expression, was a wizened, brown-eyed, hairless man. Peron took an instant and inexplicable dislike to him.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“I am Captain Rinker, in command of this ship,” said the man. “Dr. Ferranti tells me that you are fully stable and adapted to S-space. Is that so?” “I don’t know. I feel no pain, but I certainly don’t feel normal.” “That will pass. Anything else?”
“Someone seems to want to starve me to death.”
“Your own fault. When you awoke you could have called for food. Instead you chose to pry.” Rinker gestured at a wall display that was showing the room where Peron had returned to consciousness. “You were observed. It would serve you right if we did not feed you for a while. But you are lucky. Regulations would not permit us to starve you. Command: Bring food and drink, suitable for the awakening.”
A tray appeared instantly, resting on Peron’s knees. The clear carafe held the same liquid as he had drunk before, but the plates of food were unfamiliar. There were brown patties with a coarse granular texture, orange-red jelly, and white slabs of smooth creamy consistency. Rinker gestured to them. “Carry on. You may eat while we talk.”
Peron looked around him. There was no other person in the room, and no sign that the door had opened or closed. “How are you able to do that?”
“It is not appropriate that I tell you. Such information will be given to you at Headquarters — if it is given at all.” Rinker waved his hand at the display. “Your efforts to use the service system were already noted. To save you further wasted time, I will point out that any more efforts on your part will be just as unsuccessful. Let me also point out that I am under no official obligation to talk to you, or to deal with you in any way except to provide safe transfer to Headquarters. But I want you to know how much trouble you have caused, you and that fool Wilmer.”
Peron could not resist the food in front of him. His body insisted that it had been weeks since it had received nourishment. He ate ravenously. The patties had a reasonable resemblance to bread, and although the white material tasted nothing like the cheese that Peron had expected, it tasted good. He stared across the desk at Captain Rinker, swallowed, and spoke.
“I can’t speak for Wilmer, but any trouble I caused was not my doing. I would have died on Whirlygig without his help. I don’t see why you assign blame to me.”
Rinker gave an impatient wave of his hand. “You were marked as a troublemaker before you left the planet. So were your companions on Whirlygig. You were all scheduled for special indoctrination on the ship Eleanora, to be kept apart from the other contestants. As for Wilmer, he was supposed to be there as an observer — not as a participant. I have warned several times of the danger of using local recruits as observers. They have too many ties to your planet and its people. But my advice was ignored.”
“Is Wilmer an Immortal?”
Rinker leaned back in his chair, frowning. His voice rose in pitch. “That stupid term! It is one I never use. Wilmer was recruited to our group, yes. And he shares our extended life span. But he has never left the Cass system, and he certainly knows nothing of our larger mission. Now I must suffer the consequences of his dabbling. For three hundred and sixty of your years, I have visited Pentecost and the Cass system. This is my nineteenth trip. And never has anything gone wrong. I have developed a perfect record in my work. Success is expected of me, and I demand it of myself. But now, thanks to what Wilmer did on Whirlygig, all that has gone. This visit has turned into a disaster. The materials I should be carrying back from the group on Eleanora have been left behind; final selection and indoctrination of recruits has been delayed; and I am carrying six additional and unwanted passengers with me to Headquarters, all of whom are tagged as potential trouble. Do you think I should be happy?” As Peron’s hunger and thirst lessened, he felt an increasing curiosity at his surroundings. It was also matched by a growing annoyance. He had done nothing to justify Rinker’s tirade. What did the foolish man expect him to do? Ask to be taken back to die on Whirlygig?
He lifted the tray and placed it on the desk on front of him. “I don’t say you should be happy. But you shouldn’t blame me for what happened. Why won’t you tell me what’s going on here?”
“So you can cause more trouble?”
“I’m not going to cause trouble. But naturally I have many questions. I don’t ask for your time, but let me at least have access to a terminal and the data banks. And you say that some of the other contestants are here on this ship. I would certainly like to see them.”
Rinker stared angrily at the messy tray lying on his clean and polished desk. He gave Peron an unpleasant smile. “I cannot allow you access to the data banks. As I told you, this situation is unprecedented. No one has ever joined our group here without indoctrination. What happens to you can be decided only after we reach Headquarters, and until we arrive there you must do exactly as you are told. You want to see your companions? Very well. Command: Remove this tray.” It vanished instantly.
“Command: Take us both to the suspense room.” This time Peron had a dizzying image of a long corridor and gray walls.
It lasted for a fraction of a second. Then the world steadied, and he and Rinker were standing together in front of a bank of waist-high metal doors. Each one formed the entrance to a long, deep container like an outsize coffin. Monitors sat on the transparent top of each box, and all the outputs were collected into a thick optic bundle that ran to a computer terminal. The room was freezingly cold.
“Perhaps this will give you an idea of how seriously I regard this situation.” Rinker stepped forward to one of the boxes. “Your companions are here.” “What have you done to them?” Peron felt a sense of horror. Was Rinker telling him that Elissa and the others were imprisoned in those black, icy caskets? “They are in cold sleep, and will remain there.” Rinker’s voice was as chilly as the room. It offered no possibility of discussion. “They are of course in no danger. I run a well-regulated ship, and all the equipment is checked constantly. They will be awakened — a simple procedure — when we reach Headquarters. Then this matter will move to other hands than mine. I will be very glad to see the last of it.”
Peron stepped forward to peer in through the top of the nearest chest. Kallen lay inside, swathed up to his neck in soft white material. He looked dead. His eyes were deep-set in his head, his face gray and drained of all color. Peron stepped to the next container. That one held Elissa. He shuddered to see what she had become. Without its usual animation, her face was like a wax model. “Are you sure that they are all right?” Peron had to ask. “They look — “ “I have no time to waste in repeating myself. They are all right. I have already told you and shown you more than I intended. You will eat your meals with the rest of us, and I will see you then. If you need food before that, use the terminal. Command: Take him to his living quarters.”
There was no chance to protest. Rinker and the room with Elissa and the others suddenly vanished. Peron found himself alone with his worry, perplexity and frustration, in a room that held only a bed, a desk, and a terminal. * * *
The Planetfest games had provided periods of terror, exhaustion, suspense and near-despair. But there had been nothing to match the sheer frustration of the next twelve hours. By the end of it, Peron had reached an unvoiced decision: if he was to be branded as a troublemaker, he was going to earn his label. He had started out simply wishing to know more about the ship and his environment. That had proved to be far more difficult than he expected. The room he had been assigned opened to a narrow corridor, which soon branched in both directions to larger rooms and other passageways. He had tried each one in turn, making mental notes of any changes of direction.
A pattern quickly emerged. If he went off along the left corridor, he was free to wander as he pleased. He had found a dining area and a library whose terminals ignored his requests for information, but readily provided food or drink. It appeared instantly and mysteriously in front of him the moment that his order was placed through the terminal, and was removed just as promptly when he requested that. He had also met some of the other ship’s complement, all much more friendly than Captain Rinker. There were only three of them. It seemed to Peron a preposterously low number to control such a large structure. But as Olivia Ferranti pointed out to him when his wandering took him past her living quarters, it was more people than were needed. Everything was under automatic control; Captain Rinker alone could handle everything. In fact, the rest of them were making their first trip, and had
