Vagabond of Space Page 2

  The colonel gave up, returning to the dossier. "You were then a commercial captain of a first-line freighter for General Cosmic Company. After two years you left them to join Startramp Ltd., after marrying the only daughter of..." He checked the file again. "Ephraim McBain, who was the principal stockholder. That's how you became a partner."

  "Yeah, but far from a silent one," Graybound assured him candidly. Then his anger returned. "Hey, how come all this snooping around in my personal laundry? You take care of your own mess—and there's plenty of that around here!"

  Col. Rammbuggl's face turned scarlet as he rose out of his chair. "You just watch your language!" he shouted indignantly. "If you don't I'll have you thrown out!"

  "I'll save you the trouble," replied Graybound as he turned to leave. "What am I doing here, anyway?"

  "You will stay!" roared Rammbuggl in desperation. He knew how hopeless the case was but he had his regulations to follow, so he returned to the dossier. "So you married your wife..."

  "Sounds logical," Graybound admitted thoughtfully. "I'd say that's the only way you can get a wife, by marrying her. So that's what I did."

  Rammbuggl composed himself and sat down again. "She's quite young. Doesn't the difference in ages matter?"

  "Not to me—you want to make something of it?"

  The colonel skipped the personal part of the file. "According to the further data here you were reported on twice for attempted smuggling. The evidence wasn't conclusive enough so that's why you're still a free man... so far. In addition..."

  "All that's just slanderous hogwash," Graybound interrupted. "Bunch of jealous hotheads—just envious, that's all. Don't you run into that sort of thing, yourself?"

  "All I can say is that you got off on insufficient evidence. At any rate you appear to have a rather loose relationship with the law."

  "For which there's also insufficient evidence!" Graybound challenged triumphantly.

  "Hm-m-m..." The colonel searched further through the file of papers, finally picking up a blue card that had escaped his notice before. As he read it carefully his brow furrowed and finally he shook his head. "Here I have your evaluation summary from the positronic Brain, after we fed it your background. According to this it clearly indicates that you are a capable and experienced space pilot. The Brain further stipulates that you should be requisitioned for retraining and that you are a suitable candidate for handling one of the new class of ships."

  Graybound reacted with new interest. He came closer again and leaned on the desk. Making room for himself he shoved some of the papers to one side and a few of them fell to the floor. Pierre zealously collected them and replaced them with the others.

  "New ships? What does that mean?"

  Col. Rammbuggl drew a deep breath. The time had come. This uncouth individual was going to be surprised.. With something of the air of a prophet he said, "What I'm talking about is the new trans-light linear spacedrive, which has been developed within the past number of decades. At present, Perry Rhodan himself is on a test flight with a larger prototype—experimental. He has not yet returned..."

  "And he won't ever get back!" exclaimed Graybound, giving voice to his fears. "How can Rhodan stick his neck out like that with such an untried contraption?! He should have stuck with the old tried and true. The jump buggies are the only way to fly!"

  "You need not concern yourself about the First Administrator," advised the colonel. "At any rate, other linear-drive ships will soon be deployed into units of the Fleet and for that reason we need capable commanders. In the Institute all candidates will be retrained. And that's why you're here!"

  "Retrained? Me?" Graybound was frankly amazed. "You chose me of all people—for that? Man, you've snapped your coordinates!"

  "I must ask you to please..."

  "Go ahead and ask all you want, Col. Drambui! It won't do you any good! I'm sticking with the old faithful methods of space travel and I don't want anything to do with all this new-fangled baloney! Just tell that to your upstairs brass! Can I go now?"

  "My name is Rammbuggl!" blustered the colonel in a last attempt to rescue his good name from this human bulldozer. "What you want or don't want is immaterial. The robot Brain has decided and..."

  "Alright, hold it right there! What the devil is that electronic junkpile to me? I'm free to make my own decisions—or is somebody trying to change that around, too? Is this a democracy or isn't it? Now take it or leave it—I won't—and that's that!"

  "Wait!" Rammbuggl called after him. "You can't simply cancel out of here without taking an examination! If you don't pass the preliminary then nobody's going to insist that you go into retraining."

