A Company of Heroes Book Five: The Space Cadet (20 page)

The rigors of acceleration passed, for the most part, and the freighter rode smoothly, maintaining just enough thrust to provide Terrian-normal gravity. The next several hours were spent in stowing and making fast the assorted and various equipment the crew had used for the launch. Judikha saw the lieutenant carrying two huge pails of steaming refuse from the galley, on his way to the incinerators. His desperate nose appeared to be trying to climb higher on his face. She felt an ungenerous pleasure at seeing the meticulous lieutenant laboring at such an ignominious task.

As she came down to her supper at three bells in the first dog-watch, the haggard look in the lieutenant’s face and his slow, deliberate movements finally moved her to a kind of pity and she more or less regretted her earlier gloat.

“Say the word, sir,” she said between her teeth as he halted before her, “and I’ll brain them both with a wrench. I can do it, one at a time.”

“You cannot,” replied Birdwhistle wearily. “You might only disable one and then the other would shoot you. And if you did succeed—what then? Anarchy among the crew. That could be quelled with a brace of toasters, but the final result would be that you’d be spaced and I could not save you. Leave it to me. I am working it out. They cannot hang a Patrol officer.”

Judikha, who thought the lieutenant much too sanguine regarding the captain’s respect for the law, went on to her supper, which was a mug of villainous black-strapped tea, which she drank, and a lump of cold, fat pork which neither she nor the others could touch (except Bombula, who nibbled around the edges). The whole watch vented their feelings profanely and vowed dire vengeance on the after-guard, but little of it found form or expression except in Bob’s avowed determination to “break the bloody steward’s face,” and they dined as they had before—on bread alone.

Judikha’s work was done for her shift at four bells. She found a shadowy corner and made herself comfortable on a crate. After a few minutes, the beleaguered lieutenant approached, chewing on a damp biscuit. As he seated himself beside her there came a now-familiar sound from the galley:
wheese wheech
.

“Hear that, Judikha—ah, Veronica?” he asked, wearily. “It’s been going on all afternoon. It’s for the engineer, if not you, too. What in the world made you throw the whack at him? You’ve made a dangerous enemy.”

“Well, I also made a friend, Mr. Birdwhistle. The engineer liked what I did and I think he squared me with the second mate.”

“Drop the mister and the sir, will you? Try to remember. I’m a cook’s helper. What do you think of my first days’ work?” Judikha was amazed to see the lieutenant gesture proudly toward the open door of the galley, through which she could see lines of gleaming pots and pans hanging from their hooks.

“Why do you let them do this to you?” Judikha asked. “You’re certainly the most experienced man aboard—you could command this ship if you had to. But you’re not used to manual labor like this. Can’t you get that across to the captain?”

“Go above and try it if you like, just don’t say I sent you. If I could get into that cabin and find a charged toaster I think I could convince him, but I see no other way. When I’m able to move without pain, I shall try it. The skipper’s standing watch now and the first mate’s still confined to his cabin. So, with the steward asleep, the second mate asleep and the skipper at the helm, there might be a chance to sneak into his cabin and get the toasters.”

“Suppose I try it tonight?”

“No. It’ll need both of us and tonight I wouldn’t have the energy to pull a trigger let alone lift a gun. Then, too, you
must
not take the initiative. You’re just an ordinary spaceman and most space law is devised for your punishment. I’m an officer and to a large extent exempt from the law. I have the full authority of the Patrol behind me.”

“What sort of a crowd is your watch?” asked Judikha after a moment’s thought.

“No two alike—all different, some barely human. A few who are unclassified—maybe even unclassifiable, I’d swear. I’m the only Terrian.”

“My side the same, except Wopple. He’s Udskayan.”

“You’d better not be thinking about mutiny. Forget it, if you are. Think of the scandal! ‘Nineteen murderous scoundrels spaced for mutiny.’ No, let me do it alone. It’ll merely be a Patrol officer taking charge of a spaceship. I can do it legally. Who’s Wopple? The man who was called up to the catwalk this morning?”

“Yes. He seems all right. He agrees with you that it’d only make things worse to kick.”

“He’s right. You’re too quick to fight, Judikha. You don’t appreciate finesse. Go get Wopple and introduce us. I’m too tired to find him myself.”

Judikha obeyed and soon returned with the elder spaceman.

