hull.”
“True enough,” Grafalk agreed. “You do have two smaller ships, though, don’t you?” He smiled at me blandly. “We have sixty-three other vessels to pick up any slack the
Ericsson
’s incapacitation has caused.”
I wondered what the hell was going on here. Phillips was sitting stiffly, not making any pretense of eating, while Sheridan seemed to be casting about for something to say. Grafalk ate some minced vegetables and Bledsoe attacked his broiled swordfish with gusto.
“And even though my engineer really screwed up down there, I’m convinced that the guy just got overexcited and made a mistake. It’s not like having deliberate vandalism among the crew.”
“You’re right,” Bledsoe said. “I did wonder if this was part of your program to junk your 360-footers.”
Grafalk dropped his fork. A waiter moved forward and wafted a new one to the table. “We’re satisfied with what we’ve got out there,” Grafalk said. “I do hope you’ve isolated
your
trouble, though, Martin.”
“I hope so too,” Bledsoe said politely, picking up his wineglass.
“It’s so distressing when someone in your organization turns out to be unreliable,” Grafalk persisted.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Bledsoe responded, “but then I’ve never shared the Hobbesian view of the social contract with you.”
Grafalk smiled. “You’ll have to explain that one to me, Martin.” He turned to me again. “At Martin’s school they went in for a lot of memorizing. I had an easier time, being a gentleman: we weren’t expected to know anything.”
I was starting to laugh when I heard glass shatter. I turned with the rest to stare at Bledsoe. He had crushed his wineglass in his hand and the clear shards sticking out of his palm were rapidly engulfed in red. As I leaped to my feet to send for a doctor I wondered what all that had been about. Of all the remarks exchanged, Grafalk’s last one had been the least offensive. Why had it produced such an extraordinary reaction?
I sent a very concerned maître d’hôtel to call an ambulance. He confided in a moment of unprofessional panicthat he knew he should never have allowed Mr. Bledsoe to join Mr. Grafalk. But then—Mr. Bledsoe was not a gentleman, he had no sensitivity, one could not keep him from barging in where he did not belong.
Quiet panic prevailed at our table. The men stared helplessly at the pool of red growing on the tablecloth, on Bledsoe’s cuff, on his lap. I told them an ambulance was coming and meanwhile we should probably try to get as much glass as possible out of his hand. I sent the waiters for another ice bucket and began packing Bledsoe’s hand with ice and some extra napkins.
Bledsoe was in pain but not in danger of fainting. Instead he was cursing himself steadily for his stupidity.
“You’re right,” I said. “It was damned stupid. In fact I don’t know when I’ve ever seen anything to compare with it. But fretting over it won’t alter the past, so why don’t you concentrate on the present instead?” He smiled a bit at that and thanked me for my help.
I glanced briefly at Grafalk. He was watching us with a strange expression. It wasn’t pity and it wasn’t satisfaction. Speculative. But what about?
6
A Capital Ship
After the ambulance carted Bledsoe away, everyone returned to lunch a little furtively, as though eating were in bad taste. The headwaiter cleared Bledsoe’s place with palpable relief and brought Grafalk a fresh bottle of Niersteiner gutes Domthal—“with our compliments, sir.”
“They don’t like your boss here,” I said to Sheridan.
The chief engineer shrugged. “The maître d’ is a snob. Martin’s a self-made man and that offends him. Niels here brings class to his joint. Martin slashes his hand open and Niels gets a free bottle of wine so he won’t be offended and drop his membership.”
Grafalk laughed. “You’re right. The most insufferable snobs are the hangers-on to the
“True enough,” Grafalk agreed. “You do have two smaller ships, though, don’t you?” He smiled at me blandly. “We have sixty-three other vessels to pick up any slack the
Ericsson
’s incapacitation has caused.”
I wondered what the hell was going on here. Phillips was sitting stiffly, not making any pretense of eating, while Sheridan seemed to be casting about for something to say. Grafalk ate some minced vegetables and Bledsoe attacked his broiled swordfish with gusto.
“And even though my engineer really screwed up down there, I’m convinced that the guy just got overexcited and made a mistake. It’s not like having deliberate vandalism among the crew.”
“You’re right,” Bledsoe said. “I did wonder if this was part of your program to junk your 360-footers.”
Grafalk dropped his fork. A waiter moved forward and wafted a new one to the table. “We’re satisfied with what we’ve got out there,” Grafalk said. “I do hope you’ve isolated
your
trouble, though, Martin.”
“I hope so too,” Bledsoe said politely, picking up his wineglass.
“It’s so distressing when someone in your organization turns out to be unreliable,” Grafalk persisted.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Bledsoe responded, “but then I’ve never shared the Hobbesian view of the social contract with you.”
Grafalk smiled. “You’ll have to explain that one to me, Martin.” He turned to me again. “At Martin’s school they went in for a lot of memorizing. I had an easier time, being a gentleman: we weren’t expected to know anything.”
I was starting to laugh when I heard glass shatter. I turned with the rest to stare at Bledsoe. He had crushed his wineglass in his hand and the clear shards sticking out of his palm were rapidly engulfed in red. As I leaped to my feet to send for a doctor I wondered what all that had been about. Of all the remarks exchanged, Grafalk’s last one had been the least offensive. Why had it produced such an extraordinary reaction?
I sent a very concerned maître d’hôtel to call an ambulance. He confided in a moment of unprofessional panicthat he knew he should never have allowed Mr. Bledsoe to join Mr. Grafalk. But then—Mr. Bledsoe was not a gentleman, he had no sensitivity, one could not keep him from barging in where he did not belong.
Quiet panic prevailed at our table. The men stared helplessly at the pool of red growing on the tablecloth, on Bledsoe’s cuff, on his lap. I told them an ambulance was coming and meanwhile we should probably try to get as much glass as possible out of his hand. I sent the waiters for another ice bucket and began packing Bledsoe’s hand with ice and some extra napkins.
Bledsoe was in pain but not in danger of fainting. Instead he was cursing himself steadily for his stupidity.
“You’re right,” I said. “It was damned stupid. In fact I don’t know when I’ve ever seen anything to compare with it. But fretting over it won’t alter the past, so why don’t you concentrate on the present instead?” He smiled a bit at that and thanked me for my help.
I glanced briefly at Grafalk. He was watching us with a strange expression. It wasn’t pity and it wasn’t satisfaction. Speculative. But what about?
6
A Capital Ship
After the ambulance carted Bledsoe away, everyone returned to lunch a little furtively, as though eating were in bad taste. The headwaiter cleared Bledsoe’s place with palpable relief and brought Grafalk a fresh bottle of Niersteiner gutes Domthal—“with our compliments, sir.”
“They don’t like your boss here,” I said to Sheridan.
The chief engineer shrugged. “The maître d’ is a snob. Martin’s a self-made man and that offends him. Niels here brings class to his joint. Martin slashes his hand open and Niels gets a free bottle of wine so he won’t be offended and drop his membership.”
Grafalk laughed. “You’re right. The most insufferable snobs are the hangers-on to the
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