To the Galactic Rim: The John Grimes Saga Read Online Free PDF Page B

he suspected. A real demonstration of sympathy would have consisted of tears, not laughter. Her face grew momentarily severe. “Not the mess,” she said reprovingly. “But the waste.”
    Grimes examined the bulb. “I didn’t waste much. Only an eyeful.”
    She raised her drink in ritual greeting. “Here’s mud in your eye,” adding, “for a change.”
    “And in yours.”
    In the sudden silence that followed they sat looking at each other. There was a tension, some odd resultant of centrifugal and centripetal forces. They were on the brink of something, and both of them knew it, and there was the compulsion to go forward countered by the urge to go back.
    She asked tartly, “Haven’t you ever seen a woman’s legs before?”
    He shifted his regard to her face, to the eyes that, somehow, were brown no longer but held the depth and the darkness of the night through which the ship was plunging.
    She said, “I think you’d better finish your drink and go.”
    He said, “Perhaps you’re right.”
    “You better believe I’m right.” She managed a smile. “I’m not an idler, like some people. I’ve work to do.”
    “See you at lunch, then. And thank you.”
    “Don’t thank me. It was on the house, as the little dog said. Off with you, Admiral.”
    He unbuckled his lapstrap, got out of the chair and made his way to the door. When he was out of her room he did not go to his own cabin but to the bar, where he joined the Baxters. They, rather to his surprise, greeted him in a friendly manner. Rim Worlders, Grimes decided, had their good points.

    It was after lunch when one of the purserettes told him that the Captain wished to see him. What have I done now? wondered Grimes—and answered his own question with the words, Nothing. Unfortunately.
    Craven’s manner, when he admitted Grimes into his dayroom, was severe. “Come in, Ensign. Be seated.”
    “Thank you, sir.”
    “You may smoke if you wish.”
    “Thank you, sir.”
    Grimes filled and lighted his pipe; the Captain ignited one of his pungent cigars, studied the eddying coils of smoke as though they were writing a vitally important message in some strange language.
    “Er, Mr. Grimes, I believe that you have been seeing a great deal of my purser, Miss Pentecost.”
    “Not a great deal, sir. I’m at her table, of course.”
    “I am told that she has entertained you in her quarters.”
    “Just one bulb of sherry, sir. I had no idea that we were breaking ship’s regulations.”
    “You were not. All the same, Mr. Grimes, I have to warn you.”
    “I assure you, sir, that nothing occurred between us.”
    Craven permitted himself a brief, cold smile. “A ship is not a Sunday school outing—especially a ship under my command. Some Masters, I know, do expect their officers to comport themselves like Sunday school pupils, with the Captain as the principal—but I expect my senior officers to behave like intelligent and responsible adults. Miss Pentecost is quite capable of looking after herself. It is you that I’m worried about.”
    “There’s no need to be worried, sir.”
    The Captain laughed. “I’m not worried about your morals, Mr. Grimes. In fact, I have formed the opinion that a roll in the hay would do you far more good than harm. But Miss Pentecost is a dangerous woman. Before lifting ship, very shortly before lifting ship, I received a confidential report concerning her activities. She’s an efficient purser, a highly efficient purser, in fact, but she’s even more than that. Much more.” Again he studied the smoke from his cigar. “Unfortunately there’s no real proof, otherwise she’d not be sailing with us. Had I insisted upon her discharge I’d have been up against the Interstellar Clerical and Supply Officers’ Guild.”
    “Surely not,” murmured Grimes. Craven snorted. “You people are lucky. You haven’t a mess of Guilds to deal with, each and every one of which is all too ready to rush to the defense of a Guild member,