"I am _not_ hinting, Dr. Pietro. I'm telling you that I'm confining
your group to their quarters until we can clean up this mess, distil
the water that's contaminated, and replant. After that, if an
investigation shows nothing, I _may_ take your personal bond for the
conduct of your people. Right now I'm protecting my ship."
"But captain--" Jenny began.
Muller managed a smile at her. "Oh, not you, of course, Jenny. I'll
need you here. With Hendrix gone, you're the closest thing we have to
a Farmer now."
* * * * *
"Captain Muller," Pietro said sharply. "Captain, in the words of the
historical novelists--drop dead! Dr. Sanderson, I forbid you to leave
your quarters so long as anyone else is confined to his. I have ample
authority for that."
"Under emergency powers--" Muller spluttered over it, and Pietro
jumped in again before he could finish.
"Precisely, Captain. Under emergency situations, when passengers
aboard a commercial vessel find indications of total irresponsibility
or incipient insanity on the part of a ship's officer, they are
considered correct in assuming command for the time needed to protect
their lives. We were poisoned by food prepared in your kitchen, and
were nearly killed by radioactivity through a leak in the
engine-room--and no investigation was made. We are now confronted with
another situation aimed against our welfare--as the others were wholly
aimed at us--and you choose to conduct an investigation against our
group only. My only conclusion is that you wish to confine us to
quarters so we cannot find your motives for this last outrage. Paul,
will you kindly relieve the captain of his position?"
They were both half right, and mostly wrong. Until it was proved that
our group was guilty, Muller couldn't issue an order that was
obviously discriminatory and against our personal safety in case there
was an attack directed on us. He'd be mustered out of space and into
the Lunar Cells for that. But on the other hand, the "safety for
passengers" clause Pietro was citing applied only in the case of
overt, direct and physical danger by an officer to normal passengers.
He might be able to weasel it through a court, or he might be found
guilty of mutiny. It left me in a pretty position.
Jenny fluttered around. "Now, now--" she began.
I cut her off. "Shut up, Jenny. And you two damned fools cool down.
Damn it, we've got an emergency here all right--we may not have air
plants enough to live on. Pietro, we can't run the ship--and neither
can Muller get through what's obviously a mess that may call for all
our help by confining us. Why don't you two go off and fight it out in
person?"
[Illustration]
Surprisingly, Pietro laughed. "I'm afraid I'd put up a poor showing
against the captain, Paul. My apologies, Captain Muller."
Muller hesitated, but finally took Pietro's hand, and dropped the
issue.
"We've got enough plants," he said, changing the subject. "We'll have
to cut out all smoking and other waste of air. And I'll need Jenny to
work the hydroponics, with any help she requires. We've got to get
more seeds planted, and fast. Better keep word of this to ourselves.
We--"
A shriek came from Jenny then. She'd been busy at one of the lockers
in the chamber. Now she began ripping others open and pawing through
things inside rubber-gloves. "Captain Muller! The seeds! The seeds!"
Hal took one look, and his face turned gray.
* * * * *
"Chromazone," he reported. "Every bag of seed has been filled with a
solution of chromazone! They're worthless!"
"How long before the plants here will seed?" Muller asked sharply.
"Three months," Jenny answered. "Captain Muller, what are we going to
do?"
The dour face settled into grim determination. "The only sensible
thing. Take care of these plants, conserve the air, and squeeze by
until we can reseed. And, Dr. Pietro, with your permission, we'll turn
about for Earth at once. We can't go on like this. To proceed would be
to endanger the life of every man aboard."
"Please, Danton." Jenny put her hand on Pietro's arm. "I know what
this all means to you, but--"
Pietro shook her off. "It means the captain's trying to get out of the
expedition, again. It's five months back to Earth--more, by the time
we kill velocity. It's the same to Saturn. And either way, in five
months we've got this fixed up, or we're helpless. Permission to
return refused, Captain Muller."
"Then if you'll be so good as to return to your own quarters," Muller
said, holding himself back with an effort that turned his face red,
"we'll start clearing this up. And not a word of this."
