The Broken Cycle - A. Bertram Chandler [3]
"Some games," he said, "bore me. I'd sooner read a good book than watch two teams of muddied oafs chasing a ball up and down the field. It means nothing in my young life if the Marines or the Supply Branch win the Lindisfarne Cup."
"A good book?" she asked, looking down at the glossy magazine that lay open on the table.
His prominent ears reddened. "Well, it's educational. Quite remarkable how the people of some of the earlier colonies have diverged from what we regard as the physiological norm. And to some men that extra pair of breasts could be very attractive."
"And to you, Commander . . . ?"
"Grimes, John Grimes."
She laughed. "I've heard about you, Commander Grimes. Now and again people do condescend to talk to me. You're the one who's always getting into trouble—getting out of it . . . ."
Grimes chuckled. "Yes, I do have that reputation. As you may have guessed, at times I'm not overly popular."
"Shake," she said, extending a long, capable hand. "That makes two of us."
"I think that this founding of the Pariahs' Union calls for a drink," he told her, pressing the button for the robowaiter. The machine trundled in. He asked her what she wanted, pushed the stud for two Scotch whiskies on the rocks. He scrawled his signature on the acceptance plate.
She took her drink and said gravely, "Rear Admiral James has a much greater variety in his bar."
"He's an admiral. The senior members of this mess are only lieutenant commanders. After all, rank has its privileges."
"There's one privilege that rank didn't have." She sipped from her glass. "I suppose that that's why I'm one of the local untouchables. All you junior officers are scared of getting into James's bad books if you succeed where he failed."
Grimes looked at the girl over the rim of his tumbler. He wouldn't mind succeeding, he thought. She was a mite hefty, perhaps—but that could be regarded as quantity and quality wrapped up in the same parcel. On the other hand—what if she made violent objections to any attempt at a pass? The unfortunate Rear-Admiral was still walking with a pronounced limp . . . . And what about Maggie? Well, what about her? She was little more—or more than a little, perhaps—than just a good friend. But what she didn't know about wouldn't worry her.
She said, "One newly minted Federation zinc alloy cent for them."
He was conscious of his burning ears. He said, "They're not worth it."
"You insult me, Commander. Or, if you'd rather, John. You were thinking about me, weren't you?"
"Actually, yes, Una."
"Just a fool wanting to rush in where Rear Admirals, having learned by bitter experience, fear to tread."
"Frankly," he told her, "I am tempted to rush in. But you've no idea of the amount of gossip there is around this Base. If I as much as kissed you the very guard dogs would be barking it around the top secret installations within half an hour."
"Faint heart . . ." she scoffed.
"But you're not fair. You're a brunette." He added, "A very attractive one."
"Thank you, sir." She sat down in one of the deep, hide-covered chairs, affording him a generous glimpse of full thighs as her short skirt rode up. She said abruptly, "I think you can help me."
"How?" And then, to show that he could be as hard as the next man, "Why?"
"Why?" she exploded. "Why? Because you brass-bound types are supposed to be as much guardians of law and order as we lowly policemen and policewomen. Because unless somebody around here dedigitates, and fast, putting a ship at my disposal, Delta Geminorum is going to whiffle past Lindisfarne, a mere couple of light months distant, three standard weeks from now. If I don't intercept the bitch, I've lost her. And what is your precious Survey Service doing about it? Bugger all, that's what!"
"It's not so simple," said Grimes slowly. "Interservice jealousy comes into it, of course . . . ."
"Don't I know it! Don't I bloody well know it! And male chauvinism. When are you people going to grow up and admit that women are at least as capable as men?"
"But we already have two lady