Chapter 11
THE VOYAGE FROM AUSTRAL to Earth was a relatively short one—long enough, however, for, Grimes to get the feel of his ship and to make an assessment of his crew. The ship he liked. He knew that during her service under the Commission’s flag she had been regarded as a notoriously awkward bitch; he did not find her so. Perhaps the change of ownership had sweetened her nature. Already—at least insofar as Grimes was concerned—she was as comfortable as an old shoe.
Regarding his personnel he was not so happy. Only the mate, Billy Williams, and the Catering Officer, Magda Granadu met with Grimes’ almost unqualified approval although he was developing a liking for a few of the others.
One day he amused himself by making out a Voyage Staff Report. Had he been still in the Survey Service this would have been required of him, as it would have been had he been in command of a vessel owned by any of the major shipping lines. As owner-master he could report only to himself.
Williams, William, he wrote. Chief Officer. A very good second in command. A tendency to be overzealous. Competent spaceman and navigator. Pleasant personality.
He filled and lit his pipe, cogitated on what he had written. If this were a real report he would have no hesitation in signing it and sending it in.
He resumed writing. Connellan, Kate. Second Officer. A typical Donegalan female chauvinist bitch. Carries a perpetual chip on her shoulder. Is perpetually complaining about the ship, her shipmates, the meals, etc., etc. and etc. Barely competent as spaceperson and navigator.
And that, he thought, would be letting her off lightly. If Billy Williams or Magda Granadu were called upon to make a report on her their words would scorch the paper. At every change of watch she would annoy the Chief Officer with her complaints and comparisons. “In the Commission’s ships we used to get so-and-so and such-and-such. In the Commission’s ships we used to do it this way . . .” The Catering Officer had tried her best to please everybody, but the Green Hornet could not—would not—be pleased. There was no Donegalan whisky in the bar stores. Donegalan national dishes never appeared on the menu. (Among the edible vegetables grown on the farm deck were no potatoes.) She was allergic to paprika. Sour cream made her come out in spots.
But there would be no need to put up with her any longer once Sister Sue got to Port Woomera. There should be no trouble in filling any vacancies on Earth.
Stewart, Andrew. Radio Officer. Conscientious and competent. Has no interests outside his profession.
Just an old-time Sparks, thought Grimes, and none the worse for that.
Crumley, Horace. Chief Engineer, Reaction and Inertial Drives. Another old-timer. Extremely conscientious.
And as boring as all hell, thought Grimes. All his conversation is along “when I was in the old so-and-so” lines.
Denning, Fred. Second Engineer. A refugee from a bicycle shop but reliable. Not, unfortunately, officer material.
Snobbish bastard! he admonished himself.
Singh, Govind. Third Engineer. A refugee from the Port Southern Monorail. Would be happier aboard a train than a spaceship—and, possibly, a little more useful.
Mr. Singh had endeared himself to Grimes by fixing the playmaster in the captain’s day cabin; after his ministrations the thing would present a picture only in black and white with sound no louder than a whisper. Fortunately old Mr. Stewart had been able to get the thing working properly.
Paulus, Ludwig. Fourth Engineer. Another refugee from the Port Southern Monorail. Has not yet been given the opportunity to demonstrate his incompetence but when the time comes will not be found lacking.
Come, come, Grimes, he thought reprovingly. Your innies are working, aren’t they, and working well. So are the life-support systems. Just because people haven’t been through the Academy and learned which knives and forks to use at table and how to wear a uniform properly it doesn’t mean that they’re no good as spacemen.
Malleson, Phillip. Chief Engineer, Mannschenn Drive. Very much the academic but he knows his job. Good conversationalist . . .
But he’s being paid to run the time-twister, isn’t he, not to be the life and soul of the party. Still, it always helps when an officer is a good shipmate as well as being highly efficient.
Federation Survey Service, then Trans-Galactic Clippers. A typical big ship engineer of the better kind.
Watch that snobbery, Grimes!
Trantor, George. Second Engineer, Mannschenn Drive. And Ph.D., and makes sure that everybody knows it. As snobbish in his way as I am in mine. Must know his job, otherwise Malleson wouldn’t tolerate him.
Giddings, Walter. Third Engineer, Mannschenn Drive. Another Ph.D. Like Mr. Trantor tends to hold himself aloof from the low, common spacemen.
Granadu, Magda. Catering Officer/Purser/Acting Bio-Chemist. An extremely capable person and a good shipmate. An inspired touch with the autochef. Farm deck always in perfect order. Works well with members of other departments—as, for example, with the engineers in necessary maintenance of LSS. Very popular with almost every member of the crew. I have no doubt that if this vessel becomes known as a happy ship she will be largely responsible.
Somebody was knocking at his door.
“Come in,” he called.
It was the Green Hornet.
“Yes, Ms. Connellan?” asked Grimes, trying to hide his distaste.
“Sir. It is bad enough having to keep watch and watch. But when I am not being fed properly the situation becomes intolerable!”
Grimes looked at her. The sealseam at the front of her uniform shirt was under great strain. So was the waistband of her shorts. And it was obvious that she had not been feeding herself properly; there was a splash of half-dried sauce over her left breast and another on the right leg of her lower garment.
“Lunch,” he said, “was very good.”
“All right for people who like mucked up food with the real flavor disguised by garlic and pepper!”
“There is always choice, Ms. Connellan.”
“What choice, sir? I’ve raised the point with Ms. Granadu, our so-called Catering Officer, time and time again.”
“There was a perfectly good steak, to order, with French fried potatoes.”
“French fried potatoes my a . . .” She caught herself just in time, finished the sentence with “foot.”
“Potatoes reconstituted from some sort of flour, molded into shape and then fried. But not potatoes. On New Donegal we know our potatoes. I’ll say this for the Commission—in their ships you get real potatoes!”
“Your last ship was Delta Crucis, wasn’t she?” asked Grimes.
“Yes. What of it?”
“A cargo-passenger liner, Ms. Connellan. You get luxuries aboard passenger ships that you don’t get in Epsilon Class tramps. You have a bio-chemist on the Articles who is practically a full-time gardener, who can amuse himself by growing all sorts of things in the hydroponics tanks. Here, Ms. Granadu has plenty to occupy her time without bothering about things that are hard to grow in aboard-ship conditions.”
“You could have carried a few kilos of potatoes in the stores.”
“Storeroom space is limited, Ms. Connellan.”
“Everything in this bloody ship is limited. I should have had my head examined before I signed on here.”
“I shall be happy to release you as soon as we get to Port Woomera,” said Grimes coldly.
“Oh, will you, sir? Isn’t that just typical. You use me, exploit me, and then you cast me aside like a worn-out glove.”
“If it hadn’t been for me,” Grimes told her, “you’d still be in the Port Southern jail.”
“And probably feeding a damn sight better than I am here.”
“Ms. Connellan, you have made your complaint. I have listened to it. You are the only person aboard this ship who has found fault with the food. You are at liberty to make further complaints—to the Guild, to the Shipping Master, to whoever will listen to you—after we get to Port Woomera.
“That is all.”
“But . . .”
“That is all!” snarled Grimes.
She glared at him, turned sharply about and flounced out of his day cabin. Looking at her fat buttocks straining the material of her shorts almost to bursting Grimes thought that it was exercise she needed rather than more starch in her diet. If Sister Sue were a warship he would be able to order people to have a daily workout in the gymnasium. But Sister Sue was a merchantman and the powers of her captain, although considerable, were only a civilian shipmaster’s powers.