Rod's eyes flew open, staring into the darkness. He lay back, speculations running through his mind.
After an interval of silence, Fess murmured, "Good night, Rod."
"Hm? Oh. Yeah. Good night, Fess."
The ship shuddered, and Rod said, "Can I get up now?"
"Not yet," Muldoon called back.
"Shouldn't I have an acceleration couch?
"That's what your bunk is. So's mine. Everything has to do double duty, on a freighter."
So that was why she was staying in her room.
"Docking completed," Donough's voice said over the intercom. "Twenty-four-hour liberty commences now! Have fun in Ceres City, crew!"
They heard a cheer in the background, before the captain let the mike close.
Rod released his webbing and was sitting up before it had finished snapping back. He hopped down, pushed his bed up and into the wall, and headed for the passageway. Then he stopped, realizing that his footsteps didn't have an echo. He turned around and saw Muldoon with computerboard in hand, checking the bank of meters on the wall. "Aren't you coming?"
Muldoon shook her head. "Always something to do, here."
"But it doesn't have to be done, does it?"
"Have to or not, I'm doing it."
"But why?" Rod frowned, coming toward her. "You can't…"
And Muldoon burst into tears.
Rod froze, staring.
"Out!" Muldoon snapped. "Let me take care of my engines in peace! Now, get out!''' Rod got.
"But why didn't she want company?" Rod muttered.
"There are nuances in human relationships that are indecipherable without knowing the complex of ties involved," Fess answered, sotto voce.
"Which means we don't know enough to guess."
"A sufficiently accurate interpretation. And, if you'll pardon the comment, Rod…"
"It's none of my damn business." Rod lay back, waiting for the acceleration to pass. "But Fess, I love her."
"That does not give you the right to meddle in her affairs."
"I suppose," Rod sighed.
"But Rod, you have been worrying this problem for twenty-six hours now—and I am certain you scarcely noticed the sights of Ceres City."
Rod shrugged. "Ceres, I've seen before. Muldoon, I haven't."
The acceleration eased off, and the intercom announced, "Departure completed. We have set course for Ganymede. Duty stations."
Rod sat up, stood, and turned to push his bunk back into the wall. "Well, let's hope she's—"
A sudden raucous hooting echoed through the ship. Rod froze, recognizing the "loss of atmosphere" signal. "We're holed!"
If Fess said anything, it was to empty air. Maximan reflexes had taken over, and Rod was on his way to the emergency toolkit.
He yanked it up—it took quite a pull; the bottom was magnetized—and glanced up at the screen above it. An outline of the ship glowed there, with a red dot blinking in the forward hold. He turned toward the doorway, swinging the toolbox up as he sprang. Behind him, he heard Muldoon calling, but for once, it didn't seem important.
He shot down the passageway, ricocheted off the sides of the dog-leg, and hurtled past the entry hatch. Behind him, way behind, somebody was yelling, "Out of the way, swabbie!" But that didn't matter. He braced himself, wrenched at the grip on the hatch, and leaped into the forward hold, hitting the lights as he came.
It felt as though his face was trying to swell. He saw the puncture, an ugly, ragged hole with sharp edges pointing toward him, a good centimeter in diameter. He dove toward it, ripping the emergency box open and yanking out a temporary patch, then swinging the box down against the hull. The magnetic bottom clanked, hard, and Rod held onto it as he swung his feet up, went into a crouch by the hole, and slapped the patch on. He pushed against the box as he smoothed the edges, then swung his legs back to grasp the sides of the toolbox as he pulled an insulated glove on, then took out a steel patch and the spotwelder. Feet pounded up behind him, and Weiser's voice yelled, "What the hell do ya think y're doing? Out of the way, ya spoiled brat, before I push you through that hole!"
Rod gritted his teeth and ignored the man. He stuck the positive contact onto the wall, then held the steel patch over the temp. He pounded its center flat with the hammer end of the welder, then tilted the tip to the edge and pressed the button. Lightning spat from it, and the alloy edge of the patch flowed.
He traced the rectangle around the edges of the patch, then sat back on his heels and heaved a sigh. Now he could let the shakes hit.
And look up at Weiser.
He braced himself; he knew he had disobeyed a direct order.
But the Second was studying the patch, and, slowly, nodding.
Rod felt limpness hovering. "I'm sorry, sir. I…"
"Did what you should." Weiser still nodded. "Good job of welding, too. I should say, 'Sorry'; I didn't see you'd already put the temp patch on." He turned around to scowl down at Muldoon, who was coming up, panting. "Y' taught him fast."
Muldoon shook her head. "Not that, I didn't."
Weiser turned back to Rod. "Where'd ya learn, rich boy?"
Rod managed a thin smile. "I grew up on an asteroid, sir. Our buildings may not look like pressure domes, but that's what they are—and we're raised with puncture drills. I've known how to set a patch since I was ten."
" 'D ja ever really do it before?"
"Once. That was the only time I ever got there first."
Weiser nodded slowly. "Guess even an aristocrat can earn his keep. Well, the fuss is over. Back to stations, everyone."
Rod still served at mess that night, but Weiser didn't glare at him once. Rod's heart sang—he was proving himself!
And the topic of conversation had changed. The officers had some bragging to do.
"What were you trying to do in that restaurant, McCracken—eat the whole menu?"
"No, just everything on it."
Muldoon smiled thinly.
McCracken went on, "Too bad about the keg in the Fall Inn."
"What about it?" Weiser frowned. "I didn't see nothing wrong."
"Then why were you trying to outdo it?"
A laugh rounded the table; even Muldoon joined, and Weiser grinned. "Talk about me having the high old time! Whelk was out with his wife again."
"Which one this time?"
Muldoon's smile faltered.
"The Ceres one." The first officer smiled at Rod. "Entirely legal, Mr. d'Armand—on both Mars and Ceres. Not on Terra, of course—but I don't go there very often."
"Not unless he wants to wear his law suit," Weiser jibed.
"However, our gallant Captain must take his share of ribbing," Whelk said, with a sly wink at Donough. "That was a beautiful brunette we saw you with at Pastiche's, sir."
"Why, thank you, Mr. Whelk." Donough inclined his head, and Muldoon's smile disappeared.
"Brunette?" Weiser frowned. "She was a redhead!"
"No, that was the one at Malloy's," McCracken corrected him. "Cute as a button."
"In a pig's eye!"
"No, the one at The Pig's Eye was blonde."
"Hey, I was at Pastiche's, and she was a redhead!"
"Oh?" said Whelk. "When were you there?"
"Twenty-one hundred."
"Oh, the early shift. Well, I saw him there when we dropped in for a morning snack, about 0400. She was a brunette by then."
Muldoon had to look down at her plate. Rod felt a lump in his throat, and searched wildly for a way to change the topic—but all he could think of was Fess saying, "Swabbies should be seen and not heard."
"Gentlemen, gentlemen!" Donough smiled around at them, amused. "I'm afraid you have caught me out. Margot is my second cousin; she was waiting for me as…"