There was a deathly silence not even interrupted by Mrs. Schuster as the stewardess handed over a small metal box. Hansteen opened it, and took out a white cylinder the size and shape of a cigarette.
You probably know, he continued, that all space vehicles are compelled by law to carry these in their medicine chests. They are quite painless, and will knock you out for ten hours. That may mean all the difference between life and death for man's respiration rate is cut by more than fifty per cent when he's unconscious. So our air will last twice as long as it would otherwise. Long enough, we hope, for Port Roris to reach us.
Now, it's essential for at least one person to remain awake to keep in touch with the rescue team. And to be on the safe side, we should have two. One of them must be the Captain; I think that goes without argument.
And I suppose the other should be you? said an all-too-familiar voice.
I'm really very sorry for you, Miss Morley, said Commodore Hansteen, without the slightest sign of resentment for there was no point, now, in making an issue of a matter that had already been settled. Just to remove any possible misconceptions
Before anyone quite realized what had happened, he had pressed the cylinder to his forearm.
I'll hope to see you all ten hours from now, he said, very slowly but distinctly, as he walked to the nearest seat. He had barely reached it when he slumped quietly into oblivion.
It's all your show now, Pat told himself as he got to his feet. For a moment he felt like addressing a few well-chosen words to Miss Morley; then he realized that to do so would spoil the dignity of the Commodore's exit.
I'm the captain of this vessel, he said in a firm, low voice. And from now on, what I say goes.
Not with me, retorted the indomitable Miss Morley. I'm a paying passenger and I have my rights. I've not the slightest intention of using one of those things.
The blasted woman seemed unsnubbable. Pat was also compelled to admit that she had guts. He had a brief, nightmare glimpse of the future that her words suggested. Ten hours alone with Miss Morley, and no one else to talk to.
He glanced at the five troubleshooters. The nearest to Miss Morley was the Jamaican civil engineer, Robert Bryan. He looked ready and willing to move into action, but Pat still hoped that unpleasantness could be avoided.
I don't wish to argue about rights, he said, but if you were to look at the small print on your tickets, you'd discover that, in an emergency, I'm in absolute charge here. In any event, this is for your own good, and your own comfort. I'd much rather be asleep than awake while we wait for the rescue team to get here.
That goes for me, too, said Professor Jayawardene unexpectedly. As the Commodore said, it will conserve the air, so it's our only chance. Miss Wilkins, will you give me one of those things?
The calm logic of this helped to lower the emotional temperature; so did the Professor's smooth, obviously comfortable slide into unconsciousness. Two down and eighteen to go, murmured Pat under his breath.
Let's waste no more time, he said aloud. As you can see, these shots are entirely painless. There's a microjet hypodermic inside each cylinder, and you won't even feel a pinprick.
Sue was already handing out the innocent-looking little tubes, and several of the passengers had used them immediately. There went the Schusters (Irving, with a reluctant and touching tenderness, had pressed the tube against the arm of his sleeping wife) and the enigmatic Mr. Radley. That left fifteen. Who would be next?
Now Sue had come to Miss Morley. This is it, thought Pat. If she was still determined to make a fuss
He might have guessed it.
I thought I made it quite clear that I don't want one of these things. Please take it away.
Robert Bryan began to inch forward, but it was the sardonic, English voice of David Barrett that did the trick.
What really worries the good lady, Captain, he said, obviously placing his barb with relish, is that you may take advantage of her in her helpless condition.
For a few seconds, Miss Morley sat speechless with fury, while her cheeks turned a bright crimson.
I've never been so insulted in my she began.
Nor have I, madam, interjected Pat, completing her demoralization. She looked round the circle of faces most of them solemn, but several grinning, even at a time like this and realized that there was only one way out.
As she slumped in her seat, Pat breathed a vast sigh of relief. After that little episode, the rest should be easy.
Then he saw that Mrs. Williams, whose birthday had been celebrated in such Spartan style only a few hours before, was staring in a kind of frozen trance at the cylinder in her hand. The poor woman was obviously terrified, and no one could blame her. In the next seat, her husband had already collapsed; it was a little ungallant, Pat thought, to have gone first and left his wife to fend for herself.
Before he could take any action, Sue had moved forward.
I'm so sorry, Mrs. Williams, I made a mistake. I gave you an empty one. Perhaps you'll let me have it back
The whole thing was done so neatly that it looked like a conjuring trick. Sue took or seemed to take the tube from the unresisting fingers, but as she did so she must have jolted it against Mrs. Williams. The lady never knew what had happened; she quietly folded up and joined her husband.
Half the company was unconscious now. On the whole, thought Pat, there had been remarkably little fuss. Commodore Hansteen had been too much of a pessimist; the riot squad had not been necessary, after all.
Then, with a slight sinking feeling, he noticed something that made him change his mind. It looked as if, as usual, the Commodore had known exactly what he was doing. Miss Morley was not going to be the only difficult customer.
It was at least two years since Lawrence had been inside an igloo. There was a time, when he had been a junior engineer out on construction projects, when he had lived in one for weeks on end, and had forgotten what it was like to be surrounded by rigid walls. Since those days, of course, there had been many improvements in design; it was now no particular hardship to live in a home that would fold up into a small trunk.
This was one of the latest models a Goodyear Mark XX and it could sustain six men for an indefinite period, as long as they were supplied with power, water, food, and oxygen. The igloo could provide everything else even entertainment, for it had a built-in microlibrary of books, music, and video. This was no extravagant luxury, though the auditors queried it with great regularity. In space, boredom could be a killer. It might take longer than, say, a leak in an air line, but it could be just as effective, and was sometimes much messier.
Lawrence stooped slightly to enter the air lock. In some of the old models, he remembered, you practically had to go down on hands and knees. He waited for the pressure equalized signal, then stepped into the hemispherical main chamber.
It was like being inside a balloon; indeed, that was exactly where he was. He could see only part of the interior, for it had been divided into several compartments by movable screens. (Another modern refinement; in his day, the only privacy was that given by the curtain across the toilet.) Overhead, three meters above the floor, were the lights and the air-conditioning grille, suspended from the ceiling by elastic webbing. Against the curved wall stood collapsible metal racks, only partly erected. From the other side of the nearest screen came the sound of a voice reading from an inventory, while every few seconds another interjected, Check.
Lawrence stepped around the screen and found himself in the dormitory section of the igloo. Like the wall racks, the double bunks had not been fully erected; it was merely necessary to see that all the bits and pieces were in their place, for as soon as the inventory was completed everything would be packed and rushed to the site.