The Big Black Mark - A. Bertram Chandler [83]
He left Delamere in his solitary majesty, went out into the circular alleyway. He did not bother to call the elevator, descended the one level by the spiral staircase. The compartment immediately below the captain's flat was that occupied by the senior officers. There was nobody around to tell him which cabin was his, but between CHIEF ENGINEER and FIRST LIEUTENANT he found a door labeled SPARE. Presumably this was where he was to live. Going inside he found his gear, two new suitcases, officers, for the use of, large, and one new suitcase, officers, for the use of, small. He looked around the room. It was not large—but he had lived, for weeks at a time, in smaller ones when serving in the couriers. It was clean, and promised to be comfortable. It had its own tiny adjoining toilet room. It would do.
Grimes began to unpack, stowing the things from the collapsible cases into drawers and lockers. Everything was new. He had been obliged completely to reequip himself after his return to Base. He wondered gloomily how much wear he would get out of the uniforms.
The intercom speaker came to life. "Attention, attention! Secure all! Secure all! This is the first warning."
A little spacewoman poked her head inside the door, a very pale blonde, a tiny white mouse of a girl. "Oh, you're here, sir. Do you want any help? The captain's very fussy."
"Thank you," said Grimes, "but I think I've everything stowed now." He looked at his watch. "It's still over forty minutes before liftoff."
"Yes, sir, but he wants to be sure."
"Better to be safe than sorry, I suppose," said Grimes. "But since you're here you can fill me in on a few things. Mealtimes, for a start."
"In space, breakfast at 0800 hours. Lunch at 1230 hours. Dinner at 1900 hours. Commander Delamere expects all officers to dress for dinner."
He would, thought Grimes. Luckily, mess dress had been included in the uniform issue that he had drawn.
"And then there're the drills. The captain is very fond of his drills. Action Stations, Boat Stations, Collision Stations."
"At fixed times?"
"Oh, no, sir. He says that the real thing is liable to happen at unexpected times, and so the drills have to happen likewise. If he wakes up in the middle of the night with indigestion he's liable to push one of the panic buttons."
And then, thought Grimes, he'll be standing there in his control room, his uniform carefully casual, imagining that he's fighting a single ship action against the Grand Flight of the Hallichek Hegemony.
"You seem to have fun in this ship," he said. "Everything, in fact, but a mutiny."
The girl blushed in embarrassment, the sudden rush of color to her pale cheeks startling. "I didn't think you'd be able to joke about that, sir."
"It's a poor funeral without at least one good laugh," said Grimes.
"Attention, attention!" barked the bulkhead speaker. "Secure all! Secure all! This is the second warning!"
"I have to be going, sir," said the girl. "I have to check the other cabins."
Grimes picked up a novel that he had brought with him, lay down on the bunk, strapped himself in. There was no hurry, but he might as well wait in comfort. He was well into the first chapter when the third warning was given. He had almost finished it when an amplified voice announced, "This is the final countdown. Ten . . . nine. . . eight.. ."
And about bloody time, after all that yapping, thought Grimes.
". . . Three. . . two. . . one. . . lift!"
It was at least another three seconds before the inertial drive rumbled and clattered into life. And to Grimes, traveling as a mere passenger, away from the control room, where he could have seen what was going on, the climb through Lindisfarne's atmosphere seemed painfully slow. At last, at long last, Vega was up and clear, swinging about her axes on her directional gyroscopes. She seemed to be taking an unconscionable time