Napier, Lomax, Pietro and I went back to the scientists' quarters,
leaving Muller and Jenny conferring busily. That was at fifteen
o'clock. At sixteen o'clock, Pietro issued orders against smoking.
Dinner was at eighteen o'clock. We sat down in silence. I reached for
my plate without looking. And suddenly little Phil Riggs was on his
feet, raving. "Whole wheat! Nothing but whole wheat bread! I'm sick of
it--sick! I won't--"
"Sit down!" I told him. I'd bitten into one of the rolls on the table.
It was white bread, and it was the best the cook had managed so far.
There was corn instead of baked beans, and he'd done a fair job of
making meat loaf. "Stop making a fool of yourself, Phil."
He slumped back, staring at the white bun into which he'd bitten.
"Sorry. Sorry. It's this air--so stuffy. I can't breathe. I can't see
right--"
Pietro and I exchanged glances, but I guess we weren't surprised.
Among intelligent people on a ship of that size, secrets wouldn't
keep. They'd all put bits together and got part of the answer. Pietro
shrugged, and half stood up to make an announcement.
* * * * *
"Beg pardon, sirs." We jerked our heads around to see Bullard standing
in the doorway.
He was scared stiff, and his words got stuck in his throat. Then he
found his voice again. "I heard as how Hendrix went crazy and poisoned
the plants and went and killed himself and we'll all die if we don't
find some trick, and what I want to know, please, sirs, is are what
they're saying right and you know all kinds of tricks and can you save
us because I can't go on like this not knowing and hearing them
talking outside the galley and none of them telling me--"
Lomax cut into his flood of words. "You'll live, Bullard. Farmer
Hendrix did get killed in an accident to some of the plants, but we've
still got air enough. Captain Muller has asked the help of a few of
us, but it's only a temporary emergency."
Bullard stared at him, and slowly some of the fear left his
face--though not all of it. He turned and left with a curt bow of his
head, while Pietro added a few details that weren't exactly lies to
Lomax's hasty cover-up, along with a grateful glance at the chemist.
It seemed to work, for the time being--at least enough for Riggs to
begin making nasty remarks about cooked paste.
Then the tension began to build again. I don't think any of the crew
talked to any of our group. And yet, there seemed to be a chain of
rumor that exchanged bits of information. Only the crew could have
seen the dead plants being carried down to our refuse breakdown plant;
and the fact it was chromazone poisoning must have been deduced from a
description by some of our group. At any rate, both groups knew all
about it--and a little bit more, as was usual with rumors--by the
second day.
Muller should have made the news official, but he only issued an
announcement that the danger was over. When Peters, our
radioman-navigator, found Sam and Phil Riggs smoking and dressed them
down, it didn't make Muller's words seem too convincing. I guessed
that Muller had other things on his mind; at least he wasn't in his
cabin much, and I didn't see Jenny for two whole days.
My nerves were as jumpy as those of the rest. It isn't too bad cutting
out smoking; a man can stand imagining the air is getting stale; but
when every unconscious gesture toward cigarettes that aren't there
reminds him of the air, and when every imagined stale stench makes him
want a cigarette to relax, it gets a little rough.
Maybe that's why I was in a completely rotten mood when I finally did
spot Jenny going down the passage, with the tight coveralls she was
wearing emphasizing every motion of her hips. I grabbed her and swung
her around. "Hi, stranger. Got time for a word?"
She sort of brushed my hand off her arm, but didn't seem to mind it.
"Why, I guess so, Paul. A little time. Captain Muller's watching the
'ponics."
"Good," I said, trying to forget Muller. "Let's make it a little more
private than this, though. Come on in."
She lifted an eyebrow at the open door of my cabin, made with a little
giggle, and stepped inside. I followed her, and kicked the door shut.
She reached for it, but I had my back against it.
"Paul!" She tried to get around me, but I wasn't having any. I pushed
her back onto the only seat in the room, which was the bunk. She got
up like a spring uncoiling. "Paul Tremaine, you open that door. You
know better than that. Paul, please!"
