By the time the elevator had reached the Super Galactic Traveller Class deck, the three had heard a full account of the rudimentary medical facilities available at the Caen dressing station, the technical details of cleaning out gangrene from a deep wound and a near-complete itemization of the Allied Forces requisitioning techniques in Cyprus. For a robot from a civilization which knew nothing of the Earth, it was a very impressive performance.
‘God, I just hope we don’t have to use that elevator many more times,’ groaned Dan, as the three raced off down the Super Galactic Traveller Class corridor.
‘Primula… Dahlia… Chrysanthemum…’ Nettle was reading the names with her translatorspecs.
‘We don’t even know what ours were called,’ moaned Lucy.
‘Ah! “Cabbage”,’ said Nettie. ‘This is mine!’
She gained entry with her PET (Personal Electric Thingie) and found her upgrade voucher on the last page of her copy of the Super Galactic Traveller Magazine – just after the Duty Free Shopping article.
‘Look!’ she said to the other two. ‘While you’re trying to find your rooms, I’ll go and get my upgrade. I’ve had an idea.’ She hurried back to the Embarkation Lobby, trying to ignore the Liftbot’s account of life on an army pension and no disablement grant, and while the Deskbot reluctantly stamped her ticket with her upgrade to Second Class, she inquired:
‘I suppose the Engine Room is aft, is it?’
‘At the end of the Grand Axial Canal, Second Class, through which you are now entitled to pass. Here is another voucher entitling you to a free glass of Moon-swill at the Bar.’ The Deskbot handed Nettie another ticket and switched itself off.
Nettie went as fast as she could – her high heels echoing round the loggia – towards the entrance to the Second Class Area.
Meanwhile, Lucy and Dan were trailing miserably round the SGT corridors pointing their Personal Electronic Thingies at each door in turn. But to no effect.
‘What was Nettie’s plan?’ Dan decided to take their minds off the present hopeless task… ‘She said something about the Engine Room,’ grunted Lucy.
‘Maybe she knows about engines?’ said Dan.
‘Nettle?! Oh sure! Hey! There was a click! I swear!’ Lucy tried one of the doors, but it was resolutely shut against them.
‘Well, you know, for one of Nigel’s bimbos that Nettle’s pretty bright.’ Dan nodded to himself.
‘Oh. I didn’t realize you were interested in her mind,’ replied Lucy.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Dan was taken by surprise.
‘It’s opening!’ exclaimed Lucy as one door seemed to give for a moment. ‘Oh! No, it isn’t.
‘She’s a nice girl,’ said Dan.
‘You ought to know. You’ve been ogling her ever since dinner… God! When was that? It seems like a lifetime ago!’
‘I wasn’t ogling her.’ Dan’s ‘injured innocence’ count was incredibly high some days.
‘Anyway’ Lucy was now working off her frustration – ‘if Nettle’s so bright, how come she allows Nigel to treat her like a Barbie doll?’
‘Does she?’
‘That sort of woman makes me sick! Why doesn’t she stand up for herself?’
‘She still might be quite bright,’ Dan ventured without much hope. Lucy’s powers of certitude always had a crushing effect on him.
‘There is no correlation between size of brain and size of tits, penis-head!’ Lucy had a cruel side.
‘Got it!’ Dan had just pointed his PET at a door and it had – wonderfully and graciously – swung open for them.
‘Translatorspecs!’ Lucy rapped out her order to the lampstand, found the Super Galactic Traveller Magazine stuck in a rack alongside a leaflet about aerobics classes, a list of self-operated washing machine facilities available to SGT passengers, a 132-page form in which to record your personal passenger-satisfaction rating, and a small leaflet entitled: ‘What To Do In The Event Of Fire’. Evidently the recommended action was to stay extremely calm and remain cool at all times. You were advised to stay in your cabins and not to fly and contact any of the staff. And, once again, you were admonished to remain relaxed and enjoy the remainder of the flight.
‘Do you think it’s getting colder?’ asked Lucy as she tore out the voucher from the magazine.