Whistles blowing and bells clanging to give the locals a thrill, the boat headed on up-River. Sam and Gwenafra sat at the head of the great nine-sided table in the dining room in the main deck salon. The chief officers, except those on duty, sat with him. After some orders for the day, Sam retired to the billiards table, where he played against the titanthrop. Joe was not very good with a cue or with cards because of his huge hands. Sam almost always beat him. Then Sam would play against a more skilled person.
At 07:00, Sam would make an inspection of the boat. He hated to walk, but he insisted on this because he needed the exercise. Also, it helped keep up the appearance of a naval vessel. Without the drills and the inspections, the crew were likely to become sloppy civilians. They would get too off-hand, too familiar with their superiors when on duty.
"I run a tight boat," Sam had often boasted. "At least, the crew is tight, though no one has ever been found drunk on duty."
The inspection did not take place that morning. Sam was called to the pilothouse because the radio operator had gotten a message from the Minerva. Before Sam could get off the elevator, the radar scope had blipped an object coming over the mountain to port side.
51
The blimp came down out of the brightness as if it were a silver egg just laid by the sun. To the startled people on the ground, few of whom had ever seen or even heard of an airship before, it was a frightening monster. No doubt some believed that it was a vessel carrying the mysterious beings who had raised them from the dead. A few may even have hailed it with a mixture of dread and joy, sure that a revelation was at hand.
How had the Minerva found the Mark Twain so easily? The great boat was towing a large kite-shaped balloon which was above the top of the mountains and which carried a transmitter sending powerful dots and dashes. Hardy, the Minerva's navigator, knew the boat's general location from the map of The River on his table. During the years of its voyaging, the Mark Twain had sent out data by radio which had enabled the Parolanders to trace its route. Furthermore, on spotting the boat, the navigator of the Parseval had sent a message which gave the Minerva a rough location.
Having also been given the location of the Rex, the captain of the Minerva knew that John Lackland's boat was almost on a straight line with Sam's due east. The Rex was only 140 kilometers away if a line as straight as a Prussian officer's back was followed. To follow The River, however, Sam's boat would have to go perhaps 571,195 kilometers or 355,000 miles before it arrived where the Rex was now.
Greystock, speaking over the transceiver in the control nacelle, asked permission to pass over the Mark Twain.
Sam's voice was flat over the transceiver. "Why?"
"To salute you," the Englishman said. "Also, I think that you and your crew might like to get a close look at the vessel that is going to destroy King John. And, to tell the truth, my men and I would like to see your splendid boat at close range."
He paused, and men said, "It may be our last chance."
It was Sam who paused this time. Then, sounding as if he were choking back tears, he said, "Okay, Greystock, You may pass by us, but not over us. Call me paranoid. But it makes me uneasy to have an airship carrying four big bombs directly over me. What if they were accidentally released?"
Greystock rolled his eyes in disgust and grinned savagely at the other men in the nacelle.
"Nothing could possibly go wrong," he said.
"Yeah? That's what the commander of the Maine said just before he went to bed. No, Greystock, you do as I say."
Greystock, obviously unhappy, replied that he would obey.
"We'll circle you once and then get to the job."
"Good luck on that," Sam's voice said. "I know that you fine fellows might not be ..."
He seemed unable to complete his sentence.
"We know we might not get back,'' Greystock said. "But I think we have an excellent chance of taking the Rex by surprise."
"I hope so. But remember that the Rex has two airplanes. You'll have to hit the flight deck first so they can't get off." "I don't need advice," Greystock said coldly.
There was another pause, longer than the others.
Sam's voice came over the speaker loudly. "Lothar von Richthofen is coming up to greet you. He wants to fly alongside and give you his personal blessing. That's the least lean do for him. I've had a hell of a time keeping him from convoying you. He'd like to be in on the attack, too.
"But our planes have a flight ceiling of only 3660 meters. That makes them too susceptible to downdrafts over those mountains. Anyway, they'd have to carry an extra fuel tank to get back."
Lothar's voice cut in. "I told him you could spare enough fuel from your ship, Greystock. We could fly back."
"Nothing' doing!''
Greystock looked down through the forward port. The balloon was being reeled in, but it would be twenty minutes before it was landed.
The giant boat was a beauty, a fourth longer than the Rex and much taller. Jill Gutturra had claimed that the Parseval was the most beautiful and the grandest artifact on The Riverworld. Earth had never had anything to equal it. But Greystock thought that this vessel, to use Clemens' phrase, "won the blue ribbon by a mile.''
As Greystock watched, an airplane rose on an elevator to the landing deck while a crew readied a catapult.
The stocky man looked with arctic-grey eyes around the control gondola. The pilot, Newton, a World War II aviator, was at his post. Hardy, the navigator, and Sarnhradh, the Irish first mate, were at the port screen. Six others were aboard, stationed in the three engine gondolas.
Greystock walked to the weapons cabin, opened it, and took out two of the heavy Mark IV pistols. These were steel four-shooter revolvers using duraluminum cartridges holding .69-caliber plastic bullets. He held one by the grip in his left hand; the other, he reversed. Keeping an eye on the two at the port screen, he walked over to a position behind Newton. He brought the butt end of the gun in his right hand against the top of Newton's head. The pilot fell off his chair onto the floor.
He quickly reached over with his left hand and flicked the transceiver switch off with his thumb. The two men turned at the crack of the impact of metal against bone. They froze, staring at a totally unexpected scene.
Greystock said, "Don't move. Now ... put your hands up behind your neck."
Hardy, goggling, said, "What be this, man?"
"Just keep quiet."
He waved a pistol at a cabinet. "Put on your parachutes. And don't try to jump me. I can shoot both of you easily."
Samhradh stuttered, his face going from pale to red. "Y... y ... you bastard! You're a traitor!"
"No," Greystock said, "a loyal subject of King John of England." He smiled. "Though I have been promised that I will be second-in-command of the Rex when I bring this airship to His Majesty. That ensured my loyalty."
Samhradh looked out the stern port. The action in the control gondola was visible from the engine gondolas.
Greystock said, "I was gone for half an hour, checking with the engineers, remember? They're all tied up, so they won't be of any help to you."