Between the Strokes of Night

While he was still watching, there was a louder rumble in the corridor. A machine was approaching, drifting along the wall on an invisible magnetic track. The main device was small, only as big as his head, but a number of long, articulated arms were tucked away in at the side. He watched it warily. It moved along quite slowly, at less than walking speed. A few meters away from him it ducked away into a small door in the wall of the corridor. Peron recognized the type of aperture — there were hundreds of them, all over the ship. They were everywhere, from the living quarters to the dining room to the library, and he had been unable to open any of them. The machine had no such trouble. It slipped through smoothly, and vanished.

Peron continued on his way. He was in a part of the ship that he had never seen before. The passage finally led him to a great chamber, where hundreds of machines were located. Most sat immobile, but from time to time one or more of them would start into action and slide off on some mysterious errand. He followed a couple of them. Each finally passed through one of the small doors that lined each corridor.

Peron decided that he had to find a quiet place to think. He headed farther along the passage, and at last found he was in a different type of chamber. This one was an automatic galley, similar to the one that had served the Planetfest winners on their travels around the Cass system. Peron found a water spigot and drank deeply from it. He reveled in the clean feel of the pure liquid on his tongue and palate. Whatever its other virtues, S-space definitely made food and drink taste less interesting. He took a few moments more to study the arrangement, and noticed that there was processing equipment different from anything he had seen in the other galley. From the look of it, it could produce a standard menu, or something with added and unknown ingredients. While he was watching, four of the little robots came trundling into the galley area. They ignored him. They were carrying plates, most of which still held the remains of a meal. One of those plates caught Peron’s eye. It held the remnants of uneaten spicy food — the same food that had been served to Peron at his last meal in S-space. The surface of the robots was glistening with moisture. Peron went across to one of them and touched it. The metal was icy cold. He put his finger to his mouth and tasted the liquid with his tongue. The droplets were plain water, condensed from the air around him.

He sat down on the floor, put his head between his hands, and pondered. Everything made sense — if he could force his mind to accept one incredible possibility. And it was a possibility that he was finally in a position to check for himself.

Peron stood up. He took the heaviest metal tureen that he could find in the galley, and swung it as hard as he could against the metal wall. It did not bend. He headed back to the chamber where the patient robots sat, and waited until one of them rose from its position. Then he followed it closely as it proceeded along one of the numerous passageways branching off from the central opening.

When the machine turned to move through one of the small doors, Peron was ready. The door opened, and the robot slid through. While the door was still open Peron jammed the sturdy metal container into the gap. There was a squeak of metal and a protesting whine from the door’s control mechanism, but the aperture remained open.

Peron crouched down and looked through.

An icy current of air met him from the other side. The temperature there must be very close to freezing. The little robot had gone on its way, and the area beyond was lit only by the dullest of red glimmers of light.

Peron judged the width of the door with his eye. There would be just enough space for him to squeeze through, provided he was willing to risk the skin on his shoulders. He eased off his jacket, pushed it through ahead of him, and wriggled to the other side.

It was even colder and darker than he had thought. He shivered, and pulled his jacket tight about him. Unless he had more clothing, it would not be possible for him to stay there long.

Peron recognized the room that he was in. It was next to Rinker’s living quarters. He had been there before, in his original explorations of the ship. But there was one great difference. Instead of a one-gee field he now felt that he was still in freefall.

The little robot had disappeared. As he watched it came into view along the corridor. It was carrying an empty bottle of the fermented drink that Rinker usually enjoyed with his solitary meals. The robot came steadily closer. Again it ignored Peron. It hesitated at the door jammed open by the tureen, then went to another door and calmly passed through it. As it did so, another pair of service robots appeared on the other side, and set to work to free the obstruction and repair the door.