Free The Kruton Interface by John Dechancie Page B

a doctor.”
    “No, I am the doctor!” said O’Gandhi, who had dropped out of the blow tube in the middle of the fracas.
    “Doctor, you’ll have my complete confidence and none of my money,” Strangefinger said as he relinquished control of the supine and semiconscious Darvona.
    Strangefinger rose to meet the withering stare of Captain Wanker.
    “Dr. Strangefinger, I have a ship to command.”
    “I’m still waiting for my ship to come in. When it does you can ship out.”
    “You wouldn’t know a spaceship if one came up and ignored you,” Wanker scoffed.
    “Au contraire,” countered Strangefinger, “I’m an old space hand. I used to cook meals on a freighter that hauled raw chocolate.”
    Rhodes asked, “You were the cookie?”
    Strangefinger’s eyebrows wriggled lewdly. “That’s right, I was the chocolate ship cookie. And a sweet job it was.”
    Wanker was horrified. He appealed to everyone on the bridge. “What is with this guy?”
    Rhodes said, “Sir, I think I can explain… ”
    “Sun, ah protest. Ah protest in the most strenuous terms—”
    Wanker clapped his hands over his ears. “Shut up! Shut up! Will everyone please for one minute shut the hell up!”
    Strangefinger looked at Rhodes. “What’s eating him?”
    “Don’t know, Doctor.”
    “Well, whatever it is, he’s giving it indigestion.”  
    “QUIET!”
    Wanker made a heroic effort to compose himself. “Look, Dr. Strangefinger. We both have jobs to do. Now, about this Proust Drive of yours. What the devil is it?”
    “What the hell do you care?” the scientist shot back, then became suddenly conciliatory. “But I’ll tell you. It’s the invention of the century. It’s colossal, it’s stupendous. It cost a pile of money.”
    “How much?”
    “Sorry, that’s classified.”
    “Well, how does it work?”
    “Sorry, that’s also classified. Matter of fact, I ran the ad for a whole week and never got a nibble. I’ve been trying to unload this turkey for the longest time.”
    “What’s it supposed to do?”
    “I’ll tell you this, Captain. If it works, you’ll be out of a job.”  
    “Thank God! When?”
    “Don’t be too eager. You’ll be walking the streets soon enough. Wait a minute. Didn’t I see you walking the streets last night? I know—you were the tall one in the magenta frock.”
    “Oh, frock off.”
    “Very funny, Captain, but I’m not going to engage in a battle of wits with you. I’d never attack an unarmed man.”
    Rhodes broke in, “Doctor, am I to understand that your mechanism is another attempt at supplanting a starship crew with an advanced computer system?”
    “We’ve gone through so many of those,” Warner-Hillary said with a trace of bitterness. “They’re always trying to eliminate good honest working people.”
    “And none of those systems has ever worked,” Rhodes pointed out.
    Strangefinger shook his head. “I’m all for working people. Why, my record on labor issues is a hundred percent for other people working.”
    “Then this Proust device isn’t an attempt at total automation?” Rhodes asked.
    “No. It’s primarily two things: a radically new interstellar drive, and a cybernetic-bionic approach to starship systems control and command involving resonating positive and negative feedback loops in an environment of neural networking.” He bent over and whispered into Warner-Hillary’s ear. “Impressive, huh? Come to my cabin at midnight and well exchange dirty navigator stories.”
    The young lieutenant giggled.
    Rhodes persisted, “Which means exactly what, Dr. Strangefinger?”
    “It means, my tall, gangling friend, that the Proust device will primarily replace two personnel aboard this ship. The captain and the technical officer. “
    Strangefinger broke off and studied Sadowski, who was standing by his station, calmly observing events.
    Strangefinger’s aside to the captain was: “Don’t look now, but your engineer is wearing a dress.”
    “It’s okay,”