The Hard Way Up - A. Bertram Chandler [62]
"Lots of butter . . ." she added.
"And sardines . . ."
"Fat, oily sardines . . ."
"With lemon wedges . . ."
"With mayonnaise . . ." she corrected.
"All right. Mayonnaise."
"And coffee. With sugar, and great dollops of cream . . ."
"I'll have beer, myself, even though it is fattening."
"We can have beer with, and coffee after . . ."
The door slid open and Hollister came in. Naked, the telepath looked more like a living skeleton than ever. Grimes regarded him with some distaste and wondered if the psionic radio officer had been eavesdropping. To do so would be contrary to the very strict code of the Rhine Institute—but espers, in spite of their occasional claims to superiority, are only humans.
He said, "I'm just about cooked, Rosaleen."
"So am I, Captain." She got up from her bench, the perspiration streaming down her still plump body, went through into the shower room. Through the closed door Grimes heard the hiss of the water, her little scream as its coldness hit her. There was the whine of the blowers as she dried off, and then she ran through the hot room on her way back into the solarium.
"Quite a dish, Captain," commented Hollister.
"We," Grimes told him coldly, "are neither kings nor peasants."
He took his own cold shower, and when he stepped out into the gymnasium Rosaleen was gone.
Dinner that night was as unsatisfying as usual. A clear soup, a small portion of delicious baked fish with a green salad, a raw apple for desert. Grimes, at the head of the table, tried to make conversation, but the Commissioner was in a thoughtful mood and hardly spoke at all. Beadle, Slovotny, Vitelli, and Hollister wolfed their portions as though eating were about to be made illegal, saying little. The four officers excused themselves as soon as they decently could—Slovotny going up to Control to relieve von Tannenbaum for his dinner, Beadle to have a look at the air circulatory system, Vitelli to check up on the Mannschenn Drive. Hollister didn't bother to invent an excuse. He just left. Von Tannenbaum came down, took his place at the table. He was starting to acquire a lean and hungry look that went well with his Nordic fairness. The Commissioner nodded to him, then patted her lips gently with her napkin. Grimes, interpreting the signs correctly, got up to help her from her chair. She managed to ignore the gesture.
She said, "You must excuse me, Mr. Grimes and Mr. von Tannenbaum. I am rather busy this evening."
"Can I, or my officers, be of any assistance?" asked Grimes politely.
She took her time replying, and he was afraid that she would take his offer. Then she said, "Thank you, Mr. Grimes. But it is very confidential work, and I don't think that you have Security clearance."
It may have been intended as a snub, but Grimes welcomed it.
"Good night, Ma'am."
"Good night, Mr. Grimes."
Von Tannenbaum turned to the serving robot which was waiting until he had finished his meal. "Any chance of another portion of fish, James?"
"No, sir," the thing replied in a metallic voice. "Her Excellency has instructed me that there are to be no second helpings, for anybody."
"Oh."
In sulky silence the navigator finished his meal. Grimes was tempted to include him in the supper party, but decided against it. The fewer people who knew about it the better.
The two men got up from the table, each going to his own quarters. In his day cabin Grimes mixed himself a drink, feeling absurdly guilty as he did so. "Damn it all," he muttered, "this is my ship. I'm captain of her, not that cast iron bitch!" Defiantly—but why should he feel defiant?—he finished what was in his glass, then poured another generous portion. But he made it last, looking frequently at his clock as he sipped.
20:14 . . .
Near enough.
He got up, went out to the axial shaft, tried not to make too much noise going down the ladder. He paused briefly in the officers' flat, on the deck below and abaft his own. Faint music emanated from behind the door of von Tannenbaum's cabin—Wagner? It sounded like it—and loud snores