  "Exam?" asked the old captain suspiciously. "What kind of exam?"

  "Technical knowledge, character qualifications, general education—and whatever else..."

  "Character qualifications, you say?" Graybound sighed his relief. "In that case

  I've flunked out already. Goodbye."

  "Stop!" the colonel shouted. "You have to wait—there's still a test to take..."

  Capt. Graybound hesitated. He slowly turned to regard the colonel speculatively. Then he finally nodded. "Well, I suppose you're right. So here's a test for you..." His voice changed suddenly. He stepped forward and thundered at the top of his lungs. "You're the silliest blockhead on this whole silly planet— sawdust for brains! You're a... a... yes, that's what you are— space debris, Col. Bamboozle!"

  "My name is Rammbuggl!" shrieked the colonel, choking in rage and confusion. The secretary cowered in a corner, staring at the scene as though it were a prelude to Armageddon. "I'll have you arrested for libel! This is the very limit!"

  "You mean I didn't pass the test?" inquired Graybound politely, suddenly back to a normal tone again. "Or would you prefer a few more examples? Once and for all, you're not going to get me on board one of those new-fangled sneaker ships— I'll stay with my sky-jumper. Have you got that into your head, you imitation desk admiral? Get your sneaker crewmen somewhere else!"

  From that moment on the spaceman's name for the new linear-drive ships was destined to be the 'sneakers.' This was their baptism but neither Graybound nor Rammbuggl suspected it.

  The colonel grabbed a big red penzel from his desk and drew a heavy line straight across the blue card from the positronic Brain. "Unsuitable!" he gasped almost breathlessly. "Absolutely unfit! Either in character or culture. Get out of here, mister! I don't ever want to see you again in my life! And if I hear the slightest hint about you-any stepping over the line of the law—you'll be in for a surprise. So you just watch yourself, sir—we are not through with one another yet!"

  "That's an open case of coercion and intimidation," muttered Graybound, who was inwardly relieved. "You can count yourself lucky if I don't turn in a complaint about you." He went to the door and opened it. "Well, so long, Col. Drumbucket!" He slammed the door behind him.

  "Rammbuggl!" came the muffled shout of the colonel for the last time.

  Capt. Graybound strode vigorously past the woman secretary in the reception room without paying any attention to her. He also slammed the second door and reached the corridor. Then he quickly found the exit, the parking lot and his car.

  Retraining! Of all snobbish theories! That would be just up their alley, though, to try to get him back in the straitjacket of being honor bound to duty!

  At a high speed that was way beyond the legal limits, he raced back to the Startramp office, parked the car and swaggered back to his friend and associate.

  "So you're back again!" observed Ludmilla, somewhat relieved. "We were afraid they were going to keep you there."

  "Those meatheads!" Graybound sat down in a chair. "Retraining!"

  "I have to admit," said Richard Flexner calmly, "that there's nothing about you that seems to be retrained. Did you really show up over there? What was it all about, anyway?"

  "They wanted to get me to take over one of those sneaker jobs—straight Civil Service. Completely flipped their l
ids!"

  "Sneaker jobs?"

  "Yeah, those new-fangled contraptions, if you want to know. Linear-drive ships is what they call them, I think."

  "Oh those things!" Flexner nodded. He had heard of them. "They shouldn't bother us with that nonsense. There's nothing better than the old transition method."

  "That's my sentiment exactly!" Graybound seconded him. He got up and went over to his wife, placing a hand on her shoulder. "This red tape's put me back an hour on my schedule already. I'll be back in a few days, so goodbye, sweetie. Gotta get those teddybears to Tuglan, you know. The little Tuglan tykes are waiting for them."

  Ludmilla looked in desperation at Flexner. "Does he really have a cargo of children's toys?" she asked and it could be seen by her expression that she suspected something more like infernal devices on board the Lizard.

  "I guarantee it," Flexner assured her guilelessly. "You know if there are any inspections the cargo has to agree with the manifest. You certainly can understand that, my dear Mrs..."