“Excuse my not rising,” said Birdwhistle. “I’m a little out of shape, I suppose.”

“And it’s a damned shame, sir,” replied Wopple softly, sitting beside the lieutenant. “If you could only make the skipper believe you, it’d be OK. He wouldn’t dare haze you—oh, I know an officer when I see one, sir. I put three years in the Service. I could tell by the way you walk and your voice and the way you carried yourself and when the skipper twitted you about making a bluff, I was sure.”

“Well,” said Birdwhistle coldly, “I hope you have kept this speculation to yourself?”

“No fear about that, sir. I’ve kept my trap shut and I mean to keep it shut. If I can be any service to you aboard this hell driver you can call on me.”

“Surely,” interrupted Judikha, “the three of us could take charge—”

“No, no,” answered the lieutenant, angrily. “Will you shut up about mutiny? Wopple, what about this grub? Are we going to get this stuff all along?”

“Until we find out and give up the man what crippled the mate. Until then we’re on government whack.”

“The old Patrol war ration, I suppose. But I’ve condemned Patrol stores that were better than these.”

“No doubt true, sir. And if you did, it’s probably what we’ve been eating since a good many shipowners and skippers buy up condemned Patrol stores.”

“And there’ll be no change,” said Judikha, “unless we find out who assaulted the mate and turn him over to the skipper. What’d happen to him, if we did?”

“He’d be slapped in irons, quick enough,” replied Wopple, “and probably beaten until he wishes he was dead and then given his wish.”

“If you gentlemen will excuse me for a moment,” said Birdwhistle, who had suddenly turned as pale as the dinner fatback exuding a greasy-looking dew. “I do believe I am going to be ill.”

Judikha and Wopple watched while the lieutenant, doubled over in agony, lurched for the nearest head.

“He’s not much used to hard labor,” she explained. She tried, but was not entirely successful at removing the contempt from her voice. Wopple looked at her sharply, but did not comment.

“Wopple,” said Judikha in a hard voice, “do you know anything of the layout of the cabin deck?”

“Why, yes. They’re all about alike in this class of ship. The two mates’ rooms are each side the forrard passage that the main companionway opens into. Next aft is the dining room, with staterooms and storerooms along the sides, and next is the after cabin where the old man lives. His sleeping room’s in one corner, bathroom in the other. The after companion stairs is between them.”

“Where does the steward sleep?”

“In one of the rooms off the dining room.”

“And the engineer and cook?”

“MacHinery has a little kennel off his shop between the two turbine rooms. The cook has a room off the galley.”

“Then, to get into the after cabin at night when the captain has the helm, a man’d have to enter by the forwards door, pass the doors of two officers, either of whom might be awake, and pass the steward’s room, who might also be awake.”

“Yep.”

“Where would the skipper be likely to keep his weapons?”

“In his pockets until the crew gets settled. Then, I suppose, in some good, dry place. It’s a risky thing you’re suggesting, youngster. He’d be apt to shoot you if he caught you in his cabin day or night.”

“Unless I shot him first. It all depends on those toasters. Well, we’ll see. Who’s this?”

A man approached out of the gloom and peered into their faces. He was a little man with the size and nervous movements of a rat. Still, his accent was clearly Terrian, which was something.

“What’s wrong, Steward?” asked Wopple.

“Yeah, you’re the one. I’m looking for the man that talked back at the captain this morning.”

“I reckon I’m him.”

“Well, Captain Krill wants to see you in his cabin.”

“What for?”

“I have no idea.”

“Well, all right,” Wopple said as he arose. “I may come back feet first,” he told the girl, “and I may go in irons, but—take care of yourself, QX?”

Judikha watched as the two men crossed the open turbine deck. To get forward, they had to pass among Judikha’s watch mates, who had gathered near the hatchway. As soon as they were absorbed by the group, there came a commotion, followed by curses, shouting and the ringing smacks of fists and open palms against skin.

Birdwhistle joined Judikha just as the melée became genuinely rowdy.

“What’s going on?”

“It’s the steward. The crew blame him for the grub.”

Just as his name was mentioned, the steward flew from the crowd, with his hands clasped over his head, a two-foot wrench whirling just behind. He passed by the two Patrolmen and dived for cover through the forward hatch, the wrench banging into the metal ineffectively.

