The Hard Way Up - A. Bertram Chandler [63]
The V.I.P. suite was on the next deck down. As he passed the door Grimes could hear the Commissioner dictating something, one of the robots repeating her words. That took care of her. Another deck, with cabins for not very important people . . . He thought of tapping on Rosaleen's door, then decided against it. In any case, she was waiting for him outside the galley.
She whispered, "I was afraid you'd change your mind, Captain."
"Not bloody likely."
He led the way into the spotless—thanks to the industry of the robot servitors—galley. He was feeling oddly excited. It reminded him of his training cruise, when he had been a very new (and always hungry) cadet. But then there had been locks to pick . . .
He opened the door of the tinned food storeroom, ran his eye over the shelves. He heard Rosaleen gasp. "New Erin ham . . . Carinthian sausage . . ."
"You'll have Atlantan sardines, my girl, and like 'em . . . Ah, here we are . . . A can each?"
"Two cans."
"All right. Here you are. You can switch on the toaster while I rummage in the bread locker . . .
He thrust the cans into her eager hands, then collected bread, butter and seasonings. He tore open the wrapper of the loaf, then put the thick slices on the rack under the griller. The smell of the cooking toast was mouth-watering—too mouth-watering. He hoped that it would not be distributed throughout the ship by the ventilation system. But the Commissioner's overly efficient robots must, by this time, have put the air out-take filters to rights.
One side done . . . He turned the slices over. Rosaleen asked plaintively, "How do you work this opener?"
A metallic voice replied, "Like this, Miss Rosaleen—but I forbid you to use it."
"Take your claws off me, you tin bastard!"
Grimes turned fast. Behind him the toast smoldered unheeded. His hands went out to clamp on the wrists of the robot, whose own hands gripped the girl's arms. The automaton ignored him. If it could have sneered it would have done so.
"Mr. Grimes! Rosaleen!" The Commissioner's voice was hard as metal. In her all-grey costume she looked like a robot herself. "Mr. Grimes, please do not attempt to interfere with my servitor." She stood there, looking coldly at the little group. "All right, John, you may release Miss Rosaleen. But not until Mr. Grimes has taken his hands off you. And now, Mr. Grimes, what is the meaning of this? I seem to have interrupted a disgusting orgy. Oh, John, you might extinguish that minor conflagration and dispose of the charred remains."
"Supper," said Grimes at last.
"Supper?"
"Yes, Ma'am. Rosaleen and I were about to enjoy a light snack."
"A light snack? Don't you realize the trouble that went into working out suitable menus for this ship?" She paused, looking at Grimes with an expression of extreme distaste. "Legally, since your superiors, in a moment of aberration, saw fit to appoint you to command, you may do as you like aboard this vessel—within limits. The seduction of my maid is beyond those limits."
"Seduction?" This was too much. "I assure you that . . ."
"I was not using the word in its sexual sense. Come, Rosaleen, we will leave Mr. Grimes to his feast. He has to keep his strength up—although just for what I cannot say."
"Ma'am!" The girl's face was no longer soft, her voice held a compelling ring. "Since you use that word—it was I who seduced the captain."
"That hardly improves matters, Rosaleen. The commanding officer of a warship, even a very minor one, should not allow himself to be influenced by a woman passenger."
"You said it!" snapped Grimes. This could mean the ruin of his career, but he had been pushed too far. "You said it, Mrs. Dalwood. I should never have let myself be influenced by you. I should never have allowed your tin dieticians to run loose