The Big Black Mark - A. Bertram Chandler [27]
She said, "I thought you'd like a snack before turning in, John."
"Thank you—er—Miss Russell."
She stooped to set the tray on the coffee table. The top of her filmy robe fell open. Her pink-nippled breasts were high and firm.
"Shall I pour?" she asked.
"Er, yes. Please."
She handed him a steaming cup. He was uncomfortably aware of the closeness of her, and fidgeted in his chair. He was relieved when she retired to a chair of her own.
She said, "It was a good night, wasn't it?"
"Yes."
She went on, "I've known you for years, haven't I? When was it that we were first shipmates? In the old Aries, wasn't it?
"Yes."
"You know, John, I didn't much like you then."
"You didn't much like any of us in the wardroom. After all, you were the very first spacegoing female officer of the Supply Branch, and you were . . . prickly."
She laughed. "And you, a bright young lieutenant junior-grade, took pity on me, and made a pass at me out of the kindness of your heart."
Crimea's prominent ears were burning painfully. He could recall that scene all too well, could feel that stinging slap on his face and hear her furious voice: Take your mucky paws off me, you insufferable puppy!
He thought, And a commander, the captain of a ship, doesn't have mucky paws, of course. But whatever sort of paws I do have, now, I'm keeping them to myself. Why, oh why, you stupid bitch, did you have to rake up that particular episode from the murky past?
She was smiling softly. "We've come a long way since then, haven't we, John?"
"Mphm. Yes. Excellent coffee, this, Miss Russell. And these are very good sandwiches."
"Yes. You always liked your belly."
Again the memories: you swaggering spacemen think that you're the Lord's anointed, but you aren't worth your keep, let alone your salaries.
"Gutsy Grimes, the stewards and stewardesses used to call you."
"Oh. Did they?" Grimes put down a sandwich half eaten.
"Gutsy Grimes, the human garbage chute," she reminisced sentimentally.
"Fascinating."
And what was that perfume that she was wearing? Whatever it was, he decided that he didn't like it. He looked at his watch. "A spot of shut-eye is indicated. We have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow. Today, I mean."
She rose slowly to her feet, stretched and yawned like a lazy, graceful cat. Her robe fell open. Under the UV lamps in the ship's sun room she always freckled rather than tanned, and the effect was far from displeasing—yet Grimes, perversely, forced himself to think disparagingly of mutant leopards.
He yawned himself, then decisively drained his cup, set it down on the tray with a clatter. He said, "Thanks for the supper. I enjoyed it."
"I did, too."
Then, very firmly, "Good night, Miss Russell."
She flushed all over her body. "Good night? You don't mean. . .?"
"I do mean. I'm turning in. By myself. Good night."
Without looking again at her he went through into his bedroom. He was afraid that she would (would not?) follow him. She did not. As he undressed he heard a vicious clattering as she put the remaining supper things back on the tray, then heard the outer door open and close behind her.
You bloody fool! he admonished himself. You bloody, bloody fool! But he thought (he hoped) that he had acted wisely. Vinegar Nell, as a de facto Captain's Lady, would very soon try to assume de facto command of the ship. On the other hand, because of his out-of-character puritanism, he could have made a dangerous enemy. He did not sleep at all well.
Chapter 12
Discovery did not stay long on New Maine, although most of her people, who had speedily made friends locally, would have welcomed a longer sojourn on that planet.
Grimes feared that some ship, deviating from the usual route might stumble upon Davinas' Lost Colonies at any moment. He had been given access to the up-to-the-minute Lloyd's Register in the Penobscot port captain's office and had discovered that the majority of the ships of the Waverley Royal