It was a pleasant enough flight back to Port Woomera. Again Grimes, and with him the two girls, was a guest in the airship's control cab. On this occasion, however, the captain, a different one, did not say anything to antagonize his privileged passengers. The three of them made their way from the airport to the spaceport by monorail and then by robocab to the ship.
The efficient Mr. Steerforth was waiting by the ramp as the cab pulled up, saluted with Survey Service big ship smartness as his captain got out. He said, "Leave your baggage, sir, I'll have it brought up." He followed Grimes into the after airlock, but not before he had ordered sharply, "Ms. Kelly, Ms. Byrne, look after the master's gear, will you?"
Grimes heard a not quite suppressed animal growl from either Shirl or Darleen and with an effort managed not to laugh aloud. Well, he thought, the two New Alicians would have to start learning that, as cadets, they were the lowest form of life aboard Sister Sue . . . .
He and the chief officer took the elevator up to the captain's flat. He let himself into his day cabin, thinking that, much as he had enjoyed the break, it was good to be back. But had somebody been interfering with the layout of the furniture? Had something been added?
Something had—a long case, standing on end.
Steerforth saw him looking at it and said, "This came for you, sir. Special delivery, from Alice Springs. Probably something you purchased there, sir, too heavy and cumbersome to carry with you on your flight."
"Probably," said Grimes. "But I'll catch up with my mail, Mr. Steerforth, before I unpack it. I'll yell for you as soon as I'm through."
"Very good, sir."
His curiosity unsatisfied, Steerforth left the cabin. He said to Shirl and Darleen, who were about to enter with Grimes' baggage, "Report to me as soon as the captain's finished with you."
Shirl said, "I liked Billy Williams."
Darleen said, "So did I."
Grimes said, "Billy Williams earned his long service leave. And try to remember, young ladies, that when you knew Billy Williams you were passengers in this ship, and privileged. Now you are very junior officers and Mr. Steerforth is a senior officer, my second in command. Meanwhile, I still have a job for you. To help me unpack this."
Like most spacemen he always carried on his person a multi-purpose implement that was called, for some forgotten reason, a Swiss Army Knife. (Once Grimes had asked his father about it and had been told that there was, a long time ago, a Swiss Army and that a special pocketknife had been invented for the use of its officers, incorporating a variety of tools, so that they would never lack the means to open a bottle of wine or beer.)
Anyhow, Grimes' pocket tool chest had a suitable screwdriver. He used it while Shirl and Darleen held the long box steady. At last he had all the securing screws out of the lid and gently pried it away from the body of the case, put it to one side on the deck. And then there was the foam plastic packing to be dealt with. He knew what he would find as he pulled it away.
She stood there in her box, her transparent skin glistening, the ornamental complexity of shining wheels on their jeweled pivots motionless. And he stood there looking at her, hesitant. He knew the simple procedure for activation—but should he?
Why not?
He inserted the index finger of his right hand into her navel, pressed. He heard the sharp click. He saw the transparent eyelids—a rather absurd refinement!—open and a faint flicker of light in the curiously blank eyes. He saw the wheels of the spurious clockwork mechanism begin to turn, some slowly, some spinning rapidly. There was a barely audible ticking.
The lips moved and . . . .
"Hello, sailor," said Seiko seductively.
"Mphm," grunted Grimes. Then, gesturing toward the litter of foam packing, "Get this mess cleaned up."
Shirl and Darleen laughed.
"Now there's somebody else to do the fetching and carrying!" said one of them.
Grimes dealt with his mail while Seiko busied herself with what Grimes thought was quite unnecessary dusting and polishing. There was a letter from his father, written before Grimes had left the family home to return to his ship. I don't like the idea of returning Seiko to the makers, the old man had written. They'd take her apart to find out what went wrong—or went right.'—and when they put her together again she'd be no more than just another brainless robomaid with no more intelligence than a social insect. And she would, of course, lose her personality. I'm hoping that you'll be able to use her aboard your ship, as your personal servant . . . .
Then there was a brief note from Admiral Damien, inviting him—or ordering him—to dinner in the admiral's own dining room that evening.
He was interrupted briefly by his new catering officer, Melinda Clay. He looked up at her approvingly. She was a tall woman, of the same race as Cleo Jones, the radio officer, and Cassandra Perkins, the fourth RD engineer. She was at least as beautiful as Cleo, although in a different way. The hair of her head was snowy white, in vivid contrast to the flawless black skin of her face. Natural or artificial? Grimes wondered.
"I came up, sir," she said, "to introduce myself . . . ."
"I'm very happy to have you aboard, Ms. Clay," said Grimes, extending his hand.
She shook it, then went on, "And to find out, before the voyage starts, if you have any special preferences in the way of food and drink. That way I can include such items in my stores."
"Unluckily," laughed Grimes, "my very special preferences are also very expensive—and as owner, as well as master, I should have to foot the bill. Just stock up normally. And I'm quite omnivorous. As long as the food is good, I'll eat it . . . ."
Seiko came out of the bathroom, where she had been giving the shower fittings a thorough polishing.
Melinda's eyes widened. "What a lovely robot! I didn't know that you carried your own robomaid."
"I didn't know myself until I unpacked her. She's a gift, from my father."
"She? But of course, sir. You could hardly call such a beautiful thing it."
"Seiko," said Grimes, "this is Ms. Clay, my catering officer. When you are not looking after me—and I do not require much looking after— you will act as her assistant."
"Your father's last instructions to me, sir," said Seiko, "were that I was to be your personal servant."
"And my instructions to you," said Grimes firmly, "are that you are to consider yourself a member of the domestic staff of this vessel. Your immediate superior is Ms. Clay."
"Yes, Massa."
"Seiko, you are not supposed to have a sense of humor."
Melinda Clay laughed. "Don't be so serious, captain! I'm sure that Seiko and I will get on very well."
A slave and the descendant of slaves . . . thought Grimes wryly.