"To see you. Are you well taken care of?"
"Certainly. They've hooked up my pint sized T.V. set so that I can look
at the earth. I've been to the Lunar Base ... terrific real estate. A
rock pile. Elaborate, but still a rock pile. I eat very well. I sleep
occasionally, except that I cannot get used to the total darkness, and I
have minor grievances ... like I want to get the hell out of here!" He
stood up suddenly and glared at Lors. "Am I happy! Am I content! Hell,
yes! I'm so goddam content I'm going stir crazy from it!
"I'm sick of the whole damned mess, Firstspacer Lors, plain downright
sick and..."
"Take it easy, Danson."
"Shut up! Shut your damned mouth because I'm not finished! Tell me, god,
have you ever been confined to a pint sized prison? You ever had your
brain picked clean by a flock of intellectual buzzards? You ever sat in
a room, with the walls closing in on you, listening to a couple of
blue-uniformed knotheads stand outside your door talking a babble of
language that sounded like Chinese, and not be able to speak to them?
Not be able to take a piss because you don't know how to find the toilet
and don't know how to ask where it is?
"Well, I have. I have and I'm up to my ears with this whole bit. I lie
here every night and dream about taking this so-called starship and
ramming it up your ass, plate by plate..."
Danson broke off suddenly, unable to continue his wild tirade. He sat
there on the edge of the bunk, his face a livid white, with the
cigarette dangling from his lips. His left eye closed against the bite
of the smoke and his jaws knotted as he stared at the wall.
"All finished," Lors demanded quietly.
Danson grunted. "Yeah. Yeah, ace, I'm all finished. In a way, I'm sorry
... but it felt good. I've wanted to get all that off my chest for a
long time."
"I can see your position, Danson," Lors told him. "I know what you've
been through, but I can't do anything about it. I follow orders."
Danson grinned. "Who're you trying to kid, pal. You got Commander Zark's
daughter eating out of the palm of your hand. Hell, I'll bet you pull
more strings around this ship than a puppeteer."
"I've underestimated you, Danson," Lors told him in a soft voice. "You
have an interesting mind. Quite a grasp."
Danson snorted again. "You guys aren't the sharpest people in the world.
I will give you a bit of advice, for free. You better either return me
to earth, or kill me. In another thirteen months, I'll figure out a way
to blow this hulk into a million pieces."
"I doubt that," Lors mused.
"Go ahead and doubt it, but you'd better keep the powder magazine under
double guard. And while you're at it, you better have the boys be
careful of what they say around me, since I know the lingo."
"How many Spacers have you talked to?" Lors asked. "How many of them
know how intelligent you are?"