Paresi shot him a glance. "Depends. If you mean has a natural
sensitivity to the tension spectra coupled itself with some years of
practice in observing people--then yes. What's on your mind?"
Anderson said nothing for a long time. It was as if he were waiting for
a question, a single prod from Paresi. But Paresi wouldn't give it.
Paresi waited, just waited, with his dark face turned away, not helping,
not pushing, not doing a single thing to modify the pressure that
churned about in the Captain.
"All right," said the Captain irritably. "I'll tell you."
Paresi took tweezers, a retractor, two scalpels and a hypodermic case
out of the kit and laid them in a neat row on the bunk. He then picked
up each one and returned it to the kit. When he had quite finished
Anderson said, "I was wondering, _who's next?_"
Paresi nodded and shut the kit with a sharp click. He looked up at the
Captain and nodded again. "Why does it have to be you?" he asked.
"I didn't say it would be me!" said the Captain sharply.
"Didn't you?" When the Captain had no answer, Paresi asked him, "Then
why wonder about a thing like that?"
"Oh ... I see what you mean. When you start to be afraid, you start to
be unsure--not of anyone else's weaknesses, but of your own. That what
you mean?"
"Yup." His dark-framed grin flashed suddenly. "But you're not afraid,
Cap'n."
"The hell I'm not."
Paresi shook his head. "Johnny was afraid, and fled. Ives was afraid,
and fought. There's only one fear that's a real fear, and that's the one
that brings you to your breaking point. Any other fear is small potatoes
compared with a terror like that. Small enough so no one but me has to
worry about it."
"Why you, then?"
Paresi swatted the first-aid kit as he carried it back to its clamp.
"I'm the M. O., remember? Symptoms are my business. Let me watch 'em,
Captain. Give me orders, but don't crowd me in my specialty."
"You're insubordinate, Paresi," said Anderson, "and you're a great
comfort." His slight smile faded, and horizontal furrows appeared over
his eyes. "Tell me why I had that nasty little phase of doubt about
myself."
"You think I can?"
"Yes." He was certain.
"That's half the reason. The other half is Hoskins."
"What are you talking about?"
"Johnny broke. Ives broke. Your question was, 'who's next?' You doubt
that it will be me, because I'm _de facto_ the boy with all the answers.
You doubt it will be Hoskins, because you can't extrapolate how he might
break--or even if he would. So that leaves you."
"I hadn't exactly reasoned it out like that--"
"Oh yes you had," said Paresi, and thumped the Captain's shoulder. "Now
forget it. Confucius say he who turn gaze inward wind up crosseyed.
Can't afford to have a crosseyed Captain. Our friends out there are due
to make another move."
"No they're not."
The doctor and the Captain whirled at the quiet voice. "What does that
mean, Hoskins?"
The engineer came into the cabin, crossed over to his station, and began
opening and closing drawers. "They've moved." From the bottom drawer he
pulled out a folded chessboard and a rectangular box. Only then did he
look directly at them. "The food's gone."
"Food?... gone where?"
Hoskins smiled tiredly. "Where's the port? Where's the outboard
bulkhead? That black stuff has covered it up--heating units,
foodlockers, disposal unit, everything." He pulled a couple of chairs
from their clips on the bulkhead and carried them across the cabin to
the sheet of blackness. "There's water," he said as he unfolded the
chairs. On the seat of one he placed the chessboard. He sat on the other
and pushed the board close to the darkness. "The scuttlebutt's inboard,
and still available." His voice seemed to get fainter and fainter as he
talked, as if he were going slowly away from them. "But there's no food.
No food."
He began to set up the pieces, his face to the black wall.