A. Bertram Chandler by The Hard Way Up

Author:The Hard Way Up
Language: eng
Format: mobi, pdf
Published: 2011-04-02T17:06:52+00:00

“Fantastic,” breathed Commodore Damien. “Fantastic. Almost, Mr. Grimes, I feel a certain envy. The things you get up to …”

The aroma of good Scotch whisky hung heavily in the air of the Commodore’s office. Damien, although not an abstainer, never touched the stuff. Grimes’s tastes were catholic—but on an occasion such as this he preferred to be stone cold sober.

“It is more than fantastic,” snarled the Shaara Queen-Emissary, the special envoy of the Empress herself. Had she not been using a voice-box her words would have been slurred. “It is … disgusting. Reprehensible. This officer forced liquor down the throat of a member of our Royal family. He …”

“He twisted her arm?” suggested the Commodore.

“I do not understand. But she is now Queen-Mother of Brooum. A drunken, even alcoholic Queen-Mother.”

“I saved my ship and my people,” stated Grimes woodenly.

Damien grinned unpleasantly. “Isn’t this where we came in, Lieutenant? But no matter. There are affairs of far more pressing urgency. Not only do I have to cope with a direct complaint from the personal representative of Her Imperial Majesty …”

Even though she was wearing a voice-box, the Queen-Emissary contrived to hiccough. And all this, Grimes knew, was going down on tape. It was unlikely that he would ever wear the ribbon of the Order of the Golden Honeyflower, but it was equally unlikely that he would be butchered to make a Shaara holiday.

“He weaned her on Scotch …” persisted the Queen-Emissary.

“Aren’t you, perhaps, a little jealous?” suggested Damien. He switched his attention back to Grimes. “Meanwhile, Lieutenant, I am being literally bombarded with Carlottigrams from Her not-so-Imperial Majesty on Brooum demanding that I dispatch to her, as soon as possible if not before, the only drone, in the Galaxy with whom she would dream of mating …”

“No!” protested Grimes. “NO!”

“Yes, mister. Yes. For two pins I’d accede to her demands.” He sighed regretfully. “But I suppose that one must draw some sort of a line somewhere …” He sighed again—then, “Get out, you drone!” he almost shouted. It was a pity that he had to spoil the effect by laughing.

“We are not amused,” said the Shaara Queen.

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