prison ship for a while.” Of course, he said that because he suspected They listened.
Eleven
T he meal wasn’t like any that Rock had ever eaten. Only the sight of the empty chairs at the table on the dais kept him from enjoying completely a meal that was made up of clams à la Mars Canal, chicken con Jupiter with garnish Ursa Majors, and octagonal-shaped meat-bun pastries à la Orion. Over his synth-coffee, Rock looked around at the others. They had finished, and were leaning back well satisfied.
“At least we’ve all got a good meal under our belts,” Rock said, eyeing the men, gauging them.
“You have,” the skinny, pock-faced prisoner growled. “I never seen anybody eat the way you do, kid, like every bite was heaven on a plate.”
Another prisoner said, “You probably haven’t got stomach trouble, like the rest of us. The stuff they give you in Venus Prison could kill a space pilot!”
Rock remarked, “I’ve eaten all of these fine dishes before, not too long ago, and they all tasted half as good.”
“A dinner like this at Jupiter Work Release Detention Center I could believe,” one of the older men remarked. He was shaking his head slowly. “On a prison ship—well, a dinner like this has got to be paid for in some way. And in heavy credits, too, if you ask me.”
Sanders said grimly, “I’d feel a little better if we’d had bread and water instead of being fattened up.”
Rock thought they were being too suspicious.
There was a sudden attention-getting cough from the direction of the dais. Corporal Dovine stood behind a table, his shiny skin reflecting the ceiling light. Two attractive girls in modest blue dresses were seating themselves in the other chairs. They folded their hands demurely before them, and modestly cast down their blue eyes. Neither was as pretty as Kimetta and Rock lost interest in them for the moment. A sharp intake of breath could be heard from the other men at this table though, and Rockson realized that they probably hadn’t been this close to any women in a long, long while.
Dovine said, “I’m going to assume that all of you are resentful at having been brought forcibly aboard. I ask you to remember a few facts about our destination before you go overboard in detesting it and those of us who live there. No doubt you’re all aware that life on an asteroid is always hard, that asteroids have been settled only because of overpopulation on larger planets. I wonder if you understand many of the problems involved in creating a livable space on an asteroid. I trust that the good meal you have been given will dispose you to thinking about this.”
He paused to look at each prisoner. His eyes might have narrowed when they reached Rock, but it was impossible to be sure. Probably a man such as Dovine would have preferred to die before showing his true feelings. His personality would have suited a hermit-stoic, but his work was always putting him in front of people. Had anybody ever laughed with Dovine? Touched the man? What makes a man like that?
“For example, there is no atmosphere on Esmerelda, as that word is generally understood. The air you will breathe is,” Dovine went on, “entirely artificial. There is no true sun, no moons. In order to survive with the benefits of technology all of you who will live on the asteroid must take pills that have the side effects of making your skin gleam as mine does. I have been told that the result—cosmetically—is considered bad by many of those on Earth and Venus, and even by some spacers.”
Rockson heard a muttered remark from Sanders but couldn’t make out the words. If Dovine heard anything, he gave no sign. He continued, “Life on this asteroid revolves itself into patterns of hard work.” Dovine continued, “I too will live there most of this year—and work hard. Even such amusements as we have aboard this ship are absent there. I think you can understand, those of you who have been imprisoned elsewhere, that
Eleven
T he meal wasn’t like any that Rock had ever eaten. Only the sight of the empty chairs at the table on the dais kept him from enjoying completely a meal that was made up of clams à la Mars Canal, chicken con Jupiter with garnish Ursa Majors, and octagonal-shaped meat-bun pastries à la Orion. Over his synth-coffee, Rock looked around at the others. They had finished, and were leaning back well satisfied.
“At least we’ve all got a good meal under our belts,” Rock said, eyeing the men, gauging them.
“You have,” the skinny, pock-faced prisoner growled. “I never seen anybody eat the way you do, kid, like every bite was heaven on a plate.”
Another prisoner said, “You probably haven’t got stomach trouble, like the rest of us. The stuff they give you in Venus Prison could kill a space pilot!”
Rock remarked, “I’ve eaten all of these fine dishes before, not too long ago, and they all tasted half as good.”
“A dinner like this at Jupiter Work Release Detention Center I could believe,” one of the older men remarked. He was shaking his head slowly. “On a prison ship—well, a dinner like this has got to be paid for in some way. And in heavy credits, too, if you ask me.”
Sanders said grimly, “I’d feel a little better if we’d had bread and water instead of being fattened up.”
Rock thought they were being too suspicious.
There was a sudden attention-getting cough from the direction of the dais. Corporal Dovine stood behind a table, his shiny skin reflecting the ceiling light. Two attractive girls in modest blue dresses were seating themselves in the other chairs. They folded their hands demurely before them, and modestly cast down their blue eyes. Neither was as pretty as Kimetta and Rock lost interest in them for the moment. A sharp intake of breath could be heard from the other men at this table though, and Rockson realized that they probably hadn’t been this close to any women in a long, long while.
Dovine said, “I’m going to assume that all of you are resentful at having been brought forcibly aboard. I ask you to remember a few facts about our destination before you go overboard in detesting it and those of us who live there. No doubt you’re all aware that life on an asteroid is always hard, that asteroids have been settled only because of overpopulation on larger planets. I wonder if you understand many of the problems involved in creating a livable space on an asteroid. I trust that the good meal you have been given will dispose you to thinking about this.”
He paused to look at each prisoner. His eyes might have narrowed when they reached Rock, but it was impossible to be sure. Probably a man such as Dovine would have preferred to die before showing his true feelings. His personality would have suited a hermit-stoic, but his work was always putting him in front of people. Had anybody ever laughed with Dovine? Touched the man? What makes a man like that?
“For example, there is no atmosphere on Esmerelda, as that word is generally understood. The air you will breathe is,” Dovine went on, “entirely artificial. There is no true sun, no moons. In order to survive with the benefits of technology all of you who will live on the asteroid must take pills that have the side effects of making your skin gleam as mine does. I have been told that the result—cosmetically—is considered bad by many of those on Earth and Venus, and even by some spacers.”
Rockson heard a muttered remark from Sanders but couldn’t make out the words. If Dovine heard anything, he gave no sign. He continued, “Life on this asteroid revolves itself into patterns of hard work.” Dovine continued, “I too will live there most of this year—and work hard. Even such amusements as we have aboard this ship are absent there. I think you can understand, those of you who have been imprisoned elsewhere, that
Similar Books