  "You shouldn't mix into my business, honey," interrupted Graybound with an impatient edge to his tone. But all she had to do was give him her big sad eyes and he melted. "I'll bring you something when I come back."

  After giving her a goodbye kiss, he picked up all the freight waybills and customs papers from the desk and stomped firmly out of the room. This time he took a taxi which brought him close to the edge of the takeoff pads. The three ships of Startramp Ltd. were parked right next to each other and crewmen could be seen hurrying back and forth in the area. From all appearances it seemed that the two sister ships were just being loaded. There was a long line of electric hoists in front of the cargo locks. But the Lizard's hatches were closed. The crew must be all present and accounted for on board by now. Their ground leaves had ended at dawn, which was some hours ago.

  As Graybound clambered out of the taxi an officer of the Port Authority came toward him. He pointed at the Lizard.

  "Your ship, Captain?"

  "Come on, Dopner, you know that much, don't you...?"

  "While on duty, Captain, I know no one and assume nothing..."

  Graybound could feel his old antagonism against red tape and bureaucracy steaming up inside of him but he controlled himself. This fellow Dopner was too important to be ruffled. "Oh sure, I forgot. Allow me! I'm Capt. Samuel Graybound, Startramp Ltd. And who might you be, sir...?"

  Dopner had to swallow on that one. "I'm Lt. Dopner, Customs Clearance. What's your cargo, Capt. Graybound?"

  "Teddybears..."

  The lieutenant swallowed again. At first he stared at Graybound and then at the Lizard. He finally put out his hand and almost groaned, "Your papers!"

  After receiving the documents he studied them with interest. At the Terrania spaceport merchant ships and units of the Fleet landed and took off every hour. Smuggling was hardly profitable anymore. Besides being severely punished, private commercial firms were handling government business. The Port Authority Customs Control merely saw to it that each and every ship was cleared in accordance with regulations and even that was usually a mere formality.

  "Teddybears, eh?" Dopner shook his head. "You can actually find a market for them?"

  Having gotten his papers back bearing the lieutenant's signature, Graybound felt more expansive. "Come and take a look at the cute little fellows," he invited. "Maybe I can give you one—for your children..."

  "I don't have any children. I'm not married."

  "Well, that's no reason..." Graybound started to insist but then thought better of it. "Can I get a take-off clearance?"

  "You already have it, Graybound," grumbled Lt. Dopner as he hurried away.

  Even a close observer would not have thought that he and Graybound were actually good friends. But the Civil Service regulations did not allow such friendships to be considered while one was on duty.

  Graybound mumbled something about hanging all bureaucrats as he turned to board his ship. For various reasons a full-dress cargo inspection wouldn't have been particularly convenient just now. Once they had taken off the danger would be past.

  A man was standing in the open personnel lock of the 80-meter spacesphere. From Graybound's position he looked small and far away but the figure was familiar to him. He took a gantry lift up to the cross-ramp which bridged over into the lock.

  "Hello, Rex!" he said, carelessly touching the brim of his cap in a salute of greeting. "I guess you boys have been standing on a bed of hot coals, haven't you?"

  "We should have blasted off an hour ago, Sam. What held you up?"

  "Later! For now let's hit it! I've got the take-off clearance!"

  The other man wore a lieutenant's uniform. His swarthy face did not give an outward impression of trustworthiness and his flattened pugilist's nose advertised a history of brawling. Certainly there was a sparkle of good nature in his eyes but it was in absolute contrast to his outward appearance and mannerism. Rex Knatterbull, as first officer of the Lizard, was Graybound's closest confidant.

  "Everything's ready, Sam."

  "Then let 'er rip!"

  Graybound stepped into the lock and made sure that the service ramp automatically withdrew from the ship. Together with Rex he hurried to the commercial freighter's Control Central and closed the outer lock door. This automatically brought the ventilation system into operation, just as though they were already in outer space. The viewscreens also came on and revealed the expanse of the spaceport with its numerous ships. In the distance was Terrania. The energy dome above the main positronic Brain could be seen faintly glistening in the rays of the sun.

