There was a silence and then the key stammered once more in a sudden
fit of bureaucratic rage. Chapman stuffed a rag under it and ignored
it. He turned to the hammocks, strung against the bulkhead on the other
side of the room.
The chattering of the key hadn't awakened anybody; they were still
asleep, making the animal noises that people usually make in slumber.
Dowden, half in the bottom hammock and half on the floor, was snoring
peacefully. Dahl, the poor kid who was due for stopover, was mumbling
to himself. Julius Klein, with that look of ineffable happiness on his
face, looked as if he had just squirmed under the tent to his personal
idea of heaven. Donley and Bening were lying perfectly still, their
covers not mussed, sleeping very lightly.
Lord, Chapman thought, I'll be happy when I can see some other faces.
"What'd they want?" Klein had one eyelid open and a questioning look on
his face.
"They wanted me to stay until the next relief ship lands," Chapman
whispered back.
"What did you say?"