She said nothing, only set to work making a plait in his mane.
"Of love, of course," Fess answered, with a sigh. "You are, after all, a young maiden."
"Aye. Wouldst thou, mayhap, recall Papa's manner when he first was moonstruck? Was he as Magnus is, this night?"
"Cordelia!" Fess reproved, in his softest tone. "I have told you before that your father's experiences are entirely confidential, and that it is for him alone to breach that confidentiality, not I."
"Oh, thou didst not even know when the Archer did smite him!"
"How should I, when I am only a thing of iron, with no feelings? How might I recognize romantic love?"
"Thou dost know it by its signs."
"Signs that can be hidden, with self-control. I will tell you only this: that when humans do suppress such evidence of love's coming, they cease to know clearly when they are in love."
Cordelia looked up, frowning. "Why, how couldst thou know such a thing?"
"I have studied humankind for five centuries, Cordelia. Go, now, and let your fancy play with the notion."
She smiled, taken with the idea. "Why, that I shall. I knew thou wouldst know cures for wakefulness, good Fess." And she turned away, going back to roll up in her blanket.
Of course, Fess did recognize the signs of infatuation, and remembered that the young Rod d'Armand had been worried because it had never happened to him. But Fess had seen the reason clearly, when he looked at the belles of Maxima—so he had not been surprised with the quickness of love's striking, once Rod left home. He remembered, with the clarity that only comes from permanent changes in the electrical patterns of molecules. It had been a time when Rod's joy and pain had been so clear to see that Fess was, for once, quite glad he had no emotions of his own. Rod's had been bad enough. Oh, yes, he remembered…
Chapter 10
The lander jarred with a thud and a clash. Rod waited, excitement beginning to well up under his sadness at leaving home. The wall-patch next to the hatch glowed green. Rod opened it and stepped through into his new life.
The welcoming committee was a stocky man in a uniform too tight around the waist and a three-day beard on his jowls. "A rich boy!" he groaned. "With a private robot—preserve us! And shall I roll out a red carpet for you, me lord?"
"Not a lord," Rod said automatically.
"Well, ya know that much, at least," the man grunted. "But ya need a bit more, swabbie. When ya walked through that hatch, ya became the lowest of the low, boy. And close it behind ya!"
Rod turned, sure that he had. Yes, the hatch was dogged.
The jowly man pushed past him to check, and gave a reluctant growl. "Well, it's good enough."
Rod knew it was a lot better than "good enough." People who grow up on asteroids become very used to hatches—by the time they're eight. But all he said was, "Thank you, sir."
The man's eyes narrowed. "Ya got that part right, too." He looked distinctly unhappy about it. "Well, 'sir' it is, to anyone ya see. I'm Albie Weiser, Second Officer of the good ship Murray Rain, and you have the lowest rating aboard. Anything you see, you 'sir,' because there's no one aboard who's lower than you—and ya salute a senior officer!"
Rod snapped to what he hoped was "attention" and touched his forehead.
"No, no!" Weiser seemed relieved as he reached out to boost Rod's arm and crank his wrist. "Elbow up, so your arm's parallel to the deck, and turn yer hand out t' face me!"
Rod clenched his jaw to keep from saying "ouch."
"Right enough, then," the officer growled. "Now, come on and see this berth y've signed on for." He pushed off against a wall and glided down the passageway, glancing back just once—to make sure his new charge was following, Rod supposed. He looked very disappointed, and Rod's spirits sank. Was he really doing that badly? He swallowed hard and plucked up his courage, resolving to become the best recruit Weiser had ever seen.
Fess followed, drifting silently in null-G. A bit less naive than Rod, he realized that Weiser had been hoping the young man would prove horribly clumsy in free-fall. Apparently the second officer hadn't realized that growing up on an asteroid, however large and however well provided with artificial gravity in dwelling areas, would still afford a young man a great number of low-G situations, and free-fall sports.
He was also aware that being faultless, when people were actively seeking faults to belittle you for, could prove dangerous.
They filed down a metal passageway, over the foot-high sill of a hatch, down a clanging ladder, and down a darker passageway. Rod's spirits sank with the altitude.
Then the hallway opened out into a large chamber filled with vague lumpen shapes, walls divided into metal boxes. Pipes festooned the ceilings, and the floor humped up into ridges here and there.
Weiser turned and pointed to a rectangular outline in the corner, about eighteen inches wide and three feet high. "There's yer locker. And there—" He pointed to a larger rectangle inscribed on the wall, "—is yer berth."
Rod stared at it in dismay, and the mate sneered, "What did ya expect for an engine wiper on a freighter—a stateroom with a private bath?"
"Oh, no, no! It's just that, uh, I don't know what I'm supposed to do."
"Stow your duffel, swabbie, and report to the engineer!" He looked at Fess with disgust and grunted, "Private robots, yet! Where're ya going to store that, laddie?" He gave Fess a slap.
"Hey, careful! He's an antique!"
"Oh, is he, now? And maybe I should dust yer china fer ya, too!" The mate swatted at Fess, and the robot stepped aside easily—a twentieth of a second was a quick punch for a human, but a long time for a computer. "Stand still when I'm swinging at ya!" the mate roared, and slammed another punch at the robot.
"Sir," Fess said as he dodged, "I have done nothing to merit your…"
"Hold on, now! That's my robot!" Rod leaped in, grabbing at the mate's arm. Weiser turned to aim a punch at him, and Fess darted forward to interpose himself between Rod and the mate's fist. Then he tried to dodge Weiser's kick, protesting, "I have done…" and went stiff as a board. The mate's kick caught him in the hip joint and sent him crashing against the wall.
Rod saw red. "You bastard! You made him have a seizure! And then when he was defenseless, you…" He couldn't finish; he leaped at the mate, swinging…
Swinging completely around in a circle and crashing into the wall. As he slid toward the bottom, a calloused hand grabbed him by the jumpsuit and yanked him upright. The jowly face loomed over him, mouth curved in a grin and vindictive satisfaction in the eyes. "The first thing ya must learn, swabbie, is to never talk back to a senior officer!" The calloused hand shot out, clenching into a shotput fist, and crashed into Rod's jaw.
Rod was only dizzy for a few seconds; then he was struggling up to his hands and knees and lurching over to grope at the base of Fess's skull for the circuit breaker. He pushed, and the robot sat up slowly. "Whatddd… didddd AAAeee…"
"You were defeated in a gallant attempt to save me," Rod rasped. "Sorry I got you into this."
"Thhhuh ffaullltt iz awwl…"
"All Weiser's," Rod grunted. "That bastard was doing everything he could to pick a fight. Help me up, will you?"
Slowly, the robot climbed to its feet, then reached down. A hard hand grasped Rod's arm, helping him up. "How… how long were we out?"
"I have been unnn-ckon-shus form… no morrrre than… threeee minutes."
Rod gave his head a shake, blinked, and managed to see that Weiser wasn't there. "He didn't have to do that…"
"He would have con-tin-ued to be off-offensive until he managed to… pro-voke you into attac-king, mas-ter. He was seeking to… e-sta-blish his au-tho-ri-ty."