Buck Rogers 01 - Arrival by Abigail Irvine & M. S. Murdock & Flint Dille & Robert Sheckley

Author:Abigail Irvine & M. S. Murdock & Flint Dille & Robert Sheckley [Irvine, Abigail & Murdock, M. S. & Dille, Flint & Sheckley, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction, Juvenile Fiction, General, Fantasy, Fiction
ISBN: 9780880385824
Google: xavCHAAACAAJ
Amazon: 0880385820
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast
Published: 1989-05-01T06:00:00+00:00

TWO BARNEYS

Ulrike O'Reilly

Black Barney punched in his membership code and waited. His eyes, which revealed nothing of his emotions, swept the entrance corridors right and left. Just a good habit, he thought. Nothing to fear here. Nothing to fear anywhere.

In a moment the doors of the Club Noir "whooshed" open to reveal a vestibule. The attendant, who had been slumped on a stool in the corner, snapped erect when he saw that the newcomer was one of the celebrities of the membership, the dangerous and unpredictable Black Barney.

Young Bimwilly knew Black Barney on sight, of course. He was proud to boast that he, lowly Bimwilly, had diligently served the reknowned space pirate several times in the course of his long duty as maitre d' of the Club Noir.

It was rare that Black Barney stopped, for a leisurely luncheon, at Club Noir. This was twice in, oh, ten months!

Young Bimwilly was excited, and he violated the usual decorum when he raised his black-robed arms and clapped his white-gloved hands together in the old-fashioned manner. "Mr. Barney!" the maitre d' exclaimed a bit loudly.

No one heard his indiscretion, however, for the vestibule was empty of humanity or otherwise, bare of all furnishings except the stool and a control panel. The doors that led to private dining chambers were all but invisible to the naked eye, and patrons could rest assured that they were seamlessly sealed, and only Young Bimwilly could open them. That was his responsibility and his cachet.

Young Bimwilly had been guiding the Club Noir's privileged members to their private chambers, for the most elegant dining experience in the Asteroid Belt, he liked to say, for as long as anyone could remember. Before him, it had been his father, Old Bimwilly, who enjoyed the exalted position of maitre d', for a lifetime. Of course, Old Bimwilly was long dead. His son was in his seventh decade of life, if one could call it a life, and no longer spry or acute. Indeed, he had a red, fissured face beneath the makeup, and for some reason walked bent over. But in deference to the memory of his father, he preferred still to be called Young Bimwilly.

Not that anyone took particular notice of the old man. Black Barney, for example, did not return the maitre d's salutation, and did not in the least remember the crippled old fool from any previous encounter.

Black Barney could not help but observe, with disdain, that the bent-over maitre d' was wearing the obligatory costume of powdered wig, ruffled blouse, midbreeches, and flowing robe that some of the club's regulars—though certainly not Black Barney, who did not consider himself a regular in any case—found so appropriate and amusing. Dressing Young Bimwilly as an Olde English high judge was one of the many touches from the archaic past that the Club Noir's management had concocted to give the place a forced air of genteel ambiance.

"On the dot, Mr. Barney, as ever so," Young Bimwilly said, cackling strangely to himself,

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