Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
tomorrow on what they had eaten today! Unable to get out to the ballgame and a long way off from the girls, men on ships think about, talk about, bitch about their food. It's In the days when salt-sea sailors were charting islands and spearing seals, for example, the fo'c's'le hands called themselves Lobscousers, celebrating the liquid hash then prominent in the marine menu. The only as garnish for our groundside gin-and-tonic. And today we Marsmen are called Slimeheads, honoring in our title the history—whether it be exterminating whales, or introducing syphilis to the Fiji Islanders, or settling the Australian littoral with The Pequod's concentrated apple-juice. But then, when sailors left the seas for the skies, a decline set in. from aluminum tubes, and were glad enough to drop back to the groundsman's diet of steak and fried potatoes. the in deep space, half dead from deuterium poisoning. We think of the Sale . The Robert Bailey. smell and make the residue more digestible, disguised and seasoned in a hundred ways—served as a sort of meat-and-potatoes that never quite wore out. Our air and water were equally immortal. Each molecule of oxygen would be conversant with the alveoli of every man aboard by the end of our trip. Every drop of water would have been intimate with the guardian of the medicinal whiskey and frustrator of mutual murder. Generally the man aboard who'd serve as the most popular murder-victim It was Winkelmann who saw humorous possibilities in the entry, "Bailey, cuisine and the properties of the nobler wines while we munched our algaeburgers and sipped coffee that tasted of utility water. And it was Bailey tried to feed us by groundside standards. He hid the taste "Doc, do you like Winkelmann?" the Cook asked me. "Not much," I said. "I suspect that the finest gift our Captain can give his mother is to be absent from her on Mother's Day. But we've got to live with him. He's a good man at driving a ship." "His plumpness is an unwitting tribute to your cooking, Bailey," I said. "He eats well. We all do. I've dined aboard a lot of spacers in my time, and I'll testify that you set a table second to none." Bailey nodded from his one-man cloud of gloom. I got a bottle of rye The product of Bailey's cerebrations was on the mess table at noon the burnet. How Bailey had constructed those synthetic lettuces I can only Bailey stared across the dining-cubby toward Winkelmann, silently "Sir, what in heaven's name do you expect from me?" Bailey pleaded. Bailey, his hands fisted at his sides, nodded. "Yes, sir. But I really with the "Yes, sir," Bailey said, his face a picture of that offense the British followed him. "Captain," I said, "you're driving Bailey too hard. mother of invention. I am Bailey's necessity. My unkindnesses make him "Bailey will have some fifty thousand dollars' salary waiting when we Bailey grew more silent as we threaded our way along the elliptical by that heartless man. Bailey began to try avoiding the Captain at cheerlessly appear in the dining-cubby, to have his culinary genius acidly called in question again. I myself do not doubt that Bailey was the finest Cook ever to go turkey-flesh was white and tender. Bailey served with this delicacy genuinely dairy smell. "Splendid, Bailey," I said. student. That will be all, Bailey." Bailey they were in addition gratified that the battle between their Captain and their Cook served to feed them so well. Most spacers embark on an outward voyage somewhat plump, having eaten enough on their last few days aground to smuggle several hundred calories of fat and many memories of good food aboard with them. This trip, none of the men had ration. He may thus bring aboard with him some forty-five pounds of books, playing-cards, knitting-wool, whiskey or what have you to help him while away the hours between the planets. Bailey, I knew for a fact, had used up his weight-allowance in bringing aboard a case of Captain Winkelmann was not a reader, and had brought no books. Cards interested him not at all, as card-playing implies a sociability alien to his nature. He never drank aboard ship. I had supposed that he'd exercised his option of returning his personal-effects weight allowance to the owners for the consideration of one hundred dollars a kilogram. Bailey frowned, but kept his temper, an asceticism in which by now he'd "Yes, Sir," Bailey said. "Well, I squeezed the "Remarkable, Bailey," I said. too bad, Belly-Robber," he said, nodding. Bailey grinned and bobbed "Yes, Sir?" Bailey asked. the cap. "Ketchup," he said, splattering the red juice over Bailey's "... Sir," Bailey added. "That's better," Winkelmann said, and took another bite. He said meditatively, "Used with caution, and only by myself, I believe I have "But, Sir...." Bailey began. "Watch your noun," Winkelmann cautioned the Cook. "Your adjectives are "Sir, Bailey has tried hard to please you," I said. "The other officers and the men have been more than satisfied with his work." "That only suggests atrophy of their taste buds," Winkelmann said. Bailey and I climbed from the mess compartment together. I steered him therapy, Bailey," I told him. He poured the fiery stuff down his throat After a few minutes Bailey's sobbing ceased. "Sorry, Doc," he said. "Yours is an ancient plaint, Bailey," I said. "You've worked your fingers to the bone, slaving over a hot stove, and you're not appreciated. But you're not married to Winkelmann, remember. A year from now you'll be home in Ohio, fifty grand richer, set to start that restaurant of yours and forget about our fat Flying Dutchman." "I hate him," Bailey said with the simplicity of true emotion. He reached for the bottle. I let him have it. Sometimes alcohol can be an apt confederate of nature. Half an hour later I strapped Bailey into his bunk to sleep it and tasted like the vomit of some bottom-feeding sea-beast. Bailey, Bailey nodded and smiled. "Thank you, Sir," he said. I smiled, too. Bailey had conquered himself. His psychic defenses were the decline in culinary standards. Bailey seemed not to care. He served of canned beer being church-keyed. "He's done it, Doc!" one of the "The Dutchman won't want to mess ketchup on these steaks," the crewman said. warming-pan at the center of the table. Bailey served the three of limits to art. But the pond-scum taste was gone. Bailey appeared in the galley door. I gestured for him to join me. "You've done it, Bailey," ." "Thanks, Doc," Bailey said. I smiled and took another bite. "You may not realize it, Bailey Captain may be a hard man, Bailey Bailey stood up. "Do you like Captain Winkelmann, Doctor?" he asked. spearing another piece of my artificial steak. "Bailey, I'm afraid I'll Bailey smiled and lifted a second steak from the warming-pan onto my

<question>:
Which is the best description of the relationship between the Doc and Bailey?

<options>:
A They are friendly but butt heads a little bit with respect to others on the ship
B The Doc expects to be waited on by Bailey
C They don't interact at all, it's a very superficial relationship
D They are old friends and like to go for a drink together

<answer>:

A