weaker.
Just what Bowman was attempting when he met his end still remained a mystery. He had not confided in Jevons. All that anyone knew about it was the sudden lurch of the ship and the clang of reverberations running up and down the hull. Possibly it was an accident. More likely he had become impatient and laid a small charge to blast an opening.
For the first time for weeks ports were uncovered and faces looked out giddily at the wheeling stars. Bowman came into sight. He was drifting inertly, a dozen yards or more outboard. His suit was deflated, and a large gash showed in the material of the left sleeve.
The consciousness of a corpse floating round and round you like a minor moon is no improver of already lowered morale. Push it away, and it still circles, though at a greater distance. Some day a proper ceremony for the situation would be invented – perhaps a small rocket would launch the poor remains upon their
last, infinite voyage. Meanwhile, lacking a precedent, Captain Winters decided to pay the body the decent respect of having it brought inboard. The refrigeration plant had to be kept going to preserve the small remaining stocks of food, but several sections of it were empty …
A day and a night by the clock had passed since the provisional interment of Bowman when a modest knock came on the control-room door. The Captain laid blotting-paper carefully over his latest entry in the log, and closed the book.
‘Come in,’ he said.
The door opened just widely enough to admit Alice Morgan. She slipped in, and shut it behind her. He was somewhat surprised to see her. She had kept sedulously in the background, putting the few requests she had made through the intermediation of her husband. He noticed the changes in her. She was haggard now as they all were, and her eyes anxious. She was also nervous. The fingers of her thin hands sought one another and interlocked themselves for confidence. Clearly she was having to push herself to raise whatever was in her mind. He smiled in order to encourage her.
‘Come and sit down, Mrs Morgan,’ he invited, amiably.
She crossed the room with a slight clicking from her magnetic soles, and took the chair he indicated. She seated herself uneasily, and on the forward edge.
It had been sheer cruelty to bring her on this voyage, he reflected again. She had been at least a pretty little thing, now she was no longer that. Why couldn’t that fool husband of hers have left her in her proper setting – a nice quiet suburb, a gentle routine, a life where she would be protected from exaction and alarm alike. It surprised him again that she had had the resolution and the stamina to survive conditions on the
Falcon
as long as this. Fate would probably have been kinder to her if it had disallowed that.
He spoke to her quietly, for she perched rather than sat, making him think of a bird ready to take off at any sudden movement.
‘And what can I do for you, Mrs Morgan?’
Alice’s fingers twined and intertwined. She watched them doing it. She looked up, opened her mouth to speak, closed it again.
‘It isn’t very easy,’ she murmured apologetically.
Trying to help her, he said:
‘No need to be nervous, Mrs Morgan. Just tell me what’s on your mind. Has one of them been – bothering you?’
She shook her head.
‘Oh, no, Captain Winters. It’s nothing like that at all.’
‘What is it, then?’
‘It’s – it’s the rations, Captain. I’m not getting enough food.’
The kindly concern froze out of his face.
‘None of us is,’ he told her, shortly.
‘I know,’ she said, hurriedly. ‘I know, but –’
‘But what?’ he inquired in a chill tone.
She drew a breath.
‘There’s the man who died yesterday. Bowman. I thought if I could have his rations –’
The sentence trailed away as she saw the expression on the Captain’s face.
He was not acting. He was feeling just as shocked as he looked. Of all the impudent suggestions that ever had come his
Just what Bowman was attempting when he met his end still remained a mystery. He had not confided in Jevons. All that anyone knew about it was the sudden lurch of the ship and the clang of reverberations running up and down the hull. Possibly it was an accident. More likely he had become impatient and laid a small charge to blast an opening.
For the first time for weeks ports were uncovered and faces looked out giddily at the wheeling stars. Bowman came into sight. He was drifting inertly, a dozen yards or more outboard. His suit was deflated, and a large gash showed in the material of the left sleeve.
The consciousness of a corpse floating round and round you like a minor moon is no improver of already lowered morale. Push it away, and it still circles, though at a greater distance. Some day a proper ceremony for the situation would be invented – perhaps a small rocket would launch the poor remains upon their
last, infinite voyage. Meanwhile, lacking a precedent, Captain Winters decided to pay the body the decent respect of having it brought inboard. The refrigeration plant had to be kept going to preserve the small remaining stocks of food, but several sections of it were empty …
A day and a night by the clock had passed since the provisional interment of Bowman when a modest knock came on the control-room door. The Captain laid blotting-paper carefully over his latest entry in the log, and closed the book.
‘Come in,’ he said.
The door opened just widely enough to admit Alice Morgan. She slipped in, and shut it behind her. He was somewhat surprised to see her. She had kept sedulously in the background, putting the few requests she had made through the intermediation of her husband. He noticed the changes in her. She was haggard now as they all were, and her eyes anxious. She was also nervous. The fingers of her thin hands sought one another and interlocked themselves for confidence. Clearly she was having to push herself to raise whatever was in her mind. He smiled in order to encourage her.
‘Come and sit down, Mrs Morgan,’ he invited, amiably.
She crossed the room with a slight clicking from her magnetic soles, and took the chair he indicated. She seated herself uneasily, and on the forward edge.
It had been sheer cruelty to bring her on this voyage, he reflected again. She had been at least a pretty little thing, now she was no longer that. Why couldn’t that fool husband of hers have left her in her proper setting – a nice quiet suburb, a gentle routine, a life where she would be protected from exaction and alarm alike. It surprised him again that she had had the resolution and the stamina to survive conditions on the
Falcon
as long as this. Fate would probably have been kinder to her if it had disallowed that.
He spoke to her quietly, for she perched rather than sat, making him think of a bird ready to take off at any sudden movement.
‘And what can I do for you, Mrs Morgan?’
Alice’s fingers twined and intertwined. She watched them doing it. She looked up, opened her mouth to speak, closed it again.
‘It isn’t very easy,’ she murmured apologetically.
Trying to help her, he said:
‘No need to be nervous, Mrs Morgan. Just tell me what’s on your mind. Has one of them been – bothering you?’
She shook her head.
‘Oh, no, Captain Winters. It’s nothing like that at all.’
‘What is it, then?’
‘It’s – it’s the rations, Captain. I’m not getting enough food.’
The kindly concern froze out of his face.
‘None of us is,’ he told her, shortly.
‘I know,’ she said, hurriedly. ‘I know, but –’
‘But what?’ he inquired in a chill tone.
She drew a breath.
‘There’s the man who died yesterday. Bowman. I thought if I could have his rations –’
The sentence trailed away as she saw the expression on the Captain’s face.
He was not acting. He was feeling just as shocked as he looked. Of all the impudent suggestions that ever had come his
Similar Books
