The Big Black Mark - A. Bertram Chandler [72]
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 snip's lousy with the things. They'll be worth a helluva lot back on Lindisfarne. You know how people will 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