Christopher Stasheff - The Warlock's Companion

"It was still fascinating," Donough said quickly, "and quite apt to the situation at hand. Now, Mr. d'Armand—if you would serve the sweet?"

Rod cleared, with a glance at the Second. He was startled; Weiser still looked ravenous. Rod wondered how he could have gone through such big portions and still be hungry.

Then he saw that the man was looking at Muldoon.

Alarm and anger flared in him, at the thought of that pig daring to even look at so ethereal a lady—but hard on the heels of it came a surge of sympathy; Rod knew just how the poor guy must feel, having to see the look on her face whenever she glanced at the captain.

Which made Rod terribly confused. He chucked his load in the recycler and went to punch in desert. Just serve the meal, swabbie—just serve.

"I push on the lower edge, right?"

"If the top edge is the outside, and if it operates as the locker does—yes."

"Okay, we'll try." Rod pushed in on the bottom line of the big rectangle on the wall, and the bed glided smoothly out and down. A stack of sheets and blankets lay in the middle; one end of the mattress bulged into a pillow. "Hmph! Well, here goes self-reliance." Rod picked up a sheet.

"I beg your pardon," Fess murmured, taking the sheet from him and shaking it out.

"Fess, no ! If my shipmates catch you at it, they'll never let me hear the end of it!"

Fess paused in mid-shake. "Considering the evidence of Mr. Weiser's attitude…"

"Right." Rod took the sheet back, handed Fess the rest of the stack, and started tucking. "I cannot believe Muldoon! She is a real beauty, and she doesn't seem to know it!"

Fess glanced back toward the engines.

"Oh, I'm not worried about her hearing— she has a cabin, and the door's closed."

"True—and she is beautiful," Fess admitted. "Still, she has not learned the graces of a true lady."

"Well, I never learned to be comfortable with 'em." Rod stopped in mid-movement. "Fess, when I saw her today, I felt a surge all through me."

"I was watching, Rod."

"And when it passed, I was still kind of light-headed, and the only thing I could think was, 'So this is what it's like to be in love!' "

"Yes," the robot murmured. "Yes."

"Did it show?"

"Only if you knew what to look for."

"Which she probably does." Rod's mouth tightened with chagrin. "Just as well she knows it, I suppose."

"A lady is always complimented, Rod."

"Yeah, I suppose so." Rod stood back, arms akimbo, proudly contemplating his handiwork. "There! I can make my own bed!"

"You have done well, Rod." Fess omitted saying anything about hospital corners, or smoothness.

Rod pulled out his duffel bag, took out pajamas, and glanced around him. "If I can be sure that door stays shut…"

Fess boosted his audio gain, then reported, "She is breathing evenly and deeply, Rod."

"Asleep." Rod stripped quickly. "It still behooves me to move fast. Why the heck don't they give us at least a privacy curtain?"

"Possibly, Rod, because the designers assumed the whole crew would be of the same sex."

"Quaint." Rod yanked the pajamas on, rolled into the bunk, and pulled the blankets up. "Of course, I suppose I should want her to surprise me in the buff."

"It would perhaps be premature, at this stage of your relationship."

"I'll take your word for it. I have to—I don't quite know how to act."

"Yes. You have never had such vivid feelings toward another person, have you?"

"But… Why?" Rod breathed. "When all my life, I've been surrounded by delicate ladies of high breeding, with all the graces and all the advantages— why !"

"Perhaps because Muldoon is of above-average intelligence.''

"Well—maybe. But I don't remember anybody back home who had such a lovely face, either. Except Lucretia, and she's so neurotic it's a wonder she doesn't fall apart."

"I must say I'm delighted by your perception, Rod. Many men would fail to see Muldoon's beauty unless she used cosmetics in such a way as to make it overly obvious."

Rod's eyes flew open, staring into the darkness. He lay back, speculations running through his mind.

After an interval of silence, Fess murmured, "Good night, Rod."

"Hm? Oh. Yeah. Good night, Fess."

The ship shuddered, and Rod said, "Can I get up now?"

"Not yet," Muldoon called back.

"Shouldn't I have an acceleration couch?

"That's what your bunk is . So's mine. Everything has to do double duty, on a freighter."

So that was why she was staying in her room.

"Docking completed," Donough's voice said over the intercom. "Twenty-four-hour liberty commences now ! Have fun in Ceres City, crew!"

They heard a cheer in the background, before the captain let the mike close.

Rod released his webbing and was sitting up before it had finished snapping back. He hopped down, pushed his bed up and into the wall, and headed for the passageway. Then he stopped, realizing that his footsteps didn't have an echo. He turned around and saw Muldoon with computerboard in hand, checking the bank of meters on the wall. "Aren't you coming?"

Muldoon shook her head. "Always something to do, here."

"But it doesn't have to be done, does it?"

"Have to or not, I'm doing it."

"But why?" Rod frowned, coming toward her. "You can't…"

And Muldoon burst into tears.

Rod froze, staring.

" Out !" Muldoon snapped. "Let me take care of my engines in peace! Now, get out!''' Rod got.

"But why didn't she want company?" Rod muttered.

"There are nuances in human relationships that are indecipherable without knowing the complex of ties involved," Fess answered, sotto voce .

"Which means we don't know enough to guess."

"A sufficiently accurate interpretation. And, if you'll pardon the comment, Rod…"

"It's none of my damn business." Rod lay back, waiting for the acceleration to pass. "But Fess, I love her."

"That does not give you the right to meddle in her affairs."

"I suppose," Rod sighed.

"But Rod, you have been worrying this problem for twenty-six hours now—and I am certain you scarcely noticed the sights of Ceres City."

Rod shrugged. "Ceres, I've seen before. Muldoon, I haven't."

The acceleration eased off, and the intercom announced, "Departure completed. We have set course for Ganymede. Duty stations."

Rod sat up, stood, and turned to push his bunk back into the wall. "Well, let's hope she's—"

A sudden raucous hooting echoed through the ship. Rod froze, recognizing the "loss of atmosphere" signal. "We're holed!"

If Fess said anything, it was to empty air. Maximan reflexes had taken over, and Rod was on his way to the emergency toolkit.

He yanked it up—it took quite a pull; the bottom was magnetized—and glanced up at the screen above it. An outline of the ship glowed there, with a red dot blinking in the forward hold. He turned toward the doorway, swinging the toolbox up as he sprang. Behind him, he heard Muldoon calling, but for once, it didn't seem important.

He shot down the passageway, ricocheted off the sides of the dog-leg, and hurtled past the entry hatch. Behind him, way behind, somebody was yelling, "Out of the way, swabbie!" But that didn't matter. He braced himself, wrenched at the grip on the hatch, and leaped into the forward hold, hitting the lights as he came.

It felt as though his face was trying to swell. He saw the puncture, an ugly, ragged hole with sharp edges pointing toward him, a good centimeter in diameter. He dove toward it, ripping the emergency box open and yanking out a temporary patch, then swinging the box down against the hull. The magnetic bottom clanked, hard, and Rod held onto it as he swung his feet up, went into a crouch by the hole, and slapped the patch on. He pushed against the box as he smoothed the edges, then swung his legs back to grasp the sides of the toolbox as he pulled an insulated glove on, then took out a steel patch and the spotwelder. Feet pounded up behind him, and Weiser's voice yelled, "What the hell do ya think y're doing? Out of the way, ya spoiled brat, before I push you through that hole!"