The Kruton Interface by John Dechancie Page A

after your guests.”
    “Guests?”
    “Yes, you’ll be taking on civilian passengers. Well, not really passengers. Uh—you’ll see what I mean. Now, do you have all that straight?”
    David Wanker couldn’t find the words to speak. He merely nodded.
    “Good. I’ll be back in contact with you when you receive your orders. Dickover out.”
    The screen went dark.
    Captain Wanker sat in silent misery for a long while. Then, his arm leaden, he reached for the comm panel.
    “Mr. Rhodes?”
    After a pause there came, “Rhodes here, sir.”  
    “Have all officers on board report to the bridge in a half hour.”  
    “Yes, sir. Something up?”
    “New orders. Did another ship arrive at the dock?”
    “Yes, sir. The Anson MacDonald. Having technical problems, I believe.”
    “Don’t believe it. There’ll be a messenger. Send him or her to my cabin. Also, we’ll be taking on civilian passengers eventually. Before that, I will speak to the crew—at 1400 hours, sharp.”
    “Aye-aye, sir.”
    “Wanker out.”
    The captain waited a moment, then spoke. “Dr. O’Gandhi!”
    There was a long pause before the doctor’s ebullient voice sounded from the speaker. “Captain of mine! How are you feeling?”
    “Tired, run-down, nervous.”
    “Begorrah, I am feeling so very sorry for you.”
    “I need something,” Wanker said dully.
    “Oh, yes, and I am having exactly what you need. Little pills that will be making you quite happy, singing songs and feeling, oh, by gosh, so very fine!”
    “I want lots of them. I want to feel very, very fine.”
    “I am giving lots! Sure and I am handing them out like candy.”  
    “Send them to my cabin.”  
    “I will be doing this very thing, Captain.”  
    “Hurry. Wanker out.”  
    Down and out, the captain thought.  
     
     

 
     
    CHAPTER 7
     
     
    An orderly delivered Dr. O’Gandhi’s nostrums and was dismissed.
    The courier from the Anson MacDonald arrived shortly after Captain Wanker devoured all the pretty pink, blue, and yellow pills the good doctor had sent him. He washed them down with the glass of purple liquid that came with the tray. The stuff looked like grape juice, and tasted like it, but carried quite a jolt.
    “Wow. I needed that.”
    The active ingredient was probably pure ethyl alcohol, fresh from the ship’s medical lab.
    “An ethanol purple passion,” Wanker remembered. He had gotten blasted on them at an illegal party at the Academy. The binge had cost him fourteen demerits and a close brush with being cashiered out of school.
    Maybe, he thought ruefully, it would have been for the best if he had been booted out. So far his military career was spotty to say the least.
    Wanker signed for the mail pouch and dismissed the courier. Opening the pouch and removing the microdisk, he considered reading the orders in private first, but thought better of it. He dreaded the contents.
    He decided to boot up the orders in front of what was left of his crew.
    He put on his full-dress uniform, steeled himself, and left his quarters for the first time in two full standard days.
     
    * * *
     
    “We’ve been waiting for an hour,” Darvona complained as she checked her makeup in a compact.
    “Do you have something else to do, Ms. Roundheels?” Rhodes asked mordantly. “If not, please remain silent.”
    Darvona snapped the compact shut. “No need to be nasty, Don.”
    “Look, let’s skip the first-name bit for a while. At least until we get things squared away with the new captain.”
    “Yes, sir, Mr. Rhodes, sir,” Darvona said with arched eyebrows.
    “Aw, c’mon, Darvona, cut me a break.”
    “I’m sorry, Don. Uh, Mr. Rhodes. Does this mean I have to sleep alone tonight?”
    Rhodes flushed, looking around nervously. “Keep your voice down,” he said in an embarrassed half whisper.
    With impish delight, Darvona reached around and squeezed his left buttock.
    Rhodes turned beet-red and moved away. “Please!” he hissed. “Not on the