The Broken Cycle - A. Bertram Chandler [8]
While he was talking with two of his own officers—they, like himself, had an interest in the boat—the warning bell for lift-off stations started to ring.
"Frankie's getting upstairs in a hurry!" muttered one Skink's lieutenants sourly. "Time we were in our acceleration couches."
And time I was in the control room, thought Grimes. This wasn't his ship, of course, but it was customary for a captain to invite a fellow captain up to Control for arrivals and departures.
"We haven't been shown to our quarters yet, sir," said one of Grimes' officers.
"Neither have I, Lieutenant, been shown to mine." He turned to the ship's officer. "Where are we berthed?"
"I . . . I don't know, sir. And once the Old Man has started his count-down the Odd Gods of the Galaxy Themselves couldn't stop him!"
"Don't let us keep you, Lieutenant," Grimes told him. "Off you go, tuck yourself into your own little cot. We'll manage."
"But how, sir?" demanded Grimes' officer. "We can't just stretch out on the deck . . ."
"Use your initiative, Lieutenant. We've a perfectly good ship's boat here, with well-sprung couches. Get the airlock door open, and look snappy!"
He and his two officers clambered into the boat. The bunks were comfortable enough. They strapped themselves in. Before the last clasp had been snapped tight Skink's inertial drive started up—and (it seemed) before the stern vanes were more than ten millimeters from the apron the auxiliary reaction drive was brought into play. It was the sort of showy lift-off, with absolutely unnecessary use of rocket power, of which Grimes himself had often been guilty. When anybody else did it—Delamere especially—he disapproved strongly. He could just imagine Frankie showing off in front of his control room guest, Una Freeman . . . .
Oh, well, he thought philosophically as the acceleration pushed him down into the padding, at least we're giving the mattresses a good test. I don't suppose that they'll be used again . . . . A long boat voyage is the very least of my ambitions.
Skink thundered up through the atmosphere and, at last, the drive was cut. Grimes and his two companions remained in their couches until trajectory had been set, until the high keening of the Mannschenn drive told them that they were on their way to intercept the derelict.
Chapter 5
Skink was not a happy ship.
The average spaceman doesn't mind his captain's being a bastard as long as he's an efficient bastard. Frankie Delamere was not efficient. Furthermore, he was selfish. He regarded the vessel as his private yacht. Everything had to be arranged for his personal comfort.
Skink was an even unhappier ship with the passengers whom she was carrying. To begin with, Delamere seemed to be under the impression that the medieval droit du seigneur held good insofar as he was concerned. Una did her best to disillusion him. She as good as told him that if she was going to sleep with anybody—and it was a large if—it would be with Grimes. Thereupon Frankie made sure that opportunities for this desirable consummation were altogether lacking. Some of his people, those who respected the rank if not the man, those who were concerned about their further promotion, played along with the captain. "One thing about Delamere's officers," complained Grimes, "is that they have an absolute genius for being where they're not wanted!"
Apart from sexual jealousy, Delamere did not like Grimes, never had liked Grimes, and Grimes had never liked him. He could not go too far—after all, Grimes held the same rank as did he—but he contrived to make it quite clear that his fellow Lieutenant Commander was persona non grata in the courier's control room. Then—as was his right, but one that he was not obliged to exercise—he found totally unnecessary but time-consuming jobs for the members of the boarding party, snapping that he would tolerate no idlers aboard his ship.
He, himself, was far from idle. He was working hard—but, Grimes noted with grim satisfaction, getting nowhere. He was always asking Una Freeman up to his quarters on the pretext