Apart from a baleful glare Commodore Damien ignored Grimes. His eyes, bright in his skull-like face, regarded Una steadily over his skeletal, steepled fingers. He asked, pleasantly enough for him, "And what can I do for you, Miss Freeman?"
She replied tartly, "I've seen everybody else, Commodore."
Damien allowed himself a strictly rationed dry chuckle. He remarked, "You must have realized by this time that our masters do not like your masters. Apart from anything else, they feel, most strongly, that you people are trespassing on our territory. But there are wheels within wheels, and all sorts of dickering behind the scenes, and the Admiralty—albeit with a certain reluctance—has let it be known that a degree of cooperation on our part with you, personally, will not be frowned upon too heavily. His Nibs received a Carlottigram last night from the First Lord, to that effect. He passed the buck to Intelligence. Intelligence, for some reason known only to itself—" again there was the dry chuckle and the suggestion of a leer on Damien's face—"passed the buck to O. I. C. Couriers. Myself."
"Nobody told me!" snapped the girl.
The Commodore bared his long, yellow teeth. "You've been told now, Miss Freeman." He waited for her to say something in reply, but she remained silent and darkly glowering. "Unfortunately I have no couriers available at the moment. None, that is, to place at your full disposal. However . . . ."
"Go on, Commodore."
"I am not a suspect whom you are interrogating, young lady. I have been requested rather than ordered by my superiors to render you whatever assistance lies within my unfortunately limited power. It so happens that the Lizard Class courier Skink will be lifting from Base in four days' time, carrying dispatches and other assorted bumfodder to Olgana. You may take passage in her if you so desire."
"But I don't want to go to Olgana. You people have been furnished with the elements of Delta Geminorum's extrapolated trajectory. My orders are to board her, with a prize crew, and bring her in to port."
"I am aware of that, Miss Freeman. The captain of Skink will have his orders too. They will be, firstly, to carry such additional personnel as will be required for your prize crew and, secondly, to make whatever deviation from trajectory is required to put the prize crew aboard the derelict."
"And will John be the captain of this . . . this Skink?"
"John?" Damien registered bewilderment "John?" Then slow comprehension dawned. "Oh, you mean young Grimes, here. No, John will not be commanding any vessels under my jurisdiction. I honestly regret having to disappoint you, Miss Freeman, but Skink is Lieutenant Commander Delamere's ship."
Delamere, thought Grimes disgustedly. Handsome Frankie Delamere, who could make a living posing for Survey Service recruiting posters . . . . And that's about all that he's fit for—that and screwing anything in skirts that comes his way. Good-bye, Una. It was nice knowing you.
Damien switched his regard to Grimes. "And you are still unemployed, Lieutenant Commander," he stated rather than asked.
"Yes, sir."
"It distresses me to have to watch officers doing nothing and getting paid for it, handsomely." So he's giving me Skink after all, thought Grimes. I did hear that Delamere was overdue for leave. Damien went on, "'Unfortunately, you passed out of my immediate ambit on your promotion to your present rank." That's right. Rub it in, you sadistic old bastard! Grimes' spirits, temporarily raised, were plummeting again. "However, I am on quite amicable terms with Commodore Browning, of the Appointments Bureau." He raised a skinny hand. "No, I am not, repeat and underscore not, going to give you another command under my jurisdiction. I learned my lesson, all too well, during that harrowing period when you were captain of Adder. But somebody—preferably somebody with spacegoing command experience, has to be in charge of the prize crew. I shall press for your appointment to that position." He grinned nastily and added, "After all, whatever happens will have nothing to do with me."
"Thank you, sir," said Grimes.
"You haven't got the job yet," Damien told him.
After they had left the Commodore's office Una said, "But he must like you, John. You told me that he hated your guts."
"Oh, he does, he does. But he hates Frankie Delamere's guts still more."
"Then how is it that this Delamere is still one of his courier captains?"
"Because," Grimes told her, "dear Frankie knows all the right people. Including the Admiral's very plain daughter."
"Oh."
"Precisely," said Grimes.