He was a big young man, this King Eric, heavily muscled, with ice-blue eyes, a flowing yellow moustache, long, wavy yellow hair. Over baggy white trousers that were thrust into boots of unpolished leather he wore a short-sleeved shirt of gleaming chain mail. On his head was a horned helmet. He carried a short battle-axe. The officers with him—with the exception of Captain Andersen, whose own ship was now down—were similarly uniformed, although the horns of their helmets were shorter, their ceremonial axes smaller. Andersen was in conventional enough space captain's dress rig.
Grimes's little day cabin was uncomfortably crowded. There was the King, with three of his high officers. There was Andersen. There was (of course) the Commissioner, and she had brought her faithful robot, John, with her. Only King Eric and Mrs. Dalwood were seated.
John, Grimes admitted, had his uses. He mixed and served drinks like a stage butler. He passed around cigarettes, cigarillos, and cigars. And Mrs. Dalwood had
her
uses. Grimes was not used to dealing with royalty, with human royalty, but she was. Her manner, as she spoke to the King, was kind but firm. Without being disrespectful she managed to convey the impression that she ranked with, but slightly above, the great-grandson of a piratical tramp skipper. At first Grimes feared (hoped) that one of those ceremonial but sharp axes would be brought into play—but, oddly enough, King Eric seemed to be enjoying the situation.
"So you see, Your Majesty," said the Commissioner, "that it is imperative that I resume my journey to Dhartana as soon as possible. I realize that this vessel will be delayed for some time until the necessary repairs have been effected, so I wonder if I could charter one of your ships." She added, "I have the necessary authority."
Eric blew silky fronds of moustache away from his thick lips. "We do not question that, Madam Commissioner. But you must realize that We take no action without due consultation with Our advisors. Furthermore . . ." he looked like a small boy screwing up his courage before being saucy to the schoolteacher . . . "We do not feel obliged to go out of Our way to render assistance to your Federation."
"The
Princess Ingaret
incident
was
rather unfortunate, Your Majesty . . ." admitted Mrs. Dalwood sweetly. "But I never thought that the Skandians were the sort of people to bear grudges . . ."
"I . . ." he corrected himself hastily . . . "We are not, Madam Commissioner. But a Monarch, these days, is servant to as well as leader of his people . . ."
Grimes saw the generals, or whatever they were, exchanging ironical glances with Captain Andersen.
"But, Your Majesty, it is to our common benefit that friendly relations between Skandia and the Federation be re-established."
Friendly relations?
thought Grimes.
She looks as though she wants to take him to bed. And he knows it.
"Let me suggest, Madam Commissioner, that you do me—Us—the honor of becoming Our guest? At the Palace you will be able to meet the Council of Earls as soon as it can be convened. I have no doubt—
We
have no doubt that such a conference will be to the lasting benefit of both Our realms."
"Thank you, Your Majesty. We are . . . " She saw Grimes looking at her sardonically and actually blushed. "I am honored."
"It should not be necessary for you to bring your aides, or your own servants," said King Eric.
"I shall bring John and James," she told him. "They are my robot servitors."
Eric, whose face had fallen, looked cheerful again. "Then We shall see that all is ready for you." He turned to one of his own officers. "General, please inform the Marshal of the Household that Madam Commissioner Dalwood is to be Our guest."
The general raised his wrist transceiver to his bearded lips, passed on the instructions.
"John," ordered the Commissioner, "tell Miss Rosaleen and James to pack for me. Miss Rosaleen will know what I shall require."
"Yes, Madam," replied the robot, standing there. He was not in telepathic communication with his metal brother—but UHF radio was as good.
"Oh, Your Majesty . . ."
"Yes, Madam Commissioner?"
"What arrangements are being made for Lieutenant Grimes and his officers, and for my lady's maid? Presumably this ship will be under repair shortly, and they will be unable to live aboard."
"Mrs. Dalwood!" Grimes did not try very hard to keep his rising resentment from showing. "May I remind you that I am captain of
Adder?
And may I remind you that Regulations insist that there must be a duty officer aboard at all times in foreign ports?"
