Between the Strokes of Night

There was the now-familiar moment of disorientation. He found he was sitting in the dining area with three others. Captain Rinker was not present. As Ferranti had told him, the captain much preferred his own company and often dined alone. Everyone seemed to take it for granted that Peron would now eat and drink the same things as the rest of them. When he arrived there were already five or six different dishes on the table — all of them unfamiliar. He found something that looked like a fish fillet, but clearly wasn’t. And there were several pseudo-meat products, each flanked by some kind of vegetable. Nothing tasted quite the way he expected — and all the food was cold.

The others seemed surprised when he mentioned that. Ferranti looked at Garao and at the linguist, Atiyah, then shrugged.

“I should have mentioned that to you before. You won’t get hot food in S-space. Better become used to it cold.”

“But why?”

“Wait until we get to HQ, and ask there.” Ferranti was clearly uncomfortable with her non-answer. She was sitting next to Peron, so he was faced only with her profile. But her voice showed her discomfort. “I would tell you, but it’s against captain’s orders. If you like hot food, I can make what we’re eating more acceptable. It’s easy enough to order spices. Command: Bring more of these dishes for Peron Turca, but with added hot spice.”

There was a delay of about fifteen seconds, then additional dishes appeared on the table in front of Peron. He was preparing to help himself to them, when he noticed the expression on Garao and Atiyah’s faces, across the table from him. “What’s wrong? Isn’t it all right for me to eat these?”

“That’s not the problem.” Garao picked up an empty plate. “Command: Take this away.”

Again there was a delay of a few seconds, then the plate suddenly vanished. “See?” Garao looked gleeful. “It’s the same trouble we had on the trip out from Headquarters. Seems even worse.”

“It is,” said Ferranti. “This time it took twice as long.”

“What took twice as long?” Peron felt as though they were speaking in riddles just to confuse him.

“Service,” said Atiyah. He was a man of few words. “It should be instantaneous. Let’s time the delay. Command: Bring me a glass of water.”

They sat in silence, until after about ten seconds a filled glass of clear liquid appeared in front of Atiyah.

Garao nodded. “We’d better notify Rinker at once. He’ll have to leave S-space to correct this. Serves the stiff-necked bastard right — him and his ‘perfectly run ship.’ “

“And won’t that make him pleased,” said Ferranti. “Already he’s complaining what a disaster this trip has been.”

“Leave S-space? But where will he go?”

The others looked at Peron for a moment. “Sorry,” said Garao sympathetically. “But this is captain’s orders again. We can’t include you on this. Command: Take Peron back to his room.”

“Wait a minute.” Peron was frantic. “Look, to hell with captain’s orders. If something is wrong I have a right to know it, too. I’m on the ship as well as you. I want to stay here and find out what’s happening.”

But the last sentence was wasted. Peron added a string of curses to it. The service delay might worry the others, but it was still too short. He was back in his room again, talking to the empty walls.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Peron allowed himself only a few seconds of cursing. Then he ripped off his shoes and ran at top speed along the corridor that led to the upper part of the ship. The monitors would still show his movements, that seemed certain. But now there was an emergency on board, so who would be watching? There would never be a better chance to explore areas that were normally forbidden.

His earlier careful study of the ship’s internal layout had not been wasted. He ran fast and silently toward Rinker’s living quarters, sure of every corridor. At the branch before Rinker’s door he paused and peered around the corner. Was he in time? If Rinker had already left, there would be no way to know where he had gone.

He heard the door slide open and ducked back, then retreated to the next bend in the corridor. No footsteps. Rinker must be heading in the other direction. He ran lightly back and stole another look along the corridor, just in time to see the disappearing back of Rinker’s blue jacket and shiny bald head. He was heading over to the left, angling away from the dining room.

Peron tried to visualize the geometry. What lay in that direction? All that he could remember was two great storage chambers, each filled with some kind of pellets, and more living quarters. The suspense room lay out at the very end of the same corridor.

Rinker was heading steadily on, hunched over and not looking back. Past the storage areas, past the living areas — what could he possibly want in the suspense room?