"What makes me any different than the others? You spend plenty of time
in Muller's cabin--and you've been in Pietro's often enough. Probably
Doc Napier's, too!"
Her eyes hardened, but she decided to try the patient and
reason-with-the-child line. "That is different. Captain Muller and I
have a great deal of business to work out."
"Sure. And he looks great in lipstick!"
It was a shot in the dark, but it went home. I wished I'd kept my
darned mouth shut; before I'd been suspecting it--now I knew. She
turned pink and tried to slap me, which won't work when the girl is
sitting on a bunk and I'm on my feet. "You mind your own business!"
"I'm doing that. Generations should stick together, and he's old
enough to be your father!"
She leaned back and studied me. Then she smiled slowly, and something
about it made me sick inside. "I like older men, Paul. They make
people my own age seem so callow, so unfinished. It's so comforting to
have mature people around. I always did have an Electra complex."
"The Greeks had plenty of names for it, kid," I told her. "Don't get
me wrong. If you want to be a slut, that's your own business. But when
you pull the innocent act on me, and then fall back to sophomore
psychology--"
This time she stood up before she slapped. Before her hand stung my
face, I was beginning to regret what I'd said. Afterwards, I didn't
give a damn. I picked her up off the floor, slapped her soundly on the
rump, pulled her tight against me, and kissed her. She tried
scratching my face, then went passive, and wound up with one arm
around my neck and the other in the hair at the back of my head. When
I finally put her down she sank back onto the bunk, breathing heavily.
"Why, Paul!" And she reached out her arms as I came down to meet them.
For a second, the world looked pretty good.
Then a man's hoarse scream cut through it all, with the sound of heavy
steps in panic flight. I jerked up. Jenny hung on. "Paul.... Paul...."
But there was the smell of death in the air, suddenly. I broke free
and was out into the corridor. The noise seemed to come from the shaft
that led to the engine room, and I jumped for it, while I heard doors
slam.
This time, there was a commotion, like a wet sack being tossed around
in a pentagonal steel barrel, and another hoarse scream that cut off
in the middle to a gargling sound.
* * * * *
I reached the shaft and started down the center rail, not bothering
with the hand-grips. I could hear something rustle below, followed by
silence, but I couldn't see a thing; the lights had been cut.
I could feel things poking into my back before I landed; I always get
the creeps when there's death around, and that last sound had been
just that--somebody's last sound. I _knew_ somebody was going to kill
me before I could find the switch. Then I stumbled over something, and
my hair stood on end. I guess my own yell was pretty horrible. It
scared me worse than I was already. But my fingers found the switch
somehow, and the light flashed on.
Sam lay on the floor, with blood still running from a wide gash
across his throat. A big kitchen knife was still stuck in one end of
the horrible wound. And one of his fingers was half sliced off where
the blade of a switch-blade shiv had failed on him and snapped back.
Something sounded above me, and I jerked back. But it was Captain
Muller, coming down the rail. The man had obviously taken it all in on
the way down. He jerked the switch-blade out of Sam's dead grasp and
looked at the point of the knife. There was blood further back from
the cut finger, but none on the point.
"Damn!" Muller tossed it down in disgust. "If he'd scratched the other
man, we'd have had a chance to find who it was. Tremaine, have you got
an alibi?"
"I was with Jenny," I told him, and watched his eyes begin to hate me.
But he nodded. We picked Sam up together and lugged his body up to the
top of the shaft, where the crowd had collected. Pietro, Peters, the
cook, Grundy and Lomax were there. Beyond them, the dark-haired,
almost masculine head of Eve Nolan showed, her eyes studying the body
of Sam as if it were a negative in her darkroom; as usual, Bill
Sanderson was as close to her as he could get. But there was no sign
now of Jenny. I glanced up the corridor but saw only Wilcox and Phil
Riggs, with Walt Harris trailing them, rubbing the sleep out of his
eyes.
Muller moved directly to Pietro. "Six left in my crew now, Dr. Pietro.
First Hendrix, now Sam. Can you still say that the attack is on _your_
crew--when mine keep being killed? This time, sir, I demand . . ."
