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extremely distant stations and none of it concerning Discovery. He
carried on to the control room, stared out through the viewports at the
weirdly distorted universe observed from a ship running under
Mannschenn Drive, tactfully turning his back while the officer of the
watch hastily erased the three-dimensional ticktacktoe lattice from the
plotting tank. Ride with a loose rein, Flannery had warned. He would do
so. He looked at the arrays of telltale lights. All seemed to be in order.
He went down to the paymaster s office. Vinegar Nell was there,
diligently filling in forms in quintuplicate. He tried to be nice to her, but
she had no time for him. Can t you see that I m busy, Commander
Grimes? she asked coldly. All this work was neglected while we were on
Botany Bay. She contrived to imply that this was Grimes s fault.
Then Grimes, as he sometimes did, called in to the wardroom to have
morning coffee with his officers. Their manner toward him was reserved,
chilly. We were having a good time, their attitude implied, and this old
bastard had to drag us away from it.
So went the day. There was something going on of that he was sure.
He was, once again, the outsider, the intruder into this micro-society,
resented by all. And there was nothing he could do about it. (And if there
were, should he do it?)
He was a man of regular habits. In space he required that he be called,
by his steward, with a pot of morning coffee at precisely 0700 hours. This
gave him an hour to make his leisurely toilet and to get dressed before
breakfast. During this time he would listen to a program of music,
selected the previous night, from his little playmaster. It was the steward s
duty to switch this on as soon as he entered the daycabin.
He awakened, this morning (as he always did) to the strains of music.
Odd, he thought. He could not recall having put that particular tape into
the machine. It was a sentimental song which, nonetheless, he had always
liked but it was not, somehow, the sort of melody to start the day with.
Spaceman, the stars are calling,
Spaceman, you have to roam,
Spaceman, through light-years falling,
Remember I wait at home&
He heard Mullins come into the bedroom, the faint rattle of the coffee
things on the tray. He smelled something. Was the man smoking? He
jerked into wakefulness, his eyes wide open. It was not Mullins. It was the
girl, Sally, who had been his predecessor s servant. She was not in
uniform. She was wearing something diaphanous that concealed nothing
and accentuated plenty. One of the thin cigars dangled from a corner of
her full mouth. She took it out. Here you are, Skipper. Have a drag. It ll
put you in the mood.
Grimes slapped the smoldering cylinder away from his face. In the
mood for what? he snapped.
You mean to say that you don t know? Not after your carryings-on with
the fat cow on Botany Bay, to say nothing of that scrawny bitch of a
paymaster& ? She let her robe drop open. Look at me, Skipper. I m
better than both of em, aren t I?
Get out of here! ordered Grimes. I ll see you later.
You can see me now, Skipper. Her robe had fallen from her. Take a
good look an then try to tell me that you don t like what you see!
Grimes did like it; that was the trouble. The girl had an excellent figure,
although a little on the plump side. He thought of getting on to his
telephone to demand the immediate presence of both Vinegar Nell and
Brabham, then decided against it. Both of them would be quite capable of
putting the worst possible construction on the situation. On the other
hand, he had no intention of letting things go too far.
Decisively he threw aside the covers, jumped out of the bed. The girl
opened her arms, smiling suggestively. He said, Not yet, Sally. I always
like a shower first.
She said, I ll wash your back, Skipper.
Good.
He pushed her into the shower cubicle before she could change her
mind. And would it work? he wondered. On Botany Bay a swim in the
warm sea had led to no diminishment of the effects of the smoke of the
mutated tobacco but the sea had always been warm. The shower would
not be. When Grimes turned on the water he made sure that she did not
see the setting. She screamed when the icy torrent hit her warm skin.
Grimes felt like screaming too. He was not and never had been a cold
shower addict. She struggled in his arms, even tried to bring her knee up
into his crotch. He thought, as he blocked the attack, You d have a job
finding anything!
She squeaked, Turn on the hot, you stupid bastard!
He muttered, through chattering teeth, This is hurting me at least as
much as it s hurting you. Now, tell me. What s all this about?
Her struggles were weaker now. The cold water was draining her of
strength. She whispered, If you turn on the hot, I ll tell you.
You ll tell me first.
It it was just a bet& with the other tabbies. An the hunks. That that
I d get in with you, same as I was in with Commander Tallis.
Where did you get the cigar? Out of my safe?
I m not a thief, Skipper. The the ship s lousy with the things. They ll
be worth a helluva lot back on Lindisfarne. You know how people ll pay.
Grimes shook her. Anything else?
No, no. Please, Skipper, please. I ll never be warm again.
Gratefully, Grimes adjusted the shower control. He felt at first as
though he were being boiled alive. When he was sufficiently thawed he left
the cubicle, with the naked girl still luxuriating in the gloriously hot water.
He dressed hastily. He phoned up to the control room, got the officer of
the watch. Mr. Farrell, ring the alarm for boat stations.
Boat stations, sir? But
There s nothing like a drill at an unexpected time to make sure that all
hands are on the ball. Make it boat stations. Now.
There was a delay of about three seconds, then the clangor of alarm
bells echoed through the ship, drowning out the irregular beat of the
inertial drive, the thin, high whine of the Mannschenn Drive. A taped
voice repeated loudly, All hands to boat stations! All hands to boat
stations!
Sally emerged from the shower cubicle, dripping, her hair plastered to
her head. She looked frightened. She snatched up her robe, threw it over
her wet body. Captain, what s wrong? she cried.
It s an emergency, Grimes told her. Get to your station.
In the doorway to the dayroom she almost collided with Brabham on his
way in.
What s going on, sir? demanded the first lieutenant harshly.
Sit down, ordered Grimes. He waited until he was sure that Sally was
out of earshot. Then he said, I gave orders, Commander Brabham, that
none of that mutated tobacco, in any form, was to be brought aboard the
ship.
You were smoking enough of it yourself on Botany Bay, Captain.
I was. In those circumstances it was quite harmless.
It will be quite harmless at parties back at Lindisfarne Base, Captain.
So you re in it, too.
I didn t say so, sir.
Grimes snarled. Did you consider the effects of smoking the muck
aboard this ship, with the sexes in such gross disproportion?
Nobody would be so stupid
You passed that stewardess on her way out when you came in. She s
one of the stupid ones. And now, with all hands at their stations, you and I
are going to make a search of the accommodation.
If that s the way you want it. Sir.
They started in the officers flat, in Brabham s cabin. The first drawer
that Grimes pulled out was full of neatly packed boxes. And the second.
You re pretty blatant about this, Number One, remarked Grimes.
I hardly expected that the captain would be pawing through my
personal possessions with his own fair hands. Sir.
Not only me.
Lindisfarne Base is not a commercial spaceport. Sir. There are no
customs.
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