New Maine to get anything fixed up properly," complained Vinegar Nell, favoring Grimes with a hostile glare.
"At least," stated Swinton, " my men, as always are ready for anything."
"There probably will be some civilians for you to massacre," murmured Vinegar Nell sweetly.
Swinton flushed hotly and Grimes spoke up before a quarrel could start. "Gentlemen. Miss Russell. If you wish to squabble, kindly do so elsewhere than in my quarters. I have called you here to discuss our course of action."
"To begin with," said Brandt, "there must be the minimal interference with whatever
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