To Prime the Pump - A. Bertram Chandler [52]
He enjoyed his breakfast of beautifully grilled kidneys, bacon and sausages, skimmed through the morning paper. As before, it was mainly social news and gossip. He noted that the Duchess of Leckhampton, the Comte de Messigny, the Hereditary Chief Lobenga and the Lady Eulalia were guests of the Princess Von Stolzberg, as was, still, Lieutenant John Grimes. And Captain Daintree and Surgeon Commander Passifern, together with other officers, had been present at Count Vitelli's wine tasting. Passifern, at least, would have enjoyed himself.
Karl entered silently, made a metallic cough to attract Grimes' attention. "Lord, Her Highness awaits you in the gun room."
The gun room? It took a second or so for Grimes' mind to orient itself. Aboard a ship the gun room is to cadets and midshipmen (if such are carried) what the wardroom is to commissioned officers. The gun room? The robot must mean that paneled chamber with its racks of assorted weaponry.
"And what's on today?" asked the spaceman through a mouthful of buttered toast dripping with honey. "Another wild boar hunt? Or are we going out for tigers or rogue elephants?"
"None of them, Lord." (Robots are apt to be humorless.) "Today you are shooting Denebian fire pheasants." There was a touch of envy in the mechanical voice. "I am told that they are very good eating, as well as affording excellent sport."
"How so? Are they the size of corvettes, heavily armed and armoured, and vicious when aroused?"
"No, Lord. They are relatively small creatures, brilliantly plumaged, but when put up their flight is extremely fast and erratic."
"Then they should be safe enough from me."
"I was informed, Lord, that you are a gunnery specialist."
"Shooting at large targets, Karl, with a shipful of electronic aids to do all the work for me." He finished his coffee, patted his lips with the napkin (if the supercilious tin butler had not been watching, he would have wiped them) and followed the robot through the doorway.
Marlene was waiting in the gun room. With the Duchess, Lobenga and his wife, and the Comte de Messigny. Grimes noted that only the Princess was dressed for rough outdoor activities, the others were in light, comfortable attire, suitable for lounging about indoors or in the garden. They all seemed in a cheerful mood but for de Messigny whose handsome features were darkened by what was almost a scowl.
"Good morning, John," the Princess greeted him. "It's a fine day for a shoot."
"I always think that it's a pity," said the Duchess, "to destroy those beautiful birds."
"You enjoy them when they appear on the table," Marlene told her.
"Yes, my dear. Yes. And you enjoy blasting them out of the sky, so each of us has her pleasures."
"Blood sports," said the Comte, "are primitive." He permitted himself a sneer. "No doubt they are very much to the taste of a Survey Service gunnery officer, although he may find a shotgun a little small after the weapons that he is used to."
"You are a spaceman yourself, Henri," said Marlene.
"Yes. And a good one. But I'm a merchant spaceman, and before that I was a yachtsman."
"And your ship, as you have said to me, packs the armament of a light cruiser."
"Defensive, Marlene. Defensive. It is the right of any shipmaster or of any man to use any and every means available to defend his own ship, property or whatever."
"I have never liked guns," stated Lobenga, more or less changing the subject. "A hunt in which spears are used—that is to my taste."
"Not to mine," said Grimes.
He took the weapon that Marlene handed him, examined it curiously. It was a shotgun, twin-barreled, light, but with just enough heft to it. Carefully keeping it pointed at the floor, he inspected the action, soon got the hang of it. "Two shots only," he commented, "and then you reload. Wouldn't an automatic weapon be better?"
"Yes," said the Princess, "if all you want to do is kill things. But it would take away the