  "All hands at stations!" came an announcement from the P.A.

  "Take-off in 10 seconds!" said Graybound.

  • • •

  After the first transition they flew onward at less than the speed of light. Only now could the new course be checked out and calculated because Graybound had a lot more on his mind than just flying to Tuglan. His real destination was 12,618 light-years away and was called Glatra 3, a world occupied by the Galactic Traders. For some Earthly commodities those bearded ones paid some handsome prices but of course Earthly authorities were not supposed to know about this kind of business. And above all they should not find out that the Lizard was flying to a Springer planet.

  The computers went to work. The positronic navigator swallowed the input data and calculated the next transitions.

  When the two men were alone again in the Control Central, Rex Knatterbull spoke up. "There was still something you had to tell me—about what held you up..."

  Graybound nodded but instead of answering he got up from his chair and opened the door of his cabin. Contrary to all spaceship tradition, his own quarters were right next to the Control Central.

  "Now, now my little pet—you want to come out awhile?"

  Rex sighed. He was quite familiar with the Captain's fussiness over that crazy parrot of his. Graybound appeared to love the bird more than he did his own wife. He took it on every flight and regarded it as a sort of talisman. He claimed it brought him luck and nobody could talk him out of such nonsense. Just the name, Torero, made the parrot enough of a character but it also talked a blue streak and often it said things that seemed to make sense. Any reasonable person would have considered it coincidence but Graybound always maintained that the parrot had more brains than most of the hands on board the Lizard.

  The croaking voice was heard in the cabin. "Hi there, Gramps!" Then there was a fluttering of brightly colored wings as Torero perched on Graybound's shoulder. No one but Torero could get away with calling him 'Gramps'. He finally came back into the Control Central with the bird and sat down once more.

  "They ordered me to come to the Cosmo Retraining Institute or whatever the devil they call that madhouse! They wanted me to be captain of a linear-drive ship. At least that's what the positronic Brain came up with after an attack of insanity. Anyway, this Col. Ramm-Bubble gave me a test and found that I was unsuitable. That's about the gist of it."r />
  "Ram-Bubble? Pretty funny-sounding name..."

  "I wouldn't talk, with one like yours," grunted Graybound as he scratched the parrot's head. "At any rate I gave them a piece of my mind. Linear drive! A bunch of sneaky tomfoolery! I prefer the hyperjumps anytime, even though they say transition systems have had their day. I wouldn't give you the whole Solar Fleet for the Lizard. They can't hold a candle to her!"

  "Hm-m..." muttered Knatterbull, "I wouldn't like to have to depend on that. So you mean they simply let you go?"

  "Oh, there was a small difference of opinion but nothing worth mentioning. The colonel proved to be very understanding and he dropped me as a candidate. After that I was discharged."

  "Sounds suspicious," said the First Officer. "Mighty, mighty suspicious!"

  "Rubbish!" contradicted Graybound. "All that happened was the robot Brain goofed up. It's possible, you know."

  "Off your rocker!" squawked Torero with startling clarity. And who could say whether the perfectly timed remark was coincidence or not?

  "Aw, shut your ruddy beak, dummy!" snapped Rex impatiently. He couldn't stand the parrot. "You'll see, Sam," he continued, "you're not through with them yet! They don't give up that easily. They need their guinea pigs."

  "You mean for the new ships?" Graybound pondered this. "You know, you may have a point there."

  "Sure I do! Don't you see? They just pick up the people they think aren't suitable for other things; they shove them into their shiny new space crates and shoot them off to the stars. Then if they don't come back, all they've lost is the ship. Right?"

  Graybound shook his head. "Not exactly. Do you think they want to get rid of Rhodan too?"

  "Nonsense! Whatever gave you that idea?"

  "The fact that Rhodan himself is on a test flight right now in one of those new sneaker ships. If he can stick his neck out on a test like that, then maybe the whole thing's more kosh (kosher) than we thought. Or do you think maybe..."

  "Of course that changes the picture. In that case they must really be looking for some pretty straight, respectable candidates. Which makes it all the more amazing that they came to you, of all people!"