"And may I remind you, Mr. Grimes, that an Admiral of the Fleet or a civilian officer of the Board of Admiralty with equivalent rank can order the suspension of any or all of the Regulations? Furthermore, as such a civilian officer, I
know
that nothing aboard your ship, armament, propulsive units or communications equipment, is on the Secret List. You need not fear that our hosts' technicians will learn anything at all to their advantage." She added, too sweetly, "Of course, you might learn from them . . ."
King Eric laughed gustily. "And that is why We must insist, Lieutenant, that neither you nor your officers are aboard while repairs are in progress. Captain Andersen, please make arrangements for the accommodation of the Terran officers."
"Ay, Your
Majesty," replied Andersen smartly. He looked at Grimes and said without words,
I'm sorry, spaceman, but that's the way it has to be.
Grimes and his officers were housed in the Base's Bachelor Officers' Quarters, and Rosaleen was accommodated in the barracks where the female petty officers lived. They weren't prisoners—quite. They were guests—but strictly supervised guests. They were not allowed near their own ship—and that hurt. They were not allowed near any of the ships—in addition to
Princess Helga
and
Adder
there were three destroyers, a transport and two tugs in port. Captain Andersen, who seemed to have been given the job of looking after them, was apologetic.
"But I have to remember that you're spacemen, Lieutenant. And I have to remember that you have the reputation of being a somewhat unconventional spaceman, with considerable initiative." He laughed shortly. "I shudder to think what would happen if you and your boys flew the coop in any of the wagons—yours or ours—that are berthed around the place."
Grimes sipped moodily from his beer—he and the Captain were having a drink and chat in the well-appointed wardroom of the B.O.Q. He said, "There's not much chance of our doing that, sir. You must remember that the Commissioner is my passenger, and that I am responsible for her. I could not possibly leave without her."
"Much as you dislike her," grinned the other. "I think that she is quite capable of looking after herself."
"I know that she is, Captain. Even so . . ."
"If you're thinking of rescuing her . . ." said Andersen.
"I'm not," Grimes told him. He had seen the Palace from the outside, a grim, grey pile that looked as though it had been transported, through space and time, from Shakespeare's Elsinore. But there was nothing archaic about its defenses, and it was patrolled by well-armed guards who looked at least as tough as the Federation's Marines. He went on, almost incuriously, "I suppose that she's being well treated."
"I have heard that His Majesty is most hospitable."
"Mphm. Well, we certainly can't complain, apart from a certain lack of freedom. Mind you, Mr. Beadle is whining a bit. He finds your local wenches a bit too robust for his taste. He prefers small brunettes to great, strapping blondes . . . But your people have certainly put on some good parties for us. And Rosaleen was telling me that she's really enjoying herself—the P.O.s' mess serves all the fattening things she loves with every meal."
"Another satisfied customer," said Andersen.
"But
I'm
not satisfied, Captain. I know damn well that the repairs to my Mannschenn Drive took no more than a day. How long are we being held here?"
"That, Lieutenant, is a matter for my masters—and yours. We—and our ships—are no more than pawns on the board." The Captain looked at his watch. "Talking of ships, I have some business aboard
Princess Helga.
You must excuse me." He finished his beer and got to his feet. "Don't forget that after lunch you're all being taken for a sail on the Skaggerak . . ."
"I'll not forget, sir," Grimes informed him.
He was, in fact, looking forward to it. He enjoyed the sailing excursions in stout little wooden ships as much as any Skandian, already had proved himself capable of handling a schooner under a full press of canvas quite competently, and was realizing that seamanship and spacemanship, the skilled balancing of physical forces, have much in common.
He sat down again when Andersen had left the almost deserted wardroom, then saw Hollister coming towards him. The telepath said in a low voice, "I'm afraid you'll not be taking that sail, Captain."
Grimes was going to make some cutting remark about psionic snooping, then thought better of it. He asked, "Why not, Mr. Hollister?"
The psionic communications officer grinned wryly. "Yes, I've been snooping, Captain. I admit it. But not only on you. Not that it was really snooping. I've maintained contact of a sort with John . . ."
"The tin telepath . . ."
