Captain Carter was grim. "So they've bought him off, have they? Go
bring him in here, Gregg. We'll have it out with him now."
Snap, Dr. Frank, Balch, our first officer, and I were in the Captain's
chart room. It was four P.M. Earth time. We were sixteen hours upon
our voyage.
I found Johnson in his office in the lounge. "Captain wants to see
you. Close up."
He closed his window upon an American woman passenger who was
demanding the details of Martian currency, and followed me forward.
"What is it, Gregg?"
"I don't know."
Captain Carter banged the slide upon us. The chart room was insulated.
The hum of the current was obvious. Johnson noticed it. He stared at
the hostile faces of the surgeon and Balch. And he tried to bluster.
"What's this? Something wrong?"
Carter wasted no words. "We have information, Johnson, that there's
some undercover plot aboard. I want to know what it is. Suppose you
tell us."
The purser looked blank. "What do you mean? We've gamblers aboard, if
that's--"
"To hell with that," growled Balch. "You had a secret interview with
that Martian, _Set_ Miko, and with George Prince!"
Johnson scowled from under his heavy brows, and then raised them in
surprise. "Did I? You mean changing their money? I don't like your
tone, Balch. I'm not your under-officer!"
"But you're under me!" roared the Captain. "By God, I'm master here!"
"Well, I'm not disputing that," said the purser mildly. "This
fellow--"
"We're in no mood for argument," Dr. Frank cut in. "Clouding the
issue...."
"I won't let it be clouded," the Captain exclaimed.