Between the Strokes of Night

He waited, feeling foolish. And to confirm his feeling, absolutely nothing happened. He tried once more. “Command. Bring me something to eat.” Nothing. How could anything else be the result? He must have been hallucinating, to be convinced that Ferranti had magical powers to make objects — including herself — appear and disappear instantly.

Peron had scarcely come to that conclusion when everything about him changed in one brief and bewildering flicker of movement. There was a second of total disorientation. Then he was no longer standing at the entrance to the corridor. Instead he was in a room with pale yellow walls, decorated with elaborate murals and amateurish paintings. He was fully clothed, in well-fitting brown shirt and trousers. His own shoes, last seen when he donned a suit before leaving for Whirlygig, were on his feet. He was seated in a hard chair, with his hands resting firmly on its arms. In front of him was a long, polished desk of silvery metal, its upper surface containing a single, orange folder and one pen. And sitting behind that desk, looking at him with a slightly bored and definitely supercilious expression, was a wizened, brown-eyed, hairless man. Peron took an instant and inexplicable dislike to him.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“I am Captain Rinker, in command of this ship,” said the man. “Dr. Ferranti tells me that you are fully stable and adapted to S-space. Is that so?” “I don’t know. I feel no pain, but I certainly don’t feel normal.” “That will pass. Anything else?”

“Someone seems to want to starve me to death.”

“Your own fault. When you awoke you could have called for food. Instead you chose to pry.” Rinker gestured at a wall display that was showing the room where Peron had returned to consciousness. “You were observed. It would serve you right if we did not feed you for a while. But you are lucky. Regulations would not permit us to starve you. Command: Bring food and drink, suitable for the awakening.”

A tray appeared instantly, resting on Peron’s knees. The clear carafe held the same liquid as he had drunk before, but the plates of food were unfamiliar. There were brown patties with a coarse granular texture, orange-red jelly, and white slabs of smooth creamy consistency. Rinker gestured to them. “Carry on. You may eat while we talk.”

Peron looked around him. There was no other person in the room, and no sign that the door had opened or closed. “How are you able to do that?”

“It is not appropriate that I tell you. Such information will be given to you at Headquarters — if it is given at all.” Rinker waved his hand at the display. “Your efforts to use the service system were already noted. To save you further wasted time, I will point out that any more efforts on your part will be just as unsuccessful. Let me also point out that I am under no official obligation to talk to you, or to deal with you in any way except to provide safe transfer to Headquarters. But I want you to know how much trouble you have caused, you and that fool Wilmer.”

Peron could not resist the food in front of him. His body insisted that it had been weeks since it had received nourishment. He ate ravenously. The patties had a reasonable resemblance to bread, and although the white material tasted nothing like the cheese that Peron had expected, it tasted good. He stared across the desk at Captain Rinker, swallowed, and spoke.

“I can’t speak for Wilmer, but any trouble I caused was not my doing. I would have died on Whirlygig without his help. I don’t see why you assign blame to me.”

Rinker gave an impatient wave of his hand. “You were marked as a troublemaker before you left the planet. So were your companions on Whirlygig. You were all scheduled for special indoctrination on the ship Eleanora, to be kept apart from the other contestants. As for Wilmer, he was supposed to be there as an observer — not as a participant. I have warned several times of the danger of using local recruits as observers. They have too many ties to your planet and its people. But my advice was ignored.”

“Is Wilmer an Immortal?”