"You can call him that. He's very lonely in the Palace, and he's going to be lonelier . . ."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"
She
has been getting on
very
well with the King.
She
has persuaded him to release us, even though the Council of Earls is not altogether in approval. We should get the word this afternoon, and we shall be on our way shortly afterwards.
Adder
is completely space worthy."
" I know. Captain Andersen's as good as told me. But why is John so lonely that he's spilling all these beans to you?"
"
She
wanted to make a farewell gift to His Majesty—and he, it seems, has always wanted a robot valet. Humanoid robots are not manufactured on Skandia, as you know."
"And so John's been sold down the river. My heart fair bleeds for him."
"No, Captain. Not John—James. John's 'brother.' They think of each other as brothers. They feel affection, a real affection, for each other . . ."
"Incredible."
"Is it, Captain? I've heard about the Mr. Adam affair, and how a mere machine was loyal to
you.
"
"Then not so incredible . . ."
One of the wall speakers crackled into life. "Will Lieutenant Grimes, captain of the Federation Survey Service Courier
Adder,
please come at once to telephone booth 14? Will Lieutenant Grimes, captain of the Federation Survey Service Courier
Adder,
please come at once to telephone booth 14?"
"Coming," grumbled Grimes. "Coming."
He was not surprised to see Andersen's face in the little screen, to hear him say, "Orders from the Palace, Lieutenant. You're to get your show on the road at 1500 hours Local. Mrs. Dalwood will board at 1430. You, your officers, and Miss Rosaleen Boyle will board at 1330. You will find all in order, all in readiness."
"Thank you, Captain."
Andersen grinned. "Don't thank me. Thank His Majesty—or Commissioner Dalwood."
Grimes returned to the table where he had left Hollister. He said, "You were right."
"Of course I was right. And now, if I may, I'll give you a warning."
"Go ahead."
"Watch John. Watch him very carefully. He's bitter, revengeful."
"Are you in touch with him now?"
"Yes." The telepath's face had the faraway expression that made it obvious that he was engaged in conversation with a distant entity. Suddenly he smiled. "It's all right. He has assured me that even though he feels that Mrs. Dalwood has betrayed him and his brother he is quite incapable of physically harming any human being. The built-in safeguards are too strong for him to overcome."
"Then that's all right." Grimes knew that he should be worrying nonetheless, but the Commissioner was a big girl and could look after herself. And how could the robot harm her in any way but physically? "You've been snooping in its—his—mind, so you know how he ticks."
"Yes, Captain."
Grimes strode to the reception desk and asked the attractive, blonde petty officer to have
Adder's
crew paged.
Mrs. Dalwood looked well. She was softer, somehow, and she seemed to have put on a little weight!—although not as much as Rosaleen. She sat at ease in her day room, admiring the beautiful, jewel-encrusted watch that now adorned her left wrist. Grimes sat on the edge of his chair, watching her, waiting for her to speak. To one side stood the robot John, silent, immobile.
"Well, Lieutenant," she said, not too unpleasantly, "you managed to get us upstairs without any major catastrophes. I hope that we shall reach our destination in a reasonably intact condition. We should. As you must notice already, the work carried out by the Skandian technicians is of excellent quality . . . Like this watch . . ." She turned her wrist so that Grimes could see it properly. "It seems strange that a robust people such as the Skandians, space Vikings, should be such outstanding watchsmiths, but they are, as you probably know. His Majesty insisted that I accept this keepsake from him.
"Yes. Things
could
have been worse. Much worse, as it turned out. His Majesty and I reached an understanding. Together we accomplished more, much more, than the so-called diplomats . . ."
I
can imagine it,
thought Grimes—and to his surprise experienced a twinge of sexual jealousy.
Her manner stiffened. "But don't think, Mr. Grimes, that I shall not be putting in a full report on your conduct. It is my duty as a Commissioner to do so. I cannot forget that you gave me your resignation . . ."
Suddenly John spoke. He said tonelessly, "He is thinking of you."
The Commissioner seemed to forget that Grimes was present. Her face softened again. "He is? Tell me . . ."
"He misses you, Madam. He is thinking,
I
really loved her. She reminded me so much of my dear old mother.
"