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Lieutenant? Good. And the blonde said that she d be resuming
transmission at 0600 hours tomorrow.
Local time, sir, pointed out Brabham. Not ship s time.
When she whispered her sweet good nights, said Grimes, I managed
to tear my eyes away from her face long enough to notice a clock on the
wall behind her. A twenty-four-hour clock. It was registering midnight.
And we already know, from our own observations, that Botany Bay has a
period of rotation of just over twenty-five Standard Hours. I assume but,
of course, I could be wrong that there are people in this ship, besides
myself, capable of doing simple sums.
Brabham scowled. The radio officers sniggered.
So, went on Grimes, I want to make a broadcast myself on that
station s frequencies when it starts up again with the he made a
grimace of distaste brecker program. I think we have the power from
our jennies to override anything they may be sending. I shall want a visual
transmission as well as sound. Their people will have as much trouble with
our accent as we had with theirs. I ll leave you to work out the details. I m
going to prepare a series of cards, from which I shall be speaking. Do you
think you ll be able to set up your end of it in the time?
Of course, sir, the senior radioman assured him.
Their spelling s probably nothing at all like ours, muttered Brabham.
It shouldn t have changed all that much, said Grimes hopefully. And
luckily, the blonde bombshell wasn t delivering her spiel in Hebrew or
Chinese. Well, I ll leave you to it, gentlemen. You know where to find me if
anything fresh crops up.
He went back to his quarters and set to work with sheets of stiff white
paper and a broad-tipped stylus.
They were ready for him when he returned to the radio office. He stood
where he was told, with the camera trained on him, watching the monitor
screen, which was still blank. Suddenly he realized that he had omitted to
change into his dress uniform and put on a cap but, he told himself, it
didn t matter.
The screen came alive. Again there was the flag, bravely flying, and
again there was music but, this time, it was Botany Bay. When it was
over the picture became that of an announcer. It was not to the
disappointment of Grimes and the others the spectacular blonde. It was
a young man, comfortably clad in colorful shirt, extremely short shorts,
and sandals. Like the girl he was fair haired and deeply tanned. He was far
more cheerful than he had a right to be at what must be, to him, an
ungodly hour of the morning.
Mornin , all those of yer who re up, that is. An you lucky bastards
who re still in yer scratchers can get stuffed. Anyhow, this is Station BBP,
the Voice of Paddo, openin transmission on this bright an sunny mornin
o December nineteenth, Thursday. I s pose yer wantin the news. Now
what have we to make yer day for yer? He looked down at a sheet of paper
in his right hand.
Grimes signaled with his own right hand to the senior radio officer. The
lights in the radio office flickered and dimmed, except for the one trained
on Grimes. The picture in the monitor screen faded as must also have
done the pictures in the screens of all the receivers tuned to that station. It
was replaced by the image of Grimes himself, looking (he realized) very
important, holding at chest level the first of his cards. He read from it,
trying to imitate the local accent, I am the captain of the Earth Survey
Ship Discovery. He changed cards. My ship is at present in orbit about
your planet. He changed cards again. I am about to cease transmission.
Please make your reply. Over.
The picture of the announcer came back into the screen. The young
man s pallor under his tan gave his complexion a greenish tinge. At last he
spoke. Is this some bloody hoax? And somebody not in the screen said,
I could see the bastard in the monitor plain enough. T aint nobody we
know an we know everybody who is anybody in the radio trade!
Get on the blower to the observatory, Clarry, ordered the announcer.
Tell the lazy bludgers ter get their useless radio telescope on the job.
Then, facing his audience those on the planet and those in
space Orright, Captain whatever-yer-name-is. It s over ter you again.
He grinned. At least you ve saved me the trouble o readin the bloody
news!
Grimes reappeared in the screen, holding another card. He read, Can
you understand me? Over.
The announcer came back. Yair though Matilda knows where yer
learned yer spellin . An yer sound like you ve a plum in yer mouf. He
mimicked Grimes s way of speaking. And whom have I the honor of
addressing, Captain, sir? He grinned again, quite convincingly. I used to
act in historical plays before I was mug enough to take this job. Over.
My name is Grimes, Commander Grimes of the Federation Survey
Service. I am, as I ve already told you, captain of the Survey Ship
Discovery. I was ordered to make a search for Lost Colonies. Over.
An you ve sure found one, ain t yer? We re lorst orright. An we
thought we were goin ter stay that way. Hold on a sec, will yer? Clarry s
got the gen from the observatory.
The unseen Clarry s voice came from the speaker. T aint a hoax, Don.
The bastards say there is somethin up there, where somethin shouldn t
be.
So yer for real, Commander Grimes. Ain t yer supposed ter say, Take
me to yer leader ? Over.
Take me to your leader, said Grimes, deadpan. Over.
Hold yer horses, Skip. This station ll be goin up in flames at any tick o
the clock, the way the bleedin phones are runnin hot. Her Ladyship s on
the way ter the studio now, s matter o fact. Over.
Her Ladyship? Over.
The mayor o Paddo, no less. Or Paddington, as I s pose you d call our
capital. Here she is now.
The announcer bowed, backed away from the camera at his end. He was
replaced by a tall, ample woman, silvery haired and with what seemed to
be the universal deep tan. She was undeniably handsome, and on her the
extremely short dress with its gay floral pattern did not look incongruous
and neither, somehow, did the ornate gold chain that depended from
her neck. She said and even the accent could not entirely ruin her deep
contralto Ow yer doin , Skip? Orright? Then, turning to address the
announcer, Wot do I say now, Don? Over, ain t it? Orright. Over.
I m honored to meet you, Your Ladyship. Over.
Don t be so bloody formal, Skipper. I m Mavis to me mates an any
bastard who s come all the way from Earth s a mate o mine. When are yer
comin down ter meet us proper? Do yer have ter land at one o the
magnetic poles same as Lode Wallaby did? Or do yer use rockets? If yer
do, it ll have ter be some place, where yer won t start a bushfire. Wherever
it is, there ll be a red carpet out for yer. Even at the bloody North Pole.
Then, as an afterthought, Over.
I have rocket drive, said Grimes, but I won t be using it. My main
drive, for sub-light speeds, is the inertial drive. No fireworks. So I can put
down on any level surface firm enough to bear my weight. Over.
You don t look all that fat ter me, Skip. But you bastards are all the
same, ain t yer? No matter what yer ship is, it s I, I, I all the time. She
grinned whitely. But I guess the Bradman Oval ll take the weight o that
scow o yours. Havin you there ll rather bugger the current test series but
the landin o the first ship from Earth is more important than cricket.
Never cared for the game meself, anyhow. Over.
I ll make it the Bradman Oval, then, Your& sorry. Mavis. Once we get
some less complicated radio telephone system set up your technicians can
go into a huddle with mine. I d like a radio beacon to home on, and all the
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