To the Galactic Rim: The John Grimes Saga by A. Bertram Chandler

piracy they’ll try to laugh off by saying that it was by real pirates— no, that’s not quite right, but you know what I mean—wearing Waldegren colors. The second piracy—they’ll make sure that there are no survivors.”
    “But I still can’t see how they can hope to get away with it. It’s always been an accepted fact that the main weapon against piracy has been psionic radio.”
    “And so it was—until some genius developed a jamming technique. Epsilon Sextans wasn’t able to get any messages out until her crazy random precession pulled her well clear.”
    “And you hope, sir, that they do attack you?”
    “I do, Mr. Grimes. I had hoped, that I should have a good gunnery officer under me, but”—he shrugged his massive shoulders—“I think that I shall be able to manage.”
    “And you hope that you’ll have your weapons,” persisted Grimes.
    “I see no reason why I should not, Ensign.”
    “There is one very good reason, sir. That is that I, a commissioned officer of the Survey Service, am aboard your vessel. I insist that you leave the tracking down and destruction of the pirates to the proper authorities. I insist, too, that no Survey Service stores be discharged from this ship without my written authority.”
    For the first time the hint of a smile relieved the somberness of Craven’s face. “And to think that I believed that Jane Pentecost could recruit you ,” he murmured. Then, in a louder voice, “And what if I just go ahead without your written authority, Ensign?”
    Grimes had the answer ready. “Then, sir, I shall be obliged to order your officers not to obey your unlawful commands. If necessary, I shall call upon the male passengers to assist me in any action that is necessary.”
    Craven’s bushy eyebrows went up and stayed up. “Mr. Grimes,” he said in a gritty voice, “it is indeed lucky for you that I have firsthand experience of the typical Survey Service mentality. Some Masters I know would, in these circumstances, send you out on a spacewalk without a suit. But, before I take drastic action, I’ll give you one more chance to cooperate.” His tone softened. “You noticed the portrait I’ve put up instead of all the temporary popsies. Every man, no matter how much he plays around, has one woman who is the woman. Gillian was the woman as far as I was concerned—as far as I am concerned. I’ve a chance to bring her murderers under my guns—and, by God, I’m taking that chance, no matter what it means either to my career or to the somewhat odd foreign policy of the Federation. I used to be annoyed by Jane Pentecost’s outbursts on that subject—but now I see that she’s right. And she’s right, too, when it comes to the Survey Service’s reluctance to take action against Waldegren.
    “So I, Mr. Grimes, am taking action.”
    “Sir, I forbid you . . .”
    “You forbid me? Ensign, you forget yourself. Perhaps this will help you remember.”
    This was a Minetti automatic that had appeared suddenly in the Captain’s hand. In his hairy fist the little, glittering weapon looked no more than a toy—but Grimes knew his firearms, knew that at the slightest pressure of Craven’s finger the needle-like projectiles would stitch him from crown to crotch.
    “I’m sorry about this, Mr. Grimes.” As he spoke, Craven pressed a button set in his desk with his free hand. “I’m sorry about this. But I realize that I was expecting rather too much of you. After all, you have your career to consider . . . . Time was,” he went on, “when a naval officer could put his telescope to his blind eye as an excuse for ignoring orders—and get away with it. But the politicians had less power in those days. We’ve come a long way—and a wrong way—since Nelson.”
    Grimes heard the door behind him slide open. He didn’t bother to look around, not even when hard hands were laid on his shoulders.
    “Mr. Kennedy,” said Craven, “things turned out as I feared that they would.