“Just in time, too,” observed Birdwhistle. “I was just about to interfere in his behalf.”

“I wonder,” said Judikha, gazing at the still-fuming crew, “if they’d be willing to tackle the cook or the skipper?”

“I doubt it. The steward didn’t appear to be seriously hurt. I wonder what would have happened if they’d disabled him, or even killed him? Who would take his place?”

“The cook, I suppose.”

“No—I don’t think so. If he could have done the work of the steward, they would have shipped only one man. If the steward were disabled, someone else would take his place in the cabin. I think that I’d be the likeliest candidate.”

“Want me to cripple him?” asked Judikha.

“Good heavens, no! Only as a last resort. Besides, he’s harmless enough—it’d scarcely be gentlemanly to disable him unless it becomes absolutely necessary.”

“Well, then, sir, we must think of a way that one of us can get the run of that cabin for ten minutes. What about the cook? He’s bound to make some sort of fuss on account of what I did to him. Suppose I take him out—it’d certainly be a pleasure.”

“And then you’d be clapped in irons. What good’d that do? What good would you be to me then? No, I need you to remain free and relatively intact. Is there anyone else we could get to do it?”

“MacHinery?”

“He’s a possibility. I’ve no love for that man: he was rather harsh and unkind to me today. It wouldn’t bother me one bit to see him in irons for killing the cook—or the cook in irons for killing him, for that matter. It would be one and the same for our purposes. In any case, it may not be necessary. The captain will have to stand the mate’s watch until he recovers. As soon as I’m restored from my fatigues I mean to sneak into his cabin. I’m in the same watch as the skipper and it’d be easy to slip away while he’s busy.”

Wopple came around the corner just then and joined them.

“Interesting news. I’m to be third mate. The skipper’s tired of standing watch. But I still wouldn’t tell him who the man was.”

“Do you know?” asked Birdwhistle.

“Yes, or I did once the skipper explained how the mate’s arm was broke. Mate woke up and clinched the intruder in the dark, but the man broke away. Then the mate struck out at his face and the man ducked and caught his wrist in both hands and quicker’n lightning brought the arm elbow down over his own shoulder and hove down on it. Snapped it clean as kindling. I recognized it right off. It’s a trick taught trained fighters, like those in the Patrol. That man was no simple thief, he was after the mate’s toasters, not knowing that he slept with them.”

-VIII-

With those words, Wopple turned and sauntered away, while Birdwhistle glared at his subordinate. Judikha blushed under the gaze, felt defensive, and angry because of it. She looked at the slim, graceful figure of her officer, drooped and haggard after less than twenty-four hours’ hard labor, judging her actions by his code of gentlemanly fair play.

“Well, so it
was
a foul trick,” she said. “But what was I supposed to do?”

“I guess you did the right thing,” the lieutenant admitted grudgingly, with a painful shrug of his shoulders. “If you’d got one of the weapons you’d have killed him and the other two besides. No, I suppose that fair play needn’t be practiced aboard a hellship, though the thought of it rankles all the same. It just isn’t understood here. What do you think Wopple will make of his knowledge, now that he knows?”

The spaceman himself replied to that question, since he had just returned with his duffel, on his way to the officer’s quarters.

“Don’t fear that I’ll give you away,” he said, without rancor. “I’ve sworn I don’t know nothing about it and that’ll stand. And I want to say that I think you took the best plan in playing flunky. If you’d acted your natural self and shown your knowledge of spacing you mighta convinced the skipper—too late, for he’d already hazed you and kicked you around. Knowing that as an officer of the Patrol you could make him sweat for it, he’d conclude that the safest plan for him would be to kill you with work somehow, or shoot you for a mutineer and put you in down in the log under the name you’ve got in the articles, or maybe just have you spaced some night and erase your name from the record.”

“That’s what I thought, too,” agreed Birdwhistle.

“And you thought right. It’s a known fact that an officer and a gentleman shanghaied in a Rastablanaplanian ship seldom finishes the passage. But as a harmless servant man, you’d have a chance out of your pure innocence.

“Well, now,” he went on, lowering his voice, “you’ll be in my watch and I can make it easy for you. But you understand, once I’ve gone aft with that duffel, I’m an officer and I can’t talk with you and if I catch you in that cabin I’ll have to put you out. Just the same—good luck to you.”