Mutiny in Space Read Free Page A

embarrassed, Jory thought, his anger almost lost at the man’s infinite effrontery — and infinite courage —
    “Besides, you see, there was no reason to believe that the mutineers mightn’t have changed their minds. And they could — and in such a case probably would — find us waiting for them there on C-3. Whereas, you know,
here —
”
    It made sense. It did make sense. “But … sir … the distance …?”
    “There was enough fuel. Barely enough, but — as you see — enough.”
    Jory shook his head, impatiently.
    “I meant food. We must have gone ten times past the break point. You can only regenerate so many times before there’s nothing more to reclaim from the wastes, you know.”
    Captain Rond scratched out his drawings, tossed the stick away. “You’re thinking in terms of normal metabolism,” he said. “Ours wasn’t normal. We were on double-slow NH.”
    The full picture came as abruptly to Jory Cane’s mind as the sudden smell of smoke again. Of course men under narcohypnosis had a slower metabolism — under slow NH, even more so. But slow NH was dangerous in the extreme, almost never used, and then only briefly. And as for
double-
slow — !
    “I thought,” he said, slowly, “that to put men on double-slow without permission wasn’t allowed. And I don’t remember having given mine.”
    “You didn’t,” said Captain Rond, almost cheerfully. “There was no time to gain. I made the decision. Obviously the right one. I know what you are thinking,
He saved a pettyboat and lost a ship
, but — ”
    Sharp on the “but” came a shout. Half the men were on their feet, the others had fallen on hands and knees in trying to rise. Hands were pointing, waving, gesturing toward the main shore. Duston came running, stumbling. “Something in the bosky over there, Captain! Something moved — I saw it — moved in the bushes!”
    The sun was dipping into the water. The counter-coast looked blue and dim. Jory peered, but saw nothing which might not have been the breeze. “An animal?” he suggested.
    “No, sir. Not an animal.”
    That persistent tinge of smoke, coming and going on the edges of his perception …
was
it a lightning-struck tree?
    “A man?”
    Duston shook his head. “No, no man. It was too small for a man.” He turned, looked again. His heavy face showed, not so much alarm, as suspicion. Puzzlement.
    Rond got briskly to his feet, brushed off sand. “Crammer, you will take the first watch. Draw a weapon from the First Officer. I will relieve you in two hours. We had better see about food. Then, perhaps, sleep. Real sleep.”
    Just before Jory lay down he heard Rond say, “
‘The rude mind with difficulty associates the ideas of power and benignity’ —
remember that, Cane. It’s from George Eliot, a twentieth-century poet, in case pre-Technic Lit is no longer being taught at the Academy.”
    Somewhat later, before real sleep came rolling in like a fog, Jory heard, or thought he heard, Duston mutter once again: “It was too small for a man.”

two
    T HE SUN ROSE NEXT DAY A PALE ORANGE-YELLOW IN the clear air. The scent-lures on the fishing tackle in the emergency gear had brought in a catch of a half-dozen creatures rather more like trilobites than fish, each the size of a man’s arm. Pieces of Allen’s Paper were affixed to parts of one, cut up for the test; they waited the required half-hour and then, the paper having remained uncolored, they grilled and ate the lot.
    Captain Rond cleared his throat, gestured to the men to dispose of the remains of the meal. Jory did not envy the man’s position. Rond’s career was, time-wise, half over. To have had his ship stolen from him (and from the Guild) might well mean it was entirely over — unless he was willing, for his pension’s sake, to take some obscure post at reduced pay. On the other hand, should he come well out of it — get the ship back, for example — he might actually come out ahead — which was