“No light, ma'am. This is an official vessel.” The subordinate officer regarded her with anxious trepidation.
“Yes, of the Trundimoux system. But I am of the Heptite Guild and expect the courtesy of Privacy wherever I am.”
“I'll pass the word, ma'am. None of us will forget.”
Killashandra did not doubt that, but she must contrive the same respect from the officers. Francu would be no threat, but Tallaf . . . As Killashandra followed Tic to the officers' mess, she decided that she would retrieve a deck plan from the library as soon as she had the opportunity. The cruiser was obviously being refitted to Trundimoux requirements en route, for work parties were busy at various corridors and levels, all pausing to inspect her as she passed.
The officers' mess might have been a pleasant room but was poorly furnished, its walls hung with diagrams and hard copy, suggesting that it served a dual purpose. Francu formally introduced her to the numerous officers, some of whom immediately excused themselves to take up their watch duties. Those who remained were served a tiny cup of an inferior wine that the captain enjoined them to take to the mess table.
In Killashandra's estimation, the occasion rapidly deteriorated into a very bad comic opera in which no one had studied lines or recognized cues. Francu and his executive officer would never have advanced past preliminary auditions. The other flight deck officers seemed to take turns asking her conventionally stupid questions to which, piqued, she gave outrageous and contradictory answers. Only Tallaf, seated at the other end of the table, appeared to have a sense of humor. The supercargo, also placed at an inconvenient distance from her, was the only extraplanetarian. Since he seemed as bored as she was, she made a note to cultivate him as soon as possible.
The food served was dreadful, although from the appetites of the younger officers, it was evidently a feast. Killashandra could find nothing on the table that matched the items on Antona's list and, with great difficulty, chewed and swallowed the unappealing stodge.
Dinner ended with everyone's jumping to their feet and dedicating themselves to the further ambitions of Trundimoux System, against all natural obstacles and phenomena.
Killashandra managed to keep her expression composed during this unexpected outburst, especially when she realized that the younger subs were emotionally involved in their statement. When Killashandra considered that the system had managed to purchase a 78 as well as five black crystals, there might be some merit to unswerving dedication. The Guild inspired its members, too, but toward selfish rather than selfless aims. Well, the Trundimoux system's results were very good, but it was from the Guild that they made their most prestigious purchases.
The table was cleared efficiently by the mess crew, and Killashandra watched them, there being nothing else to do. She could think of nothing to say in the silence and dreaded the prospect of more evenings like this.
“Would you care for a drink, Guild Member?” the supercargo asked as he appeared at her side.
“Why, yes, a Yarran beer would top off that meal,” she said with considerable irony, for beer would more likely bring the stodge back up.
To her utter amazement, the super gave her a bright smile.
«You» – and his emphasis implied that she should have been the last person in the galaxy to have such tastes «like Yarran beer!»
“Yes, it's my favorite beverage. Have you heard of it?”
“Of course, I've heard of it,” and the man's good humored chuckle included those standing nearby. “I'm Yarran. Pendel's the name, ma'am. You shall have a beaker from my own keg!” He signaled to one of the mess crew, mimed the careful pouring of beer into a beaker, and held up two fingers.
"Guild Member," the captain said, stepping in, "we have wines – "
"Actually, Captain Francu, the Heptite Guild is partial to Yarran beer," she said, knowing that she was irritating the man, yet unable to resist. "If I'm not depriving you, super – "
“Depriving me?” Lieutenant Supercargo Pendel was enormously amused by the suggestion. Nor did Killashandra miss his quick glance at Francu or Francu's displeasure. “Not at all. My pleasure, I assure you I keep telling 'em how satisfying a good Yarran brew is, far and above the ordinary since Terran malt and hops adapted well to our soil, but to each his own, I always say.”
The beakers were served, and Francu's disapproval grew as Killashandra sipped with overt delight, though the beer was slightly flat, and she wondered how long it had been in Pendel's keg. Perhaps the Guild brewmasters excelled Yarra's own.
Pendel chattered away to her about different brews from different planets. Killashandra was relieved to find at least one traveled person among the Trundie belt-knockers. As long as they could stay on the subject of food and drink, Killashandra could give Pendel the impression of being widely – traveled herself.
“Do you remember much about Yarra?” he asked, as he signaled for another round of beer.
The phrasing of that question startled Killashandra, though she wasn't certain why, since Pendel's manner posed no threat.
“Of all the planets I have visited, it has the best brew and the most affable population. I wonder if the two are related? Have you been long away?”
“Too long and not long enough,” the Yarran replied, his jolly face lengthening into sadness. He sighed heavily, taking the fresh beaker and sipping at it slowly. How the man could become homesick on one glass of flat beer, Killashandra wasn't certain. “However, it was of my choosing, and we Yarrans make the best of everything, and everything of the best.”
Unexpectedly the harsh buzzer that announced watch changes penetrated the room. Killashandra took that opportunity to excuse herself from the mess.
Tac, for she'd seen Tic go off with the duty crew, guided Killashandra through the maze of companionways to her cell. As she slipped out of her caftan, she wondered how she was going to endure six days of this. And how was she going to replenish her symbiont on the gundge that was served? She was thinking that flat Yarran beer had a more soporific effect than the proper stuff as she fell asleep.
The next morning, it abruptly occurred to her that if Pendel had Yarran beer in his private supplies, he might have other delicacies, so she asked Tic, then on duty, to lead her to the supercargo's office.
She felt crystal as she passed a sealed and barred hatch, grinning over the useless precautions. For who could steal crystal in space? Or were the Trundies afraid of crystal's ensnaring the unwary? She experienced a start of amazement as Tic, after merely rapping on the panel, pulled it aside and entered. Presumably, Yarrans did not object to casual invasions of their privacy. Pendel was on his feet and full of genial welcomes in a cabin only slighter larger than hers. All three had to stand in close proximity to fit beside the bunk table. There were, however, a basket of fruit and a half-finished beaker of Yarran beer on the shelf.
“How may I serve you?” Pendel asked, smiling at Tic as he waved her out and closed the panel behind her.
Killashandra explained, giving him the list of Antona's suggested diet.
"Ah, I can supply you with these and more. What they choose to eat" – and he waved his hand in the general direction of the control section amidships – "is well enough if one is not used to better. But you, Guild Member – "
“Killashandra, please . . .”
"Yes? Well, thank you, Killashandra. You have been accustomed to the very best that the galaxy has to offer – "
«So long as my immediate dietary requirements are met» – and Killashandra pointed to Antona's list – «I will have no complaint.» She could not help eyeing the fruit basket wistfully.