"Give 'em hell, Captain," ape-man Grundy broke in. "Cut the fancy
stuff, and let's get the damned murdering rats!"
Muller's eyes quartered him, spitted his carcass, and began turning
him slowly over a bed of coals. "Mister Grundy, I am master of the
_Wahoo_. I fail to remember asking for your piratical advice. Dr.
Pietro, I trust you will have no objections if I ask Mr. Peters to
investigate your section and group thoroughly?"
"None at all, Captain Muller," Pietro answered. "I trust Peters. And I
feel sure you'll permit me to delegate Mr. Tremaine to inspect the
remainder of the ship?"
Muller nodded curtly. "Certainly. Until the madman is found, we're all
in danger. And unless he is found, I insist I must protect my crew and
my ship by turning back to Earth."
"I cannot permit that, sir!"
"Your permission for that was not requested, Dr. Pietro! Yes,
Bullard?"
The cook had been squirming and muttering to himself for minutes. Now
he darted out toward Grundy, and his finger pointed to Lomax. "He done
it! I seen him. Killed the only friend I had, he did. They went by my
galley--and--and he grabbed my big knife, that one there. And he
killed Sam."
* * * * *
"You're sure it was Lomax?" Muller asked sharply.
"Sure I'm sure. Sam, he was acting queer lately. He was worried. Told
me he saw something, and he was going to know for sure. He borrowed my
switch-blade knife that my wife gave me. And he went out looking for
something. Then I heard him a-running, and I looked up, and there was
this guy, chasing him. Sure, I seen him with my own eyes."
Eve Nolan chuckled throatily, throwing her mannish-cut hair back from
her face. She was almost pretty with an expression on her countenance,
even if it was amused disgust. "Captain Muller, that's a nice story.
But Dr. Lomax was with me in my darkroom, working on some
spectroanalysis slides. Bill Sanderson and Phil Riggs were waiting
outside for us. And Mr. Peters saw us come out together when we all
ran down here."
Peters nodded. Muller stared at us for a second, and the hunting lust
died out of his eyes, leaving them blank and cold. He turned to
Bullard. "Bullard, an explanation might make me reduce your
punishment. If you have anything to say, say it now!"
The cook was gibbering and actually drooling with fear. He shook, and
sweat popped out all over him. "My knife--I hadda say something. They
stole my knife. They wanted it to look like I done it. God, Captain,
you'da done the same. Can't punish a man for trying to save his life.
I'm a good man, I am. Can't whip a good man! Can't--"
"Give him twenty-five lashes with the wire, Mr. Grundy," Muller said
flatly.
Pietro let out a shriek on top of the cook's. He started forward, but
I caught him. "Captain Muller's right," I told him. "On a spaceship,
the full crew is needed. The brig is useless, so the space-enabling
charter recognizes flogging. Something is needed to maintain
discipline."
Pietro dropped back reluctantly, but Lomax faced the captain. "The man
is a coward, hardly responsible, Captain Muller. I'm the wounded
party in this case, but it seems to me that hysteria isn't the same
thing as maliciousness. Suppose I ask for clemency?"
"Thank you, Dr. Lomax," Muller said, and actually looked relieved.
"Make it ten lashes, Mr. Grundy. Apparently no real harm has been
done, and he will not testify in the future."
Grundy began dragging Bullard out, muttering about damn fool
groundlubbers always sticking their noses in. The cook caught at
Lomax's hand on the way, literally slobbering over it. Lomax rubbed
his palm across his thigh, looking embarrassed.
Muller turned back to us. "Very well. Mr. Peters will begin
investigating the expedition staff and quarters; Mr. Tremaine will
have free run over the rest of the ship. And if the murderer is not
turned up in forty-eight hours, we head back to Earth!"
Pietro started to protest again, but another scream ripped down the
corridor, jerking us all around. It was Jenny, running toward us. She
was breathing hoarsely as she nearly crashed into Dr. Pietro.
Her face was white and sick, and she had to try twice before she could
speak.
"The plants!" she gasped out. "Poison! They're dying!"