The junior officer shrugged. "One of these days, there may be a dark
night, Captain."
The iron-haired man reached out a manicured hand and twisted
Frawley's tunic at the collar. He brought his face level with the
second-in-command. "One of these times, there may be charges of mutiny,
Lieutenant. And guess who will play Jack Ketch personally?"
Frawley assumed an at-attention pose, and blinked. "Aye, sir. There may
be a mutiny and somebody may get hung."
Birdsel shoved Frawley away from him and wiped his hand elaborately
down his side. "That will be all, Mister Frawley."
Frawley constructed the same excuse for a salute, turned smartly and
marched away.
Starbuck developed a definite suspicion that there were currents of
tension aboard which he didn't understand.
* * * * *
"This is the brain," the captain said, with a gesture.
The brain was less than awe-inspiring. The mustard-seed cryotron relays
were comfortably housed in a steel and aluminum hide no roomier than
a pair of Earthside bureaus. It looked a bit like a home clothing
processor to Starbuck.
Birdsel crossed to the machine and ran a hand along its metal side.
"Magnificent, isn't it, Ben? I've never seen anything like it before
in my long career in the Space Service."
"It's certainly nice," Starbuck ventured.
Metallic chattering burst out.
"It's saying something, Ben! This is the first time it's talked since
the second day after it was installed!"
The message was clearly legible, spelled out in a pattern of dots on a
central screen.