A Royal Christmas in Space

Book 2: Chapter 5

Chapter 5 - getting to know you,
                       getting to know all about you,
                       getting to like you,
                       getting to hope you like me

"It is excellent coffee." Gasha took another sip from the porcelain cup. "You do know your trade, Mr. Smythe."

Patrick Smythe wiped a smudge off the large, silver coffee urn that sat on the counter between them. "I studied for years under the masters."

"Well, it shows." She turned and waved to a figure on the other side of the kitchen. "Cookbot, you must come and learn this coffee recipe."

The metal automaton, who shared a family resemblance with the coffee urn, abandoned her task at the stove and rolled over to her supervisor. "I. Already. Have. Sufficient. Coffee. Preparation. Programming."

"Sufficient isn't good enough." Gasha would never have gotten far as Servant Administrator if she'd allowed her staff to talk back to her. "From now on, the Royal Family will drink coffee prepared with Mr. Smythe's technique and nothing but Mr. Smythe's technique, or you will find another job. Do you understand?"

The needle on Cookbot's pressure gauge dropped faster than physics could explain. "Yes. Ma'am."

Patrick Smythe leaned closer to Cookbot and whispered. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause trouble."

Cookbot pivoted away from the older man so that she didn't have to look him in the eyes. "Just. Show. It. To. Me."

In a corner far from the coffee drama, Count Duke Revin plunged his hands back into the sink of hot, soapy water and continued to scrub a stubborn frying pan.

The day so far had not been the exhilarating adventure he'd thought it would be. He'd only been a Space Maid for a couple hours, but already his arms were stiff from mopping the gymnasium floor, his fingers were raw from polishing the light fixtures in the nightclub, and his eyes ached from H.C.'s stupid glasses.

At first the glasses had been fun. They felt like one of those amusement park rides where the floor tipped unpredictably. It took about seven minutes for Duke to understand why those rides lasted no more than five minutes. His head had started to throb and his stomach felt queasy. It only got worse after that.

No wonder the H.C. guy couldn't succeed in life. Anyone dumb enough to wear dizzying spectacles on his face was bound to go as far as the basement floor.

"Hurry it up," Kiko hissed in Duke's ear. "I want to get out of here before they pile more work on us."

He returned his attention to the frying pan and its cooked-on crud. "Why doesn't the Oligarchia have one of those atomizing dish washing machines?"

She snorted with so much force it momentarily blew her bangs straight up off her forehead. "Because the Royal Family would prefer to make people suffer."

He was sure Kiko didn't mean anything with that comment, but it still stung. "They're not all that bad."

She dried a plate with a dishrag and placed it in the cupboard. "They are, every single one of them. Even the people who work closely with the Royal Family are awful." Apparently those words reminded her of something, because she spun on her heels and called to the Servant Administrator, "Are you sure Wheldon Beyette is onboard? He's like water molecules on Titan, you'd expect to see him, but he's nowhere to be found."

Gasha had one hand on the kitchen door, as if she were about to push it open. "I'm sure he's here, rattling around somewhere." There was a sour tone to her voice. "But since he reports directly to Prince Drak, I'm not his supervisor." And with a quick adjustment of her holographic glasses, she